Opinions, Assholes, and Whatever Floats Your Boat

July 1, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I can’t help it. But if the cars/owners involved were Camaros or Corvettes, that would be even funnier.

I don’t think that I will ever be shocked again. It’s been awhile since anything really shocked me. There aren’t too many things that really rattle me. The problem is that the things that do rattle me really rattle me.

With the exception of rare genetic or congenital anomalies, gender is male or female.

Pick one. Preferably the one that matches your plumbing.

I can’t say that I am celebrating in the streets or bathing my profile pic in a rainbow colored filter on Facebook. Nor am I shouting doom and gloom and proclaiming the end of the world because now Adam and Steve (or Annie and Eve) can get “married.” Personally I believe that same sex relations are wrong in any context (and to me, positively vile)- but so are opposite sex relations out of their proper context (but I’ve been there with the heterosexual fornication and done that, hypocrite that I can be.) I am not the Judge, nor do I want to be. I’m guilty of “doing it wrong” too, just in a different way.

Two dudes. Wonder who will clean up the piss splatters around the john?

However, I don’t make a hobby of rubbing my straightness in everyone’s face and Making Them Like It. I even use the term straightness almost lightly, as “asexual” is probably closer to what I am now. I really don’t have any desire for physical contact with anyone. I don’t like strange people touching me, and it’s been more years than I’d like to admit since I did anything other than sleep (or watch TV) in bed. The older I get the more averse to such things I become.

Even so, if you have found your “soulmate,” and you want to have at it like rabbits in heat, whether it be male, female, mechanical, inflatable, or gerbil, I don’t care. Maybe I am a bitter, old, frustrated bitty, but I just don’t want to hear about it. That’s in the same category as wondering whether or not your grandparents still have sex. Some things should remain a mystery.

I don’t care if you have the hots for a ’93 Ford Escort. I really don’t care how people get their jollies for the most part, or who they choose to land in bed with, or why.

It only bothers me when you expect me to call it normal.

You celebrate your holidays, I’ll celebrate mine.

I do have to wonder about the World Rabies Day thing. Is this observation a call to inform people about rabies and to prevent the spread of rabies? I can’t imagine anyone wanting to celebrate Rabies, but there are some real freaks out there.

In all seriousness, I don’t believe anything good or healthy is going to come out of legalizing same-sex marriage. I don’t think it’s healthy to teach children that this an acceptable lifestyle. I don’t want my grandchild witnessing gay groping and make-out fests in public. Celebrating same-sex attraction to me is sort of like celebrating heart disease or cancer- or getting excited about rabies. We know things like heart disease or cancer or some things that some people do in the bedroom (gay OR straight) are not good for you, and eventually any of those things can kill you- but then human beings can be destroyed by things that society has traditionally condoned.

For instance, overwork can kill you- (been really close to that one) but nobody has ever gone to great lengths to morally condemn those who live to work even though that can be just as much idolatry- and positively poison to your physical, spiritual and mental health as anything else. Nobody really puts up an argument to exclude or demonize the addicted-to-work. Especially when that work-addicted person is doing your work for you.

Overeating can kill you- and gluttony is a sin- but do we actively seek to exclude and shame the fat? If fat shaming really worked, we would be a nation of Calista Flockharts, and I don’t see that happening.

Fanny is allowed to experience the feline lifestyle. Fat and lazy is OK- for cats.

Perhaps the silver lining in the gay marriage movement is maybe the whole gay pride in-your-face attitude will become passé and less “trendy” now that it’s legal. Nothing serves so much as a buzz kill than making something once forbidden legitimate.

Maybe that’s why I pretty much gave up binge drinking by age 23.

Sometimes Mom does not realize the absolutely horrendous double entendre she brings up.

Passionate Pragmatism, “Gifted,” but an “Underachiever,” and Related Descriptives

May 20, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

The lot is cast into the lap, but the decision is the Lord’s alone. – Proverbs 16:33 (NRSV)

“Life’s a box of chocolates, you never know which one you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump

I actually used to have a tapestry like this- only it was of cats playing poker- when I lived in Downtown Columbus. It covered up some old plaster imperfections in the wall. From the looks of me lately I could use something like this to cover up more than plaster imperfections.

Holy shit, I’m looking old.

Even though I look every flipping second of my age and then some, I went to school with some people who look a hell of a lot worse than I do. Some of them look better than me too, but that makes sense. By and large, the golden people tend to stay that way.

I was never, ever, ever, one of the golden people.

I know, comparison isn’t very fair and isn’t really very comforting, especially when I realize that if I let the hair color go and didn’t bother to do makeup I’d likely be mistaken for deranged or even dead. I didn’t come from a particularly affluent part of the world, either, and many of my cohorts are even poorer than I am. Poverty does not do much for one’s appearance or outlook. As the saying goes, money may not buy happiness- but it can buy you the misery you like the best.

I guess if it is rumored to be shitty it must be funny.

Speaking of all things shitty, I remember all too well there’s a holiday weekend coming up which means I will have lazy asses goldbricking at my expense even more than normal. “Skippy” as I like to call him -because even when he does show up at work he comes in late, wanders off for hours at a time, and has the balls to leave early to go to Every. Single. One. of his 17 year old son’s baseball games (and he’s not the coach) has got to be the laziest man on earth. Anyway, Skippy has managed to take his level of apathy and work avoidance even higher by taking off Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend- probably to watch even more freaking baseball.

I can think of so many more things I’d rather do.

Granted, he doesn’t do anything when he is at work, so why do I care? I’m already doing his job as it is. I guess I’m just pissed because he’s getting paid for not doing shit. I am getting a bit of entertainment as he is trying to train his buddy (who has the IQ of paint) to be as adept at shirking work as he is.

Yes, I am burned out. Crispy. Fried. Smoked.

I am so tired of how stupid people can be. It might be because of the stupidity I encounter at work, and yesterday was especially choice given that I was horribly sick most of the day. Of course I couldn’t just leave because we are (as always) short staffed and one of the guys (as usual) had a child care issue. So screw me sideways again. It’s good I am not a frequent puker, and that I didn’t have the screaming shits.

I’ve been called many things in my life, and a good many of them derogatory. I always thought “gifted but an underachiever,” was a funny one, as the only ones who ever used that descriptive were math teachers who couldn’t understand why I was doing good to get a “B” or “C” in math when I pretty much slept through everything else and got straight “A”s.

Math was the only subject I actually studied for, and I still sucked at it. I love it when people just assume that if you’re good at one thing then you’re slacking if you suck at something else.

If they thought I sucked at math, they should have watched me attempt team sports.

I suck at sports like no one has ever sucked before. Except swimming, but that’s just for personal exercise.

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

April 22, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

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

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

If Mom only knew. ALL guys do it.

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

Major Logo FAIL. In So Many Ways…

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

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

Faith is vexing, but unbelief is illogical.

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

No, this is NOT me.

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

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

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

That’s what continuous multitasking will do for you.

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

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

Femininity, Autism and Faith- Hitting on a Few Nerves

April 8, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

While intelligence has its own rewards-

Unfortunately, most men are not attracted by intellect.

I should know that I should be more involved in my women’s Bible study group’s study choices before I decide to get into the study. I probably would not have suggested our current study-even though it involves areas where I really need work, because it is hitting on some sore nerves. This go-round it’s a book called Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul by John and Stasi Eldridge.

The study starts off with asking those touchy-feely questions about feeling desirable as a woman, and by going on with definitions of femininity. I’ve pretty much assumed that I was haphazardly plopped into a female body and pretty much had to make do with being hopelessly uncoordinated and proportioned like a mutant troll.

I never really gave the whole idea of femininity much rational thought (much less to relate being feminine to spirituality) other than to know, a.) I am a woman, b.) I am physically attracted to men, and c.) It’s hard to be successful at fishing when you really don’t have bait.

I’ve said before that I consciously choose to be involved in a women’s group precisely because I am generally not comfortable in friendships with other women. It is a challenge for me to muster up the courage to dredge up and analyze and discuss anything to do with feelings- especially with women. I get along better with men as long as the conversation stays on things concrete and/or technical, and with them it usually does.

When I have conversation with men, I am not subjected to someone going on and on about horrible fictional TV dramas, or being told how to do my makeup or hair, or having to care about what the Kardashians are doing. Of course, the guys never really look at me as a woman either, until they are dateless and desperate and are scouting about for a twisted Ann Landers to give them some advice. Asking me for relationship advice is about as ill-advised as taking driver’s ed from Ted Kennedy, but hey, you asked me.

It’s confusing and awkward enough to be wired the way I am- with the disconnect I have between having emotions and being able to express them- but even more so to be female with that disconnect. Everyone expects women to be all emotional and touchy-feely, which I most assuredly am not. I am definitely female, and a straight one, but not an emotional one. From what I can see being wired to think more like a man than to emote like a woman is an odd conundrum, but then, I’ve never been “normal,” and really don’t know apart from observation what “normal” is like.

This is an interesting test. Mine came out as INTP…surprise? Not!

There are “thinking-dominant” women-people for whom thought is more natural than feeling- out there (even some who are not autistic) but most women tend to be “feeling-dominant,” where feeling is a more natural process than thinking. According to the Myers-Briggs assessment, I am most definitely thinking-dominant. I get (intellectually at least) that some people are feeling-dominant, but I don’t get that. It doesn’t make sense. For me “heart” doesn’t even enter the scene until “mind” has had a chance to process things first- and not always then. I miss a lot of subtle nuances of expression because I just plain don’t see them unless someone points them out.

There are feeling-dominant men too. Jerry is one, which might be the only reason why I put up with him. He has that reptilian gut instinct about things and people that I absolutely don’t have. I can only go with what I observe and with what makes rational sense.

So this study into “being made in the feminine image of God” is proving to be more than a bit uncomfortable. I’ve always felt sort of inadequate and inferior as a woman because I am neither physically attractive nor emotionally attuned. Then there’s always that nagging, ongoing tension of thinking it necessary to validate my existence at all times, even though I know that’s if nothing else, bad theology.

I am not a believer in happily ever after, or fairy tales, or even that any man would ever look at me as more than a designated driver and/or Fetcher of Beer. So I don’t know what good it might do me to pick open old wounds, but I guess I’ll find out.

I Am Well Aware, and Resolution Deferred

April 3, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessed Be the Automotive Technicians, and More Unconventional Prayers

March 3, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Protect your chili dog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

February 18, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simply Unpredictable, and It’s Not Nice…

November 7, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Frequently I am accused of either changing the subject or coming up with weird stuff out of the clear blue sky. Of course the connections make sense to me, but my particular road map doesn’t have the freeways routed in the same places as yours. I can get to the same places- some faster, some slower, depending upon what freeways I have available to ride.

Oh, cool, there is an I-69! But, why, oh why, is it in Indiana? In the middle of the flat cornfields? Wonder how many of those signs have been stolen? Then again, truckers are probably the only ones on that road, and those boys ain’t stoppin’. Judging from the number of trucker bombs I see along I-270 (this is the Columbus outerbelt, where there are all kinds of exits and usable bathrooms) I can imagine the truckers out in BFE aren’t stopping for anything.

This is not apple juice, Mountain Dew, or lemonade. It’s PISS.

I am trying to curb the temptation to engage in a sort of mental victory dance regarding the Republican sweep of Tuesday’s midterm elections. Obama is now muzzled to a degree, which is definitely a plus, but my worry is whether or not the newly elected Republicans will stand their ground and do what the American people want them to do, which is to stop Obama’s insanity. Republicans should not in any way “cooperate” with the moonbats who are actively destroying this country with overregulation and over taxation. They should close the borders immediately to illegal immigration, and end taxpayer funded payouts to illegals, as well as to terrorist harboring countries and the perennially lazy. They must revitalize and strengthen our military, and put an end to insane political correctness. We who voted for them have to hold their feet to the fire. These affronts to the Constitution and to American people need to be addressed, rooted out, and corrected NOW. Even so, as much as I loathe Obama and what he stands for, and much as I would love to see him rode out on a rail, now he sits as the ultimate poster child for “Why Not to Vote for Democrats.” At this point it would be better to let Obama ride out his term pretty much impotent and toothless and completely bonkers than to impeach him. Hopefully the rancid taste Obama has left in this country’s mouth will extend to Hillary and Obama’s other moonbat crazy cronies in 2016. I have a very strong hope that it will.

I know I engage in sarcasm. All the time. It’s one of the things that keeps me somewhat sane. I am not politically correct. I would not even consider myself to be particularly “nice.” Most of the time, if I’m being overly nice, it’s because I hear my mother (sort of like a Jiminy Cricket) telling me I’m being rude, or that I’m staring again.

I know I’m not nice. Neither is anyone else, should we all be honest about it. That age-old human conflict of good vs. evil is always there, even when I pray in the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy will be done.” “Thy will,” is very seldom “my will,” save for divine intervention.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…

I know it was mean to let him keep on shoveling in the cat food, but it was funny. And he wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.

I haven’t been trolling in the postmortem pics a whole lot lately, but I know how wildly popular old pictures of dead people are, as creepy as that is. I had one sitting in my personal archives that I am still sort of wondering about:

Let’s play “Spot the Dead Dude.”

I think they’re both dead, which makes this pic extra creepy. Dude on the right is most certainly dead, or else he’s really, really stoned. As you can see, he’s being propped up on one of those Keith Richards guitar stand type frames. The dude on the left is a bit harder to determine. If he’s not dead, he seems to be way too pleasant for standing that close to a dead dude. Either that or he’s being held up by a broom handle stuck up his ass. You decide.

A Fair Assessment? and Judgment vs. Mercy

August 30, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I admit I’m biased in favor of life. Especially when I hear of freaks like this. I don’t have sympathy for women who treat their newborns like trash, (or their unborn children, for that matter) especially if they live in states that allow you to turn in a newborn at a hospital or fire station with no questions asked. You might not want the kid, but someone else does. More importantly, that kid deserves some sort of a chance. There are millions of people who can’t have kids of their own for whatever reason who would be delighted to take your “unwanted” child in as their own.

All I can say to that is- unless she is profoundly mentally challenged, or suffering from an extreme mental illness- : selfish bitch.

So you were afraid your parents might think you’re a slut? I can almost understand that mentality from a 12 year old, but from someone who’s 23? Besides, I’d rather my parents think I’m a slut than for them to discover that I’m an attempted murderer.

I was 22 when my son was born. Yes I was (at the time) married to the sperm donor. However, my son was not planned, and the timing was awkward at best. Even so, it wasn’t a difficult choice- my son’s life and well-being took precedence over mine, and my son’s life and well-being definitely took precedence over my sorry excuse of an ex as well as said ex’s mother. That’s a long story and I am not entirely without fault, but even as a rather emotionally impaired specimen, I have some sense of when to do what’s right rather than what appears to be expedient- or even logical.

I’m not even one of those people who is thrilled about being around kids. One on one is OK, but not a whole gang of kids at one time. I have no clue what a normal childhood is supposed to look like other than what I gleaned from the child development charts and so forth that I pored over in the hopes that my child might possibly turn out to be normal– or at least gainfully employed, and not a serial killer. So far- and solely by the grace of God- my sorry parenting seems to have worked out. He does have a job and as far as I know he hasn’t killed anyone. As far as being normal, well, at least he is a good conversationalist, and he has good hygiene. Then again, the same could be said of Ted Bundy, so you never know.

Ted looked normal, but then, sociopaths usually do.

Even though I could never categorize myself as a warm-and-fuzzy mommy, I tried. My son, the precious only male child, did thank me for being a hard ass. That was probably the most rewarding thing he has ever said to me. It’s easy to just capitulate and give your kids what they want and attempt to shelter them from anything that might bruise their precious, fragile self-esteem. It’s hard to say no, to set boundaries, to instill a work ethic, and to adhere to certain moral absolutes, but your kid isn’t supposed to be your “buddy.” Maybe when they’re adults, but not when they are still kids and are still discovering why shampooing one’s hair and brushing one’s teeth daily are essential, mandatory life practices.

Mandatory: not negotiable, and NOT optional!

Our current societal mentality is all about what’s comfortable, what’s easy and what’s disposable. Raising a child is not comfortable, not easy, (not cheap either) and 23 years later, he still “needs mommy” but, thankfully, not in the same way he did as a toddler. I don’t have to bathe him or change shitty diapers, which is definitely a plus.

I don’t think the Roe v. Wade decision did much to make people see that children are valuable, but as heinous as the idea of killing innocent children for convenience sake is, it’s a symptom of a larger, age old problem.

It’s all about the pervasive view that, “It’s all about me,”- the temptation of the Garden. “I can have it all,” or as the serpent in the story tempts Eve- “you will be like God.” (Genesis 3:5)

It won’t make you God, but it will make your life a lot more complicated.

But isn’t hindsight 20/20?

Oh, yeah, we humans want to be our own gods. Believe that. Call it “original sin,” or “the depravity of man,” but that desire is the root and the essence of what’s wrong with humanity and society, and we can’t fix that longing because that’s written into who we are.

I know even though I find certain human actions to be reprehensible, that I am every bit as much a sinner and a violator as anyone else. I don’t have the authority to pass judgment on other people, and I don’t want that authority either. I know all too well that I don’t have much empathy, and I don’t have a high tolerance for stupid behavior. I will comment on the actions of others- and I do have the authority to condemn certain actions, even though I have no way of discerning the thought processes and motives behind those actions.

The only answer I have for that is: Kyrie elaison – God have mercy, Christ have mercy.

Have mercy on us all.

Death, Life Beyond Miz Izz, and Something Else to Say

July 12, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

So I haven’t been around for awhile. There’s a few reasons for that. Let’s start off by saying I hope no one else in my sphere dies anytime soon. Death sucks. Especially when it’s Miz Izz.

I acquired Miz Izz- Isabel- as a four-week old (it’s really easy to estimate young kittens’ age) that had been abandoned in a grocery store parking lot. What amazed me is that a typical feral cat, even one that tiny, would have at least tried to run or fight, but not Isabel. She let me scoop her up and take her home. As if she belonged. And she did.

This is Jezebel at 9 weeks- she and Isabel were virtually identical as far as looks and build.

Had Isabel lived another month she would have been 16 years old. But her poor little body just couldn’t take any more. She had always been petite and somewhat frail, and she had become even more so when she developed a condition called “pillow foot” or more correctly, plasma cell pododermatitis. Suffice to say this is a nasty condition, and Isabel had it rather severely. At times her paws would swell up so much they would bleed and I would have to take her to get shots- which helped for awhile, but then she became too fragile for the meds (prednisone and doxycycline.)

Maybe I shouldn’t miss an old, fragile black cat with set ways and a loud voice. But I do.

Death can be a mercy, especially when someone is suffering and there isn’t any real fix for it, when there’s no longer any good life to be had. My last good memory of Isabel was of her greedily snapping up pieces of top sirloin as we shared a steak. The dogs were outside of course, and the only two cats that were ever bold enough to ever approach my Steak Experience were Isabel and Jezebel. Jezebel is a bit more restrained, but Isabel never had a problem getting right up close to get her little bits of gristle and fat. That was the last time I can say I knew Isabel was still enjoying being a cat. I buried her a week later.

Ask not for whom the bell tolls…

I admit that I fight with the idea that humane euthanasia is OK when a cat or a dog is suffering and they have gotten beyond what I would call “good life to be had,” but the same concept doesn’t apply to humans. I understand, at least from a spiritual and theological view, that God is the Author of life. Since humans are made in His image, we generally don’t have the authority to take human life away. (Capital punishment is an exception to the general prohibition against taking human life, and so is just war, but those are topics worthy of their own separate and detailed discussions. Suffice to say that I believe in the merits of both, in the proper circumstances.)

It is morally right to put a cat or a dog to sleep when he or she is suffering and he or she stops enjoying being a cat or a dog. Euthanasia for humans is not acceptable even when it would seem to be a mercy.

As far as the higher purpose of human suffering, I’ll be the first to say I don’t get it.

Not that I would put a human life into the same (noble but still lower) category as the life of Miz Izz, but my mother-in-law had been suffering and confined to a wheelchair for most of the time that Miz Izz walked the earth. My mother-in-law died last Saturday after being confined to a wheelchair for 15 years, suffering with rheumatoid arthritis, congestive heart failure and a laundry list of other maladies. Her last two weeks were particularly brutal.

I don’t believe in euthanasia for humans- not ever- but sometimes I’ve got to ask God why. Isabel pretty much enjoyed her cat life up until the last week of it. Granted happiness for cats is fairly easy- somewhere to sleep, food to eat and somewhere to drop a load. Human life is a lot more complicated, but still, why did Jerry’s Mom have to suffer for so freaking long?

Hospice is a great help for those who are actively dying, but it can only mitigate the process.

Worse than her dying was the funeral. I understand Southern Baptist soteriology (understanding of the mechanism of salvation) pretty well. “Turn or Burn” is pretty standard fare at SB funerals, but to the uninitiated, it is about as anti-PC as one can get. You don’t get a funeral message too often that includes, “Do you know where you’ll be if you get hit by a truck on the way out of here?”

Jerry’s sisters were a bit taken aback. I had tried to give Steve-o a heads up on SB soteriology before the funeral so he wouldn’t freak out. His religious understanding has pretty much been shaped by growing up in a Lutheran church, so the really fundamental interpretations of SB soteriology would sound a bit bat-shit crazy to him. Mom has confused him enough by trying to throw in the Catholic earn – your -points system.

I grew up around Regular Baptists (even more of the “Turn or Burn” mentality than the SBs) so I know all too well there could possibly be an altar call. There wasn’t. He did do the Sinners’ Prayer though. I have to hand it to the preacher for preaching the gospel instead of offering pallid platitudes on how much life sucks and then you die, ya – da ya-da. At least Steve-o had a heads up.

Lutherans don’t do altar calls. Our pastors do occasionally mention hell, but not usually at funerals.

It just seems strange to me. Life and death and all of that.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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