fair

Politically Incorrect Theatre, a Lovely Hiatus, and Welcome to the Gallery of Fashion Don’ts

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I know what I want for Christmas! A revolver always makes a lovely gift-to-self, no?

I already have a revolver (and it was a gift to myself) though it’s a Taurus, not a Colt.  I believe in the 2nd Amendment, and packing (i.e. legal concealed-carry) has become a reluctant necessity for some of us.  There are some places and situations that are just plain unsafe for a woman to go alone and unarmed today.  I don’t want to be a victim.  Better to be armed and never have to use it than to need protection and fail to have it.

I don’t believe that packing is the right option for everyone.  I hesitated for a very long time before finally deciding to get gun safety training (and even then it was on my Dad’s insistence) and to get my permit.  Much to my surprise, I discovered that I actually enjoy shooting, and I can hit a target with a .357 a lot better than I thought I could.  The shotgun (I also have a Mossberg 20 gauge) is a bit more of a challenge.  Most people have an easier time with a shotgun vs. a pistol, but go figure, the pistol is more effective for me.  That being said, I do think that no one should even consider owning a firearm until they’ve had general gun safety training.  Even with safety training, it is essential to become intimately acquainted with how your particular firearm works.

No, I did not go on a cruise, gay or otherwise, but I had a nice few days’ away.

The meaning of words can change drastically in the course of a generation or two.  It also used to be possible to entertain kids with a simple puppet show.  Today even the very youngest kids need to be occupied with electronic stimuli.  My granddaughter is five months old and is currently learning to push buttons so they will make noises.  Then again, she also chews on her toes in between bites of cereal and fruit when she eats, so she’s pretty easily entertained- now.  I am curious to see what it will take to entertain her in a year or so.  All I can suggest to Steve-o is that he might want that portable DVD player for the car.   If such a thing had existed when he was in car seats it might have saved me a lot of irritation, if having to listen to Thomas the Tank Engine, Pokémon, and Power Rangers ad nauseam would have been better than his incessant screaming.  That just might be a toss up, though Thomas was a lot less offensive than the damned dinosaur. (I couldn’t handle Barney. Thankfully, Steve-o didn’t care for him either.)

I might just get him that portable DVD the more I think about it.  I’m sure he will love all those various princess, My Little Pony, and Hello Kitty movies- that I’ll make sure she gets.

If you’re watching this swill for the plot, you have Problems.  Just plead that it’s only on so the kid will shut the eff up. Boys, no one will get it that you’re having fantasies about the horses’ hineys.

I had a really fun time with my granddaughter Friday and Saturday.  It’s scary, but she’s already crawling and sitting up and she’s not even six months old yet.  It won’t be long before she is getting into everything and wreaking general havoc.  Yes, grandchildren are the ultimate payback.  Now, Steve-o, you might just start understanding why Mom was so flipping paranoid about so many things.

Of course medical fun is on my agenda a lot more often than I’d like it to be.  Yesterday I got to get another blood draw (had already had one Thursday in anticipation of my Dr.s’ appointment yesterday) because the lab forgot to do the A1C test which is probably the main reason for getting my blood tested every three months to begin with.  I think the Dr. and the nurse were more upset about it than I was.  I don’t freak over blood draws, but I know some people do.  The nurse kept on apologizing for having to take my blood again, but it’s really no big deal.  Hopefully I get a three month reprieve on blood draws (until I have to do it before my next appointment in November) but whoop-de-doo.  It really doesn’t bother me anymore. As long as my clothes stay on, medical procedures truly don’t phase me.

This is really all it covers.  For the waist down, you get a paper sheet.  Joy and rapture.  Yeah.

The only Dr. appointment I find unnerving anymore is the paper-nightie one, regardless of who does it. The first time I had it done, (I was 16 and I really wanted to get on the pill, you know… so I went to the county health clinic rather than my family Dr. which turned out to be a Bad Idea,) the guy was a medical student, and he was more than a little rough with things, and that memory has given me the willies about this procedure ever since.   My current gynecologist is excellent- I can do nothing but applaud his repair work that is allowing me to live free of pelvic pain, and even three years later I am so thankful I had the hysterectomy/major repairs.  Although I know I have to get all that checked once a year to make sure the repairs are holding up and to verify that nothing else in that vicinity is screwing up, these days I don’t like taking off my clothes for any purposes other than showering.  I have always found pelvic exams and mammograms to be rather unpleasant, but I’d probably be twisted if I enjoyed it. (Necessary, yes- and guys, you are not off the hook- get that prostate check you’ve been putting off!)

Sunday we took our obligatory trip to the State Fair.  I like to go to the fair, if only to marvel at all the bizarre specimens of humanity.  You don’t have to pay for the freak show at the fair.  The freak show is free- just look around and you’ll get treated to:

Bad Tats-

Isn’t that special?

Completely inadequate coverage:

This looks good- how?

WTF?  On many levels.

Horrible hair designs:

Oh. Dear. Lord.

And completely stupid tat designs such as: (though I’d already included a bad tat, I saw plenty of really bad tats at the fair!)

Even when I have it, I don’t really want to advertise it.

I admit I forgot my camera this year, which really sucks, but I don’t think I’d had the courage to take a pic of the 500 lb she-behemoth snarfing a footlong corn dog in one bite even had the camera been handy.  That image has seared itself into my retinas.  Woof.

Monumental Moments in Advertising, More Crap I Don’t Need, and Let’s Go to the Fair!

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Or, if you’re poor and don’t have a dime for the pay toilet, just slide your skank ass under the door.

I haven’t seen a pay toilet since the Hills store got closed down in either 1981 or 1982.  Perhaps someone finally realized that the skinny girls simply slipped under the door and used the john for free, and the fat ones just dropped their deuces on the drain in the middle of the floor.  That was something very nasty to walk in on- someone’s steaming pile sitting on the drain, reeking and drawing flies.  Acck.   Back then I was one of the few who neither being waif-thin, nor coordinated enough to make it under the door, would generally either scrounge a dime somewhere or wait until I got home.  I am proud to say that I never stooped to dropping a deuce on the floor drain.

‘Tis sad if my list of greatest accomplishments has to include refraining from crapping on the floor.

There are certain odious advertising jingles that tend to stick on one’s head.  The Shower-to-Shower jingle has to be the all time most annoying of all time.  I do have to appreciate the fact that in this particular commercial they gave the Woman Who Forgot To Sprinkle her very own private dinghy so she wouldn’t stink up the yacht for everyone else.  That’s compassion for you.  It’s better than what the poor People Who Remembered to Sprinkle had to endure in the elevator with the Non-Sprinkler du jour.  (I should not be old enough to remember these commercials…)

Today for some reason someone mentioned Colt 45 Malt Liquor, which I’ve always thought to be glorified cheap beer, but then I’m not a drinker, and I’m certainly not a beer drinker, (I think all beer tastes like earwax smells) so how would I know if it’s tasty or if it’s pisswater, or whether or not white people do actually drink it?  So I had this lovely little tune running through my head for half  the morning.

The list of absolutely horrible 70’s and 80’s commercials is virtually endless.  The good point about them is even when they were horrible, they were at least original.  Today there is such a dearth of creativity in advertising- they just dig up an old Heart song and try to make it apply to the damned Swiffer thing that isn’t worth two shits to pick up dog hair- or anything else for that matter.   

I blame the popularity of free love and way too much LSD for this one, even though there’s (thankfully!) no jingle in it:  1970’s Chuck Wagon commercial.   They sure did make that dog’s hallucination look real and they sure did make that dog food look tastier than most of Taco Bell’s menu.  Despite the originality and creativity of this ad, I don’t think that particular brand of pressure-cooked lips and assholes and other meat by-products we humans would rather not know exist is still being marketed.  I am sure that Chuck Wagon, like every other cheap dog food of that era, was the end result of the final disposition of diseased livestock. I still wonder if it was the Chuck Wagon or Mom’s dreadful cooking that led to Suzie the Dachshund’s untimely death. Suzie loved the Chuck Wagon- but she also loved socks and underwear crotches, and Mom’s mashed potatoes with the big uncooked lumps and big black burnt flakes,  so Suzie wasn’t exactly a picky eater.  Most dogs aren’t terribly picky.

I have always liked Dr. Pepper and Diet Dr. Pepper, but this 70’s Dr. Pepper Commercial is almost enough to make one shoot oneself in the head to end the insanity.  It seems sort of Communist too- I can imagine the Soviet version: You must all be Peppers! 

Sometimes when I’m bored I find it entertaining to look at all the crap I don’t need.  Lighted slippers?   If you’re that freaking blind turn on the light. 

Jerry has decided I need to go with him and his sister to the fair next week.  I enjoy going to the fair, but I hope that the current stygian heat tones down a notch- hopefully somewhere below 90 degrees- otherwise they might end up having to call the squad on me.  I don’t tolerate heat worth a damn, and I’m pretty much confined to the Great Indoors when the temperature is much above 85.  So I really hope it cools down a bit.

I bet the chickens would be happier if it cools off some too.

Better yet, just leave me in the refrigerated room with the butter cow.

I think that most young kids in the Central Ohio area- the Columbus metro area especially- only get to see farm animals at the fair.  I don’t know if that’s entirely a good thing.  Even though I grew up in the middle of nowhere, I did live in town and therefore never really had hands-on experience dealing with livestock- except for the heifers in Taco Bell and Wal Mart, but that’s not quite the same thing. 

The only animals that (miraculously) didn’t scare the bejeezus out of me as a child were dogs.  Big dogs, small dogs, even dogs that other people branded as “mean,”  never gave me any trouble.  I got in trouble with Dad one time for climbing the fence and cuddling up to a neighbor’s Rottweiler, but the “mean” dog didn’t bother me at all.   He was quite friendly toward me, and the other kids were too afraid to mess with me when I was in the dog pen with the Rottie.

No problem at all with the dogs.  If only other humans were as easy to interact with…