Reagan

Deplorably Yours, Levity, and Solemnity

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donald-trump-businessjunkee

I admit that at the beginning of the Presidential campaign season I wondered about Donald Trump and his motives for wanting to run.  Here’s a guy who doesn’t need to do anything other than count his money and golf, or whatever it is rich old guys enjoy.  So why on earth would a guy like this blow a boatload of scratch on a Presidential campaign?

So was the Trump bid for President a power trip?  A bucket list thing?  I was looking for motive, and I generally don’t see the best in people until it’s blatantly obvious.  I am cynical by nature. I figured it was one of those celebrity prank type things for the longest time.

As time went on and I listened to Mr. Trump, he made sense.  What he was saying and his proposed vision for America struck a chord with me.  After eight years of Obama and his complete ineptitude, it was refreshing to hear a Reaganesque voice amid the defeatist, globalist noise.

Needless to say I am thrilled at the prospect of a fundamental change of direction in American government- a rejection of globalism, a return of national identity, and dare I think it, a return to American hegemony on the world stage.

I don’t really see any need for being a graceless winner.  I think it’s blatantly obvious that the anti-American agenda has been rejected.  No reason to rub it in.

 

Damn the Torpedoes, Full Steam Ahead, and Let the Pundits Be Wrong

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reagan-greatI have said before that I’ve not been as excited about a presidential candidate – meaning Donald Trump- since Reagan in 1980.  For you math wizards out there, I was 11 years old in 1980, and more than aware of how President Carter’s flawed policies (especially his mishandling of the coal strikes and the mollycoddling of unions that led to millions of jobs going overseas) contributed to the destruction of my home town.  I watched my friends and schoolmates move away as I was growing up.  I watched as our town turned into a poverty stricken ghost town.  My family at times was reduced to “pay the mortgage and utilities” or “get groceries.” More than once we survived on canned tuna, off brand mac & cheese, and Cream of Wheat.  .

Yes, in spite of what the pundits try to say- that people in my demographic, i.e. middle aged, white professional women, can’t possibly support a “racist” or “woman-hater” like Donald Trump, I beg to strongly disagree.

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Trump is giving people like me, yes even women, a voice.  He’s saying all the things the establishment drones are too afraid (or too beholden to their donors) to say.  He is saying what many of us have been thinking and hoping for, and that we’ve been denied all these years.  We voted for establishment Republicans hoping to get away from the failed and dangerous policies of the dreadful socialist/globalist/terrorist supporting Democrats- and the people we voted for to fight those failed policies just go right along with them instead of listening to the people who voted for them.

Newsflash: the media won’t tell you this, but fly over country is PISSED.

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I am tired of seeing my country being invaded by foreigners who refuse to contribute to the greater society because they subscribe to a medieval death cult (i.e. Islam,) that teaches that people like me should be dead, or at the very least objectified and forced into servitude.  Yet, between Obama and his buddy Kasich (who is supposedly a Republican) they moved in 41,000 Somalian invaders (91% of them are on welfare) into north Columbus (not far from where I live.)  The long and the short of that is I am paying to support people who want me dead, and I can’t do anything about it.  Nobody asked me- or anyone else in central Ohio- if they wanted these moochers planted here.  Do we really want little Mogadishu in the middle of Ohio? I know I sure as hell don’t. They destroyed their own country, and sure as night follows day they will mooch and pillage and destroy ours as well.

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This isn’t Detroit…yet.

I don’t know if Trump will be able to “fix” what’s wrong in this country but he is at least naming and addressing the problems, which Obama and Hillary, all their sycophants, and even the establishment RINOs refuse to do.

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I don’t have a problem with American hegemony.  I really don’t.  Perhaps it was the way I was raised- that the world doesn’t owe one a living, that excellence is its own reward, and that it is inherently wrong to mooch from others.

Trump is right in that it is time for Americans to put America first.  It is past time to stop the Islamic terrorists and drug cartels who are taking advantage of our open borders and asinine immigration policies.  It is past time to establish fair trade practices, and to end the welfare dependency class. It’s not a matter of xenophobia or racism but of sheer survival.  Unless we take drastic steps to end the destruction Obama and his failed policies have brought upon us, America will go the way of Europe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Less Than Optimal,” Liar, Liar, and Uncommon Sense

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obama syria war

Straight from the mouth of our “less than optimal” illegitimate president.

Jim Carrey starred in a movie a number of years ago called Liar, Liar in which his character’s (who was a habitual liar) son’s birthday wish was that he couldn’t lie for 24 hours.  I think it would be hilarious if something to that effect happened to Obama- if he had to tell the truth out loud, without a teleprompter, to the American people, for 24 hours.  If he couldn’t evade questioning, and if he was compelled to blurt out the truth, I can only imagine the tales that would be told.  (After all, truth is generally stranger than fiction.) I can only dream of the wave of vindication that would be enjoyed by thinking people (to borrow from Rush Limbaugh,) all across the fruited plain.

Oh, the sweet sound of the truth setting this country free from the entanglement, ineptitude, and tyranny of the corrupt and debauched Obama regime.

Of course, the Liar, Liar movie is fiction, and Obama is too morally bankrupt and caught up in his own delusions to ever admit to the truth, but envisioning Obama as the Liar, Liar instead of Jim Carrey might be even funnier, and a hell of a lot more gratifying to those of us who have seen through his deception from the beginning.

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Knowing how many states are in the United States is a good start.

Anyway, I can really get fired up and distracted on any discussion of politics, and anyone who knows me on any level has probably already figured out how much I loathe Obama.  It would be different if he hadn’t cheated to get where he is.  It would be different if he didn’t make such a concerted effort to do exactly the wrong thing- all the time, every time.   I do find it a bit pathetic that the only time Obama has ever shown any inkling of being the least bit hawkish it is in an effort to help his al-Quida and Muslim Brotherhood friends.  Never mind all the Christians that got killed in that Egyptian mess.  Never mind all the Americans who were killed in Benghazi.   Obama’s all about his home boys, and it shows.

Middle Easterners of various factions and stripes have been killing each other for thousands of years.  Since the only thing that’s consistent in the Middle East is (with the exception of maybe Israel) they hate Americans, why not just let them kill each other, because that’s what they want to do anyway, and cut ourselves out as the middleman?

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My apologies to Sir Winston Churchill, but yes, Obama’s that bad.  He’s bad enough that he eclipses the dismal failures of the previous Worst President Ever in a grandiose, epic failure tsunami that I never would have believed possible, except for I’m observing it now as I speak.

Jimmy Carter subscribed (and still does) to most of the same bad ideology that Obama espouses, but with an important difference: motive.  I don’t think Jimmy Carter has the same destructive, anti-American, malicious motives as Obama.  Carter’s not in it (intentionally, anyway) to destroy the economy, to race-bait, to manufacture poverty, or to create division.  I think he just has the old-time thickheaded liberal ideology that followed FDR- that whole delusion of “government for the common good” mess.

However, one does not bring about prosperity by spreading the misery out more widely, which is the idiocy of the “old school” liberal argument.  Prosperity is brought about by spreading around the prosperity (i.e. free market economics) as Reagan rightfully observed in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

Obama doesn’t want to bring anyone prosperity, except for him and his cronies.  He is all about the oligarchy- a handful of elites with all the wealth and power, stealing from those who produce the wealth to give to themselves and to others unwilling to work to bring about that wealth.

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It’s not too late to send him back.

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

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plungerWhy 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!”

overflowThis 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.

raisedbywolves1Jerry’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.

GunsCartoonHow 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.

gun-control1Criminalize 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.

public hangingI 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.

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

small blue balls small pink treeEspecially when I decide to put up Christmas decorations.

Jerry’s Plate (Not a Guide for Healthy Eating) and Snarkiness Made Simple

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I didn’t add cigarettes, since technically one does not consume them.  But maybe I should have.

I think sixteen beers ought to do it- on a weeknight, anyway.

Granted, the FDA food recommendations have come a long way from the “four food groups” that we grew up with.  That “Food Pyramid” thing was just about impossible to fathom.  Now they’re telling people to visualize their plate.  Perhaps just telling people to save half of what’s on their plate for tomorrow would be much more effective.

For a minute I mistook Janet Napolitano for Henry Kissinger, until I remembered Henry’s a Republican, and he wears glasses.

I have to say I happened upon the Sad Hill site and I am finding it most entertaining, though in a sort of sad way.  I know lampooning the government is as old as the Republic itself (and remember, kids, as my 8th grade history teacher drilled into our heads: “Our country is NOT a democracy, it is a representative republic.”)  I admit my distinct right wing bias, and I also admit that I lampoon the loony left whenever I get a chance.

At least the hand dryer at Target isn’t blowing hot air AND lying.

Wherever Miss (never “Ms.”) Barker is, (I hope she is still in the realm of the living, though I know she has long since retired from teaching) I would love to thank her for her contribution to my love of history and for encouraging people to engage in critical thinking.  She is the one who told us the Soviet Union would fall before 1990…in 1981.  She also let us know the Soviets were not the real Nemesis of the World, as they could not sustain themselves economically and they would implode from within.  The distinction of being the real world villains would belong to the Middle East and radical Islam- back when all we saw of radical Islam was a few nut jobs in Iran.  The sad thing is- unless something starts going right for a change- I would be afraid to hear her predictions for ten years from today.

It’s too bad that students of history like Miss Barker aren’t the ones deciding foreign policy.   Unfortunately we have a president who instead of standing up to terror and injustice abroad, he hides behind Hillary Clinton’s pantsuit and refuses to take the blame for a criminal lapse in security even in our own embassy!  Unlike Reagan, who stood up to the failure of communism, pleading, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!,” Obama hangs out with Letterman, Beyoncé and Jay-Z, smiling for the cameras and schmoozing with the “stars” instead of making time to speak with the prime minister of Israel.  I understand Netanyahu is probably not nearly as “fun” as the Hollywood nut crowd, and he’s not as likely to contribute to B.O.’s campaign as is the Muslim Brotherhood or Hamas, but Israel is our only real friend in the Middle East.  Obama seems to like screwing that up.

I hope it’s not too late.

On a more pleasant, non political note (for those who might like it when I write funny stuff, but wonder why I am so into conservative politics) I came across some artwork that reminded me of my childhood:

I’m glad I generally got along with my Dad.

Of course I found this assignment intriguing, so I had to answer these for myself:

As I said, Dad and I usually got along.  I deserved the air hammer- but luckily, he missed.

The only thing I can recall that Dad did that really was unfair/out of line with me was to force me to be in my oldest sister’s wedding.  First of all she doesn’t like me in the first place, and the feeling is quite mutual.  This was the sadistic harpie who beat the living hell out of me almost daily for years.  That didn’t completely stop until I sent her to the hospital to get stitches in her mouth because she took my car without permission.  Why she wanted me in her wedding was entirely beyond me.  I was also going through a divorce at the time and had next to no money.  I know she was the Bridezilla from hell and I think Dad got tired of her whining about me trying to graciously decline being in her wedding.  I don’t know why she cared, other to deliver one sadistic last laugh at me. She has scads of more attractive and far wealthier friends who would have been glad to take my place.  At least I have the hollow glee of being the fugliest thing in her pictures.

It’s pretty heartless to expect someone to be in your wedding who a.) doesn’t like you to begin with, b.) is going through a divorce, and c.) can’t afford to waste money on a road trip she doesn’t have time to take and on a fugly dress she’ll only wear once.  I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again- the cruelest thing a woman can do to her unfortunate friends, or even more unfortunate relatives, is to ask her to be a bridesmaid in her wedding.  Trust me.   I wish Dad would have defended me on that one, but otherwise I can’t complain.  I got pretty lucky in that particular lottery.

Absolute Authority, Colonel of the Urinal, and Which Circle of Hell is This?

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I can’t say I envied her death by guillotine, but she had an awesome wardrobe for a time, whatever that’s worth.

(Just imagine all the lice in that wig…)

Today I am reminded of Lord Acton’s Dictum: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  This being said, I don’t want to be in charge of anything more lofty than getting Jerry’s AV equipment working for him.  It’s a TV and cable box, (God forbid he wants to figure out how to play a DVD at 6:30 AM) but for him, the TV remote might as well be Mission Control at NASA.

We have achieved ignition!  The TV is on!  Now Jerry can watch the news, and I can get on with getting my own shit done.

I know I shouldn’t pander to Jerry’s ever-present Helplessman mode.  I know he wants attention, otherwise he wouldn’t have unplugged all that crap a couple of weeks ago, forcing me to contort my body into positions it was never meant to assume in order to plug all of it back in and get it working again.  I couldn’t do Kama Sutra positions when I was younger and actually had sex every now and again.  Why the hell should I suffer like that knowing that sex is just a distant memory, and all I’ll get out of it now is dirty and pissed off?

Now that he knows I really hate the contortionist bullshit I have to go through to plug everything in again, it follows that when he whines about not being able to operate the TV, I will just turn the box on and leave the box on, and set the power button so the power button only works the TV.  If you turn off the box, then you have to turn the power button on, then turn the box on, then hit the power button again and then hit the TV button, which is just too many steps for Jerry.  If he would just leave the damned thing alone except for turning the TV on and off with the power button, it would work just fine, but he has to jack around with things he doesn’t understand.   Guess who gets to fix that mess?

Yes, he was raised by wolves, and his childhood sucked, and he didn’t get enough attention from Mommy, and all that psychological clap trap, but by the time you’re 55 one would think you would have learned to let it go and just deal.  Maybe I just took my own dysfunctional childhood the other direction and became insanely self-sufficient out of necessity and also out of recognition that if I want something done, it’s on me to get it done.

Depending on the charity or beneficence of others is sort of like wishing in one hand and taking a big juicy crap in the other.  We all know which one is going to fill up first.  Either I do it myself, or pay someone else if it’s something I can’t do myself. I don’t expect anyone to do my laundry, or hook up my TV, or fix my meals.

It’s well to remember that before the mid-20th century, most Americans were rednecks raised by wolves, bathing twice a year whether they needed it or not, and using the facility in the woods along with the bears.

I wish we had another working toilet.  There is a toilet in the basement, but it doesn’t work.  It’s some kind of weird electric (?) flush up type thing, but it’s permanently out of order unless Jerry can find someone to fix it or replace it or something.  Plumbing is a skilled trade- that I know absolutely nothing about.

All I know is that it cost $250 for the plumber to re-do the kitchen sink drain after Jerry tried to put a catfish head down the kitchen sink disposal.  The bad part about sharing a bathroom (and even though Jerry’s as filthy as a  horde of hogs, I would rather share a bathroom with a dude than a woman any day) is that it seems he has to take his place on the throne at the same time I need to brush my teeth and put on enough makeup to avoid traumatizing small children and dogs.

“Shit with a Hint of Mint” is not a flavor I think the product developers at Colgate had in mind, but more often than not, that’s the experience in my world.

This one would be flying off the shelves… not!

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so sensitive.  I should be more thankful that I don’t have much of a sense of smell.   If it stinks to me, it positively has to reek to the rest of the world.

I’m also thankful for the MP3 player, as the abysmal selections of country music being played by others in my vicinity seem to get worse every day.  I don’t care about saving horses and riding cowboys, nor do I give a hang about some hillbilly’s alcohol problem. I have realized that being exposed to country music- constantly and against my will, especially- only makes me loathe it more.  That’s OK.  I’m listening to the live version of Journey’s “Line of Fire,” which is drowning out the oat opera quite nicely.  I don’t want to be rude, but I would like to tell both the oat opera offenders where they can shove their damned radios and how high.  Those things have headphone jacks…please for the love of God use them!

I miss Reagan even more after the current Obfuscater in Chief sent out yet another misguided apology yesterday.

Back to our friend Lord Acton and his Dictum.  One person or one misguided group of people holding all the power is a very dangerous thing.  Humans are evil by nature, and without checks and balances- just imagine a five year old left alone in a car with a very expensive interior with nothing but his imagination and a Sharpie.  I’ve seen it.  It’s not pretty.  Neither is what has happened to the current government of this country.

I think if anything the system that we have to fear in this country isn’t so much Marxism or socialism or communism, but government by oligarchy.  The good ol’ boy system is nothing new, which is why the Framers of the Constitution tried to design safeguards into our system of government to help prevent one person- or even one ideological group- from getting too much power.  Obama on his own- he’s not that bright.  But the self-appointed “elites” who run things behind the scenes know exactly what they’re doing to this country and by proxy to the entire world.

Some pigs are more equal than others, as Orwell pointed out.  Al Gore might preach to the world to “mind their carbon footprint” and “wipe with reusable cloths,” or to “bury your car,” but this jackwagon is riding about in private jets and SUVs and sucking down more fossil fuels in a weekend than some entire countries do in a year.  You can bet there’s no Charmin shortage at Chez Gore either. 

Let them eat Big Macs!

Happy Birthday Great-Grandma, Fighting Over Used Shoes, and Other Pointless Endeavors

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Great-Grandma couldn’t stand Ted Kennedy, or any of the Kennedy family for that matter.

Happy birthday to my great-grandma, who would have been 114 today, if she hadn’t died in 1992 at the age of 94.  I miss Grandma.  She was cool.  I would give almost anything for just one more afternoon of coffee and conversation with her, but you get what you get.  I’m just glad that she lived close and I was able to spend as much time with her as I did. Besides having a taste for insanely strong coffee and for discussing conservative politics, she had a collection of tabloids that would boggle the mind.  She always claimed to read them for the entertainment value.  I read them for the entertainment value too, especially the Weekly World News.

The John Deere hat is a nice touch.

Grandma also had a framed, signed picture of President Reagan which I am sure one of the twins (my grandmother’s evil identical twin sisters) ended up with.  I can’t believe the twins (who were in their early 70s at the time) had an out and out knock-’em-down, yank each other’s  hair out, fist fight over her stuff. Besides some clothes and a few nice pairs of size 8 shoes, the Reagan picture was probably the only thing she owned that had any monetary value.  If I know my twin great-aunts (and one of them is still alive-though the one who had the stroke died about five years ago) they were fighting over the shoes.  They wore size 8s too.

I have a strong shoe fetish myself- but even should they be size 7s, I’m not fighting anyone for used shoes.

My twin great-aunts’ altercation over a few pairs of used shoes and a whole lot of worthless kitsch convinced me once and for all: I don’t need dead people’s stuff.  My sisters can have it all.  I am just curious when I die (they are slightly older than me, but they are much better preserved, and will most certainly outlive me) if they will brawl over my used underwear (the bras won’t fit either one of them- unless they add a little extra stuffins,) and not a few pairs of size 7 shoes that only one of them can wear.   The oldest, who was my sadistic childhood nemesis, does well to fit her behemoth meaty feet into an 8EEE.  The other sister also wears a 7B, and therefore, my shoes fit her.

I’ll cut out the middleman and just put my old skivvies on E-Bay now.

Or, better yet, I could E-Bay Jerry’s nasty old whitey-tighties, after he’s worn them for a night of gambling, drinking and the Hershey Squirts:

Of course, there’s a dude who’s already thought of using what appears to be a soiled set of whitey-tighties as a safe.  I can sort of understand the mentality, though I would struggle with the temptation to pick out the cash and then toss the skivvies.

The replacement fridge is up and running quite nicely as of this morning.  The ice is frozen and Jerry’s Natties are cold.  Spuds is in the G&R, and all is right with the world.

The G&R still has the most awesome fried bologna sandwiches.  And cream pies.  And an original late ’80’s Spuds McKenzie.

Examples of What Not to Do, Inner City Wildlife, and The Bright Side of Life

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I am never going to be one of those people who runs around spouting sunshine out of my nether aperture.  It just isn’t going to happen unless someone waves a magic wand and I’m suddenly permanently hairless in all the right places, that I’m about 5’9″ with perfect proportions, that I’m independently wealthy and can do what I want, Reagan is alive and well and back in the White House, and that I’m suddenly free from all of my various and sundry health afflictions. 

I am a perfectionist, but I’m also a realist. I know that nothing in the above list is ever going to happen to me in this lifetime.  I’m cool with that, but not because I like it.  I’m cool with that because I’m thankful that the sources of my discontent are so trivial.  Of course I am troubled by many other broader issues, but most of them are things for which I’ve done what I could and/or have very little power to change. 

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There are things that will not change for the better – current popular music, the rate at which my eyebrows go from finely sculptured to Sasquatch-like uni-brow,  the frequency and duration of Jerry’s whining episodes, etc.- no matter how much I wish they would.  The challenge in life is navigating around the Murphy’s Law outcomes and working within the parameters you get.  I may not have gotten the best box of chocolates, but I didn’t get the worst one either.  More importantly, as the esteemed philosopher Mick Jagger once noted, “You can’t always get what you want/ you can try sometimes/ you just might find/ you get what you need.”  Sometimes I really have to wonder about that, especially when what I get arrives packaged appearing as anything but a gift- but those who have everything handed to them without any blood, sweat or tears often have very little appreciation for what they have.

I guess I was supposed to get the box of chocolates with a lot of icky tasting maple and pecan ones in it- the one with the cellophane partially missing and the corners all bashed in, that’s marked down on clearance once the holiday’s over.  Even though someone else got the primo one with all the good dark chocolate and mint creams in it, I still got more than what I deserved.  Some people just get an empty box, or show up after all the clearance boxes have been sold.

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It’s only human to take a look around and observe (and feel a little jealous toward) the beautiful people. Knowing that the beautiful people aren’t always so lovely- in and out of each other’s beds and/or in and out of rehab and such- is a sort of cold comfort. 

A good friend of mine (who I need to call and have a nice long chat with- yes dammit-) once said that money can’t buy happiness but it does buy the misery you like the best.  I have to wonder how much damage I would end up doing if I had the resources to do exactly what I wanted all the time.  I know I would end up telling a good number of people to f-off and die – and I probably should do that with a few people in my life- but I’d go overboard.  I’d end up alienating everyone who ever had the audacity to piss me off, and that’s just about every human I’ve ever come in contact with.

If I weren’t forced to leave my ivory tower and interact with the unpredictable world I’d never be treated to such spectacles as the Canada goose who likes to hang out in front of the door at work. Right here in the middle of Little Mogadishu!  (Just like Blackhawk Down but with fewer helicopters.)  

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Of course if the coyotes can survive thrive here (the beautiful Central Ohio area is known for its urban coyotes) so can the geese.  From what I see in the article the coyotes are actually eating some of the goose eggs, which most people should consider to be a good thing.  Canada geese are pretty, but they do crap a LOT, and when there are too many of them they can get aggressive too. 

Obstacles and adversity and unavoidable unpleasantries force us to deal with the things we’d rather not.  I don’t enjoy waiting and I don’t enjoy crowds, but I’ve met interesting people and had enlightening conversations I would never have had if I had done everything online or on demand.  I could see myself- if I had virtually limitless wealth and therefore power- becoming like Howard Hughes- isolated and trapped in a hell of my own design.  I think everyone has to be forced into doing certain things they find distasteful in order to really enjoy the important things.  I appreciate being able to watch Ren and Stimpy episodes every once in awhile, but I think I’d get bored with them if that’s all I did 24/7.

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By the grace of God I’ve managed to steer clear of the criminal justice system for the most part.  I say by the grace of God because I know how evil I have the potential to be.  I believe that anyone can become a killer in the heat of passion, or fall for the wrong scheme, or be in the wrong place at the right time. 

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Full body tats are never a good idea- especially when you’re on your way to jail.

I don’t think Cadillac was looking for that kind of endorsement (his neck tat is a Cadillac crest) from a guy who ended up shooting and killing his ex-girlfriend.  I can’t say how he ended up this way but it sort of breaks my heart that someone born in 1988 (I was in college in 1988…) could have already screwed up his life so bad.  I know there’s hope but prison isn’t a nice place, and he’s likely going to be there for awhile.

I am thankful for a number of things, just a sampling are listed here:

I’m thankful…

That I’m not in prison.  That would definitely suck.  Especially because I’m straight and can’t fight.

For my beautiful dogs and cats.  Even though Fanny is really pissed about wearing her collar, bell and tag, she’ll get over it.  I’ll get a pic of that as soon as she will let me get close enough with the camera again.

For remotely understanding friends and family who have no idea what it’s like to live the way I’m wired- but who put up with my eccentricity anyway.

For going on almost three years of freedom from my 18 year long nightmare with pelvic pain. One thing I will stress about that- I don’t want to see any woman suffer through what I did for all those years.  There is help available if you persist and speak up.  (Here’s where I am another example of What Not to Do.)

For indoor plumbing.  For those who have experienced the unique olfactory joy (not to mention the company of the various insect and arachnid life that take up residence in the outdoor shitter) of an outhouse or outdoor latrine, you get where I’m coming from.   Two weeks of traipsing back and forth from the tent to the latrine in the middle of the night with naught but a flashlight and a roll of TP at Girl Scout Camp were more than enough to convince me that I prefer performing my excretory functions inside, on a flush toilet, with the light on.  Camping means (at the very least) “where’s the RV” to me- and in a perfect world, at least a two star hotel.

For not having to own, be seen in, or pay for the gasoline for this:

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Stuck in a Retro Funk, Losing My Mind, and Bad Responses to Stress

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Suffice to say my life is insane.

Back in the day I would be using some coping strategies that unfortunately are forbidden to me in my cougardom.   My health and the vast array of meds that I have to take simply to remain breathing and above ground have pretty much made it impossible for me to: work until I fall over, and then drink until I forget everything.  My advanced age, sense of morality, aversion to guilt, general introversion, and fear of divers social diseases and/or emotional entanglements prevents me from seeking out the attentions of “friends with benefits,” so casual sex with near strangers is pretty much out as a stress reliever too.   What worked when I was 25 (and even what I wish would have worked when I was 25, i.e. casual sex, hell- even formal sex would be an improvement over none) will not work now, unless I want to wake up dead.  I’ve watched far too many episodes of Dr G and /or 1000 Ways to Die.  Although I know death is inevitable, and might even be preferable to some situations I’ve lived through, I don’t want to earn a Darwin Award in the process of dying.

I mean, who really wants a epitaph that says:

Here lies a feisty old tart/Who messed around with all the old farts/She partied and drank, the nasty old skank/Till the excitement exploded her heart

My idea of excitement is when I put my old Journey videos in the DVD player so I can drool over 30 year old visuals of Steve Perry.   That’s about all I can take.

Then again, the more I think about it,  it might not be too bad to come and go at the same time, except it may be a bit morbid for the other party involved.  I mean, what would the surviving partner do?  Call the squad or cut out the middle man and call the morgue directly? 

Reagan would have had enough sense to avoid such a situation, so that appears to be a good response.  I could also ask the Magic 8 Ball, whose response to the question, “Should I find myself a fine young boy toy?,” is “Outlook Not So Good.”

No shit.  If you’re going to go fishing, you have to have the appropriate bait.  I am genuinely afraid of what my sorry carcass would reel in.

Usually I don’t resort to gratituous self pity as a defense mechanism, but I’ve been sort of down lately.  Being busier than hell usually helps because it keeps my mind occupied and out of mischief for the most part, but the reality remains the same.

There are a few things, as usual, weighing on my mind that are dragging me down.

1. My illustrious offspring has spawned.  The spawning was NOT planned.  This is scary on many levels, especially knowing that he likely carries a boatload of dormant bad genes- just from my side of the family.   I shudder to speculate on the scary things that could be lying dormant from the sperm donor’s family. The poor child has the potential for some very scary looks, including red hair, extremely blond hair, curly hair, extreme shortness, and troll-like proportions to name a few.  The fact that he is neither married to the baby mama or gainfully employed is even more frightening.  The baby is due in late February/early March- the suckiest time of year to have a birthday.   No one will remember it, and even if they do, everyone’s still broke from Christmas, so the poor child will get shitty birthday presents if he/she gets any at all.  I know.  My birthday is 2-26.  One year all I got was a box of Whoppers and a quarter to spend in the vending machine at the Revco.  Most years everyone just forgets.

2. This means I’m officially a grandmother- not like with Jerry’s grandkids who everyone knows are way too old to actually be my grandkids.  I don’t care if they call me Grandma or Hey You Funky Lady- I don’t have a problem treating them like grandkids.  They’re remarkably normal kids, and the good part is that at the end of the day they go home, but most people can figure out that it’s highly unlikely that a 42 year old would actually have a thirteen year old grandson.  His daughter is 30.   I was lucky to have gotten busy the few times in my life that I’ve had the opportunity.  I sure as hell wasn’t getting any action when I was 12 or younger.  With Steve-o everyone can work out the logistics.  Your mother has had sex four times in the past 25 years – Guess which occasion resulted in spawning you?  This means if DNA proves the child to be his…I certainly can’t deny it.

 

 

Jerry of course has his own (highly annoying) responses to stress, i.e., seeing downing a 12 pack of Natties as a physical challenge and then getting hyper (normal people pass out, but no such luck) and trying to “clean.”  The problem with Jerry’s cleaning rampages is that they are uncannily like Mom’s manic cleaning rages of yesteryear.  I do not find this late night cleaning compulsion to be nostalgic in any sort of positive way.  I loathed being awakened to scrub the toilet in the middle of the night as a child, and I have no desire as a cougar-aged woman to unclog the dog hair from the vacuum cleaner at 9PM.  Just because Jerry thinks that housecleaning at bedtime is an appropriate and satisfying activity when I’ve been awake and busy since 4AM does not mean that my mind and/or body are going to agree with that.  He is fortunate I didn’t rip his face off, but I’ve either mellowed out in my cougardom or I was just too tired to put up much of a fight.  Option two is most likely.  Arguing with a drunk is just about as effective as nailing Jello to a tree anyway.

Note to self: remember to vacuum when he’s either sober or not home so he doesn’t attempt to use it and clog it up with those damned cigarette pack cellophanes he leaves all over creation.

My class reunion dinner is fast approaching, and I’ve already paid for it, so I am curious to see who shows up.  I sense a bit of nostalgia- and a desire to see a few old acquaintances- but an even more overwhelming sense of “stop and gawk,” which is the phenomenon here in beautiful Central Ohio that occurs when there’s a car wreck on the freeway. Oncoming traffic slows up simply because everyone wants to stop and gawk.   You don’t really want to look, but you really want to look.   I hope that for $30 it will be a nice dinner, anyway.  It will be an excuse to get out for a bit anyway.

 

 

Spare me from the ’80’s hair!

’80’s Nostalgia, Humor in Suffering, and Things I Never Thought I’d See in a Museum

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I thought it was weird when I saw the 1981 Reagan Limousine on display four years ago.  It was on display when I took Steve-o and his woman du jour to the Henry Ford Museum, lined up along with the Kennedy Assassination Limo and a string of other Presidential limos dating back to Roosevelt.  I need to make it a point to take a trip up there again soon, even though I absolutely hate the crappy roads in Detroit, and the Dearborn area is rather frightening even in the daytime.

Granted, this is a historical car- and technically it does belong in a museum- but the fact that the props (ok, artifacts) from events I remember as if they were yesterday are in museums is a bit disquieting.  As far as I’m concerned (yes, I know he died in 2004) Reagan should still be President, riding around in that limo.  I bet Reagan is spinning in his grave at the antics of his successors (Bill Clinton was bad enough- and a tomcat- but even though as far as anyone knows, he keeps his pants on, Obama is far worse) and that’s sad.   We could really use someone like Reagan today.  To quote a bumper sticker that I would put on the HK Yaris if I had enough room:

In the 80’s we had Bob Hope, Johnny Cash and President Reagan. Today we have No Hope, No Cash and President Obama.

I also like this one:

Put the Constitution on His Teleprompter!

I’m sure Obama could use some fresh new reading. 

The statement comparing the 80’s to today almost makes me depressed.  It makes me want to vote for Donald Trump, even though he’s no Reagan.  I like him better than the same old tired milquetoasts that have been dominating the Republican mainstream the past few years. Mitt Romney and Mike Huckabee are just plain too lame.  Like him, or hate him, The Donald has balls.  We need a President with balls. Obama has none.  I believe if he’s not directly in cahoots with terrorist nations and organizations, he’s not doing anything to stop them or even mitigate their actions.  He’s complicit with Black genocide in supporting abortion “rights” that are NOT the state’s to give and are clearly morally wrong.  Reagan was the last one who had the courage to call evil what it is and to do what was right even when it wasn’t popular.  I don’t know if Trump is in that league, but I think he is more aware of the right course for this country, at least in regard to economics and foreign policy, than Obama ever could be.  

The sad thing is back in the 90’s I didn’t think it could get any worse than Bill Clinton.  I was absolutely shocked at the dress-stain incident even though Clinton’s foreign policy (or the lack thereof) was even more devastating to the country than the shame he brought to the Oval Office.   Even so, if someone were to compare Clinton vs. Obama, I hate to say it, but I would take Bill Clinton in a heartbeat (which is disturbing clear down to my conservative Republican soul.)  If there is worse than Obama, and given human nature there is (even though we have not seen it in an American President, and I hope we never do) but- humanity gave us Stalin, Mao and Hitler after all.  I hope people aren’t dumb enough to vote for him/her.

One thing I also noted on our trip to the Henry Ford Museum was an exhibit on 80’s ephemera in which there was a Marlboro Lights 100’s pack, (now I don’t see that as historically worthy, but I smoked my share back then, so maybe so) and a collection of old vinyl records to die for by- Boston, Foreigner, The Police, Iron Maiden, Journey, and many other good ones.  The album art was so much better back then.  Someone actually had to draw them instead of just getting into some computer program and playing with it to make some funky design.   I still say the Journey Departure cover is one of the best:

We thought Defender was a “futuristic” video game.  Then again, we actually took quarters and went to the arcade to play video games and pinball. 

I still think it would be a much better world if Reagan were in the White House, and Neal Schon still had his fro.

Makes me wish it were 1981 again…only not as a geeky 12 year old who got beat up every day.  If it were 1981 and I knew what I do now it would be interesting.  I could have a lot of fun with that.

Speaking of Journey, I decided to go ahead and get my ticket for the show on August 5, even though it is at Crew Stadium (outside.)  I don’t generally like to go to outside shows because of the lack of A/C, but it starts at 7PM, so at least it’s not in the heat of the day.  Journey only makes it to Columbus every couple of years or so, and they aren’t getting any younger.  Neal Schon is pushing 60, Jonathan and Ross are over 60, and Arnel and Deen are both over 40, and given the lifespans of rock musicians, that’s not a comforting thought.  I should take any opportunity to see them that I can get. Foreigner and Night Ranger (also very good bands live) are opening for them, so this is a show worth having to contend with stygian heat and/or the prospect of torrential rain. The nice thing about this show is that it will be an older crowd.  Usually the over 40 set is not into throwing things, fighting or stealing stuff- and it’s reserved seats- so barring weather extremes, it should be a pleasant evening. 

Jerry has been on yet another trip on the self-pity express.  I don’t feel sorry for him.  He brings his own misery upon himself.  I do try to find the humor in it, otherwise I’d have to throttle him. 

Last night he decided to go to the hell hole again.  He staggered in around 10PM which was nice.  I had a quiet evening until he came home.  The best thing for me to do is to pretend I’m asleep.  He knows better than to try to wake me up- even when he’s shitfaced, usually- because I am rather nasty when I’m disturbed late at night.  If he sees that I’m awake he will torment me, and I’ll never get to bed, but if I stay under the radar he will usually prattle on to the walls (or Isabel if she is in view) about various unintelligible nonsense for an hour or so until he passes out.  I got lucky last night.  He was sprawled across the bed, pants down, snoring and near comatose before 11. 

Jerry has had many shitfaced conversations with poor Isabel.  According to him, she’s the only one who understands him when he’s shitfaced.  I never knew that cats could understand the ramblings of the insanely drunk. 

I should put a collar on Isabel with a speaker in it.  When Jerry’s shitfaced and talks to her, I could have her reply through her collar speaker.  It would be a hoot.

Jerry: “Whaats aff? Gotta pith…”  (falling over something)

Isabel: “Go to bed, shit head!”

Jerry: “Where’s foooooooooood?”

Isabel: “Shut up, or it’s gonna be up your ass.” 

That could be funny.  Isabel can out run him, and she always has the option of disappearing down the cat hole (there’s a cat-sized hole in the basement door for cat access so they can use the litter box, but the dogs can’t get to the litter box and use it as a snack bar) when she’s had enough of his “conversation.”