Opinions, Assholes, and Whatever Floats Your Boat

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

Warm and Fuzzy as a Tire Iron, Stay Straight- It Might Come Back In Style, and Other Politically Incorrect Opinions

Even though I am female (and a straight one at that) I am not a huggy-kissy overly sentimental type.  The public at large need not fear me randomly hugging, touching or groping anyone.  I generally avoid physical demonstrations of affection whenever possible.  I am one of those people who is very sensitive to touch even from people I do know, and I don’t want strange people touching me at all.  Maybe I’m just strange but it really creeps me out when people try to touch me in the course of conversation.  Please don’t come up behind me and put your hand on my shoulder or even worse, try to grab at my hands.  I worked with a guy who was really cool and very nice, but he was a toucher.  One day he came up behind me (but I didn’t realize who he was) and put his hand on my shoulder.  My instinctive reaction was to elbow the poor guy in the gut before I’d even realized it- a reflexive motion, but still rather mortifying.  He meant no malice and I felt really terrible about elbowing him, but I really am squeamish about unauthorized touching.   I had the hell beaten out of me way too many times as a child.

My parents weren’t into physical fighting (thankfully) but they are masters of verbal sparring and passive-aggressive revenge.  I think the older they get the more they enjoy finding creative ways to piss each other off.  Some people are into that.  I think it must be what keeps their relationship fresh after almost fifty years.  Dad knows he can get a rise out of Mom by failing to flush the downstairs toilet or by leaving his dirty socks on the floor.  Mom knows she can piss Dad off by leaving all of her various crap (and she’s virtually a hoarder so it’s everywhere) all over every flat surface in the house.  Ad nauseam.  Tit for tat, pick for pick.  Acck!

At least they aren’t into really odious pastimes, like swinging (that’s a really creepy thought considering their age) or square dancing, or having an ankle biter dog that wears clothes and perfume and goes to the groomer’s once a week, but even so their constant picking and petty fussing is unnerving.  I find it unnecessary and annoying.  As a child- since I tended to take everything literally- it took me awhile to realize that Mom, even in her manic rages, was not likely to literally rip Dad’s head off no matter how many times she threatened to.

For that she would have needed the chainsaw, and Dad’s the only one I know of who could start that damned thing.

That’s me- pragmatic and practical.  It’s what keeps me relatively sane.

Speaking of which, when I get the time I will share my latest and greatest concept in detail.  There are people out there like my parents who spend all kinds of time and money on home improvement.  I have absolutely no hardware expertise, money to burn, or knowledge of interior design or feng shui or any of that high faluting stuff.  But I  do know a thing or two about renovating This Old Cougar.

More to come, very soon!