Strange Dreams, and Some Thoughts on Current Events

strange dreams

Maybe I’m going to have to give those subliminal mind-improvement MP3s a rest.  The next time I have a dream in which the showcased event is an old high school nemesis dancing on the dinner table at a swanky event sans trou and waving Mr. Willy in the wind, I might just have to think about staying awake at night.   The night before last was even weirder.  I find myself telling my mother that my sister can change her own diaper (as far as I know, she’s a tad bit scatterbrained, but not in adult diapers yet) and not to call it a “diaper,” but to call it “pants.”

adult_diaper

Note to self: 160-180# refers to the size of the wearer, not the amount of human effluvia it will hold.

Oh, yay.  Sigmund Freud would have an ever loving field day with me.  Then again, every mental health specialist I’ve ever seen has probably made some interesting notes.  Just don’t let my Prozac script run out and things should be OK.

suffer

I’m not entirely surprised by today’s turn of current events.  I can’t say I support the concept of gay marriage, my primary reason (morality aside) being I don’t buy the argument that one’s “orientation” is something outside of one’s control, any more than any other aspect of one’s behavior is out of one’s control.  I also don’t buy into behavior or “orientation” being a civil rights issue.  The members of NAMBLA will tell you that their “orientation” is toward little boys, and that they can’t help their behavior because they didn’t “choose” their orientation, so does that make pedophilia OK?

rainingmen

Using the “‘orientation’ absolves me from being accountable for my behavior” argument, I could rationalize that my “orientation” is to attempt to do the nasty with every fine young stud I see between the ages of 25 and 50. I can’t help it. That’s how I’m oriented. I didn’t choose it.   So to take that rationalization to its logical conclusion, my desire to be every hot young-to-moderately middle-aged dude’s naughty cougar fantasy should be celebrated, encouraged and subsidized.  I should be able to marry as many men as I like, so that when their willies don’t work anymore it doesn’t matter because I can just choose another stud from the stable.  Why can’t I engage in polyandry?   That’s how I’m oriented. I didn’t choose it.

See how dippy that sounds when straight people try to use the same argument to legitimize their own personal selfish choices?

If I choose to engage in promiscuous behavior, I could almost rationalize that because I’m married to a guy with ED- or if I choose to do the honorable, not so easy thing and live in involuntary celibacy because it’s the right thing to do, that choice is on me.  If I decided I wanted to get involved in intimate relationships with multiple men to make my life more tolerable and fun, the rest of society shouldn’t have to celebrate it, encourage it, or subsidize it, or even make it sound legitimate and healthy.

The whole idea behind marriage isn’t so much for personal happiness and all that fairy tale crap as it is a long term commitment between a man and a woman (ostensibly but not always for the purpose of begetting and raising children)- even when that commitment involves illness, non-functional equipment or dealing with a spouse who was raised by wolves.  It’s more like joining the army versus “forever after in happy land.”  You’re in it even when it sucks.

rainbow2

Even so, before one might consider me a gay-basher or a homophobe, I really don’t care what other people do in the dark- as long as I don’t have to pay for it, or watch it, and it doesn’t involve me.  Then again I’m not gay, so I admit it’s hard to see it from their point of view.  I generally don’t get along with women very well to begin with, with few exceptions (most of my friends are guys) and frankly there’s nothing any woman’s got that I want.   I’m straight, though I’ve been pretty much living without any kind of action for a number of years, so I guess in practical application, I would be a “none of the above.”  I guess love is where you find it, and at this point in my life that’s a dead horse regardless of my “orientation”- unless it involves battery powered devices.

Different strokes for different folks, and I’m cool with that.  I don’t care if a person has the hots for a Ford Escort as long as I don’t have to watch, and I don’t have to call it normal.   I don’t have a problem with what other people do or who they think they are for the most part, but I do have a big problem with trying to make behavior choices a civil rights issue.

Dubious Distinctions, Freud Would Have a Field Day, and It’s Cougar Pool Time Again

I have not set up the Cougar Pool again, but I have everything ready to go- chlorine, shock, a brand new floatie, and a new filter kit.  I do not swim – at least I don’t dare dunk my head- in unchlorinated water.  I learned the lesson long, long ago when I got a wicked as hell ear infection from swimming at one of the reservoirs.   I should be thankful the water in the reservoirs is chlorinated before it ends up coming through my faucet if it’s that filthy.  I might go to a public beach at the reservoir, and I may consider wading, but I sure as hell am not dunking my head.  Never again.  I like the Cougar Pool water to be crystal clear and Ph perfect.  That way if I do want to dunk my head- or if I fall off the floatie- it’s all cool.  I shouldn’t catch any diseases at least.

So as soon as I clean off the back patio and make sure Jerry hasn’t left anything sharp lying around, it will be ready to go. I should know that Central Ohio in May is generally still Monsoon Season, and that the temperature still hasn’t quite stabilized at Stygian Heat yet.  We don’t put in vegetable plants until those two weeks or so between May 15 and Memorial Day for that reason.  It can snow in May.  Jerry will be a busy little camper with planting next week, but this week it’s supposed to rain and temperatures will only be in the 70’s at best.

Highs at 80° and above (somewhat consistently) are required to use the Cougar Pool.  There’s no heater, so if temperatures dip into the 50s at night, that will be one frigid pool the next day even with the greenhouse effect of the sun and the pool cover.

Isabel is 5# of all black feline sweetness- when she’s not being evil, that is.

I have to wonder about some of my dreams lately.  I think that I’m going to have to close the bedroom door so I don’t wake up to Isabel chewing on my hair again.  I don’t know why she does that, but it’s highly annoying.  Generally Clara and/or Lilo, and all the cats are quite welcome on the bed.  Sheena doesn’t attempt to get on the beds because her bad hips do not allow her to jump high enough, which is fine with me, because she lacks the precise motor skills the other dogs have.

Maybe Sheena’s a total klutz because she has no hip sockets, and the ball portions of her femurs just sort of free-float.

Even if it’s not painful- and it probably is- such a condition can’t allow for terribly fluid movement, but Sheena is what Sheena is.  Sheena usually simply flops at the side of the bed and splays out on the floor, occasionally grunting and snoring, but she’s a sound sleeper.  Clara and Lilo both are attentive to every little noise, and sleep very lightly, but when Sheena’s out, she’s out.  The cats usually simply curl up and purr and sleep and don’t give me any trouble.  Usually when the cats get annoying at night, it’s because their food bowl is empty, but I had filled the cats’ food bowl and the water bowl before I went to bed.  So who knows what Isabel’s problem was last night, but I really don’t need to have dreams of assorted men-I-think-are-hot chewing on my hair.

I really don’t think (at least I hope not) that Neal Schon would really want to chew on my hair (ewwwww) and spy on me in the shower.  I really don’t think any man alive would really want to do either of those things, (and one that would want to do either of those things would scare the hell out of me,) but dreams are weird.  When the old man puts a bottle nipple on a Heineken so he can drink beer whilst horizontal, well, that’s scary too.  Fortunately that too was a dream.  Jerry would never dream of drinking anything more highbrow than Bud Light, he doesn’t like beer in the bottle anyway, and if he could remain horizontal whilst drinking beer, he’d never leave the bed.

I was thinking about it this morning and realized I have the most bizarre luck.  It’s not necessarily bad, it’s not necessarily good- but my life seems to be an ode to Murphy’s Law.

1.  If I am “lucky” enough to get the last of a highly sought item, it will either be broken, missing pieces, or entirely not the thing pictured on the box.  I really couldn’t use *and should have checked, shame on me* the “last” pair of  size 7 sandals, on the clearance rack that I really wanted, only to get home and discover that there was one 7 and one 9 in the box.   I may be ill-proportioned, and the instep on my right foot is slightly higher than the left, but both feet are generally happy in a size 7.  9 is way the fark too big even for my higher-instepped right foot.   Bastards.  But, I should have checked.

2. If I remember to bring the DS when I have something boring to do that potentially involves sitting and waiting, I get right in.  If I forget the DS, I will encounter every imaginable delay and will get to spend an eternity either immersed in the abyss of daytime TV or buried in vapid, aged, so-called women’s magazines.   I don’t really get into too many periodicals.  At least the Vet has some good ones- Dog Fancy, Cat Fancy, and various scientific and veterinary journals and such.  But I really can’t take Glamour, People, Good Housekeeping or any of those “parenting” magazines.   That crud makes me want to vomit.   The good gossip rags ended when they stopped printing the Weekly World News.   That was Great-Grandma’s favorite gossip paper, even though she subscribed to them all for the entertainment value, and for the hope that they would lampoon Ted Kennedy yet again.  She really despised Ted Kennedy. WWN is still available online, but you have to have Internet access, and most Dr.s offices and such do not have free wi-fi.  It is nice to know, however, that someone is keeping track of who has the World’s Biggest Butt.  That piece of knowledge could be important.

3. I probably have more medical anomalies than 99% of the population.  While this makes me really popular when I’m in a medical setting, it can make my healthcare become a real circus.  I have had medical students, nursing students, ophthalmology students, phlebotomy students, you name it, get to observe my bizarre body as a instructional exercise.  Usually I don’t mind, because hey, maybe something about my bizarreness might benefit the cause of science, but sometimes it’s a bit off-putting.  The medical student who freaked out at being shown my CT scan before I had sinus surgery was priceless.  He stood there next to my family Dr., wide eyed, simply saying, “OH MY GOD, how does this poor woman stay standing???”  Not very well, I assure you.  It was even more fun when I went to the cardiologist for an echocardiogram several years ago, and of course, it was his day for the medical students.  They glared  at my beating heart on the monitor (which was kind of cool to watch,) as the Dr. (who seemed as excited as a kid in a candy store,) informed them, “This is classic rheumatic heart disease.  You usually don’t get to see this outside of the third world,”  as he pointed out my two damaged heart valves.  Special.  He also said that I probably won’t need them replaced until I’m 75 or so.  If I live that long, that is.  This doctor obviously didn’t know that for all intents and purposes I did grow up in the third world.   Just like Deliverance, only without the benefit of mountains or banjos.

Now, class, don’t put ’em in the bed like this. They might snap their necks, and that would make us look bad.