26 Random Things About Me

1.  My birthday is November 26.

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2. I believe in numerology and despite my fear of and ineptitude with math, I believe numbers are codes for everything.  For instance, name-wise, my entire family consists of only 5’s, 6’s, 7’s and 8’s.

3. I also believe in astrology, and I don’t understand why people believe the moon works the tides, while at the same time believing the position of the planets has no effect on them.  I was eight when I picked up my first astrology book.  You could say I never put it down.

4. I am a cat person.  I’ve lived with at least one cat for most of my life.  I secretly love my dog more than any animal I’ve ever lived with.  And by secretly, I mean, don’t tell the cats.

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5. I have known and been friends with my husband since we were teenagers.  It took more than ten years to move to kissing.

6. I claim four children, although two were only mine to raise daily for eight years or so.

7. We refer to our children as Lazy, Weepy, Demanding and Monkey.  We have pet names we call them to their faces; Bubba, Boy One, Sissy, Muffin, Sassy, Button, Moo Moo…but we know who they really are.  *nods*

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8.  I have loud Italian hands.  In the event of a topic that promotes speaking with fervor, please back up or seek shelter.

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9.  I have a fairly serious soda addiction.  I try not to buy it, I try not to drink it, I try not to hang out with people who drink it, but alas, I can scarcely go a day without.

10.  I am a slut in recovery, married to a ruthless tease.  Every day is a challenge.

11.  I haven’t read more than a chapter of Harry Potter books.

12.  I am a good cook.

13.  I will never be able to finish this post, because I can’t stop switching windows to play Scrabble with my friend, Tracey.

14.  I am a child of divorce.   Yes, I am starved for approval.  However did you know?

15.  My father’s gay.  Yes, I was an extremely well-dressed child, thank you very much.

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16.  I am allergic to long list of things, but for our purposes here, the only one you need to worry about is drama.

17.  I have an epi pen in the event of a yellow jacket incident, but I am terrified to use it.  If one day I am found dead with my panties down and a needle in my hand, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make any assumptions.

18.  I’ve been living in the deep south for the last two thousand four hundred and thirty-one days.

19.  I have been hot, sweaty, tan and often sunburnt for most of those days.  I hate the heat.  My body is northern.

20.  I have no religion.  Well, technically, I’m a Unitarian.  If you are any other religion or have no religion at all, I don’t care, because Unitarians embrace all people and all faiths or even lack thereof.  I know people don’t think it’s a real religion, because it doesn’t have a doctrine by which its parishioners can berate others, and the Unitarians aren’t even compelled to attend services, but it’s all I got.  Unless you wanna talk about my heathen tendencies?  Non?

21.   I am proficient in French.  I also understand quite a bit of Italian and Spanish, although I can’t write or speak them for crap.  I end up saying things like, “I need a house with a bigger pig.”   So, for now, I’ll just stick to eavesdropping.

22.  I prefer almost everything I consume to be as close to room temperature as possible.  I don’t like ice in my drinks, I thaw my ice cream, and I let everything else sit for five to ten minutes before I’ll touch it.

23.  I suck at sports and I don’t have a competitive bone in my body.  You do not want me on your team.

24.  I don’t watch scary movies.  Now and again, I try, but I end up convinced for weeks that the aliens are coming to get me at 3:11 am, or that my mother will secretly put Pine-Sol in my noodle soup, or that my water heater is afflicted by a poltergeist.  I dunno, I’m a sissy-pants like that.

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25.  My favorite color is yellow, because technically, white isn’t a color.

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26.  I’m what my husband calls a “closet feminist” in that I have moments of bra-burning behavior, but I very much enjoy our traditional *achem* sexist marriage.birds3

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I Rant from Time to Time

http://www.humanevents.com/2012/05/07/missing-400-purse-holding-800-cash-plus-food-stamp-cards/

My friend Brown Eyes LuLu posted the article, which led to an argument, which inspired this post.

My response to the article came out as a furious rant on my Facebook status.  It went a lil somethin like this:

In case you’ve never been poor, and you think people who receive EBT, food stamps, state health care, and subsidized housing are the problem with this country, then you need to unfriend me and go about your merry way, because until you’ve lived in poverty, like a family of six on $12k a year — then you’re unfit to judge anyone on this matter.
Every time you post some shit about poor people with their iphones and their Coach bags and their tattoos, I think YOU’RE the problem.
When you lose your job, when you get divorced, when your house gets torn apart by mother nature, you don’t suddenly become a lesser person.  You can’t live on your savings forever, and your tattoos don’t magically disappear from your body.  You can’t sell a vehicle if you’re upside-down on the loan, you can’t sell a house if you’re upside-down in equity.
Where is your passion for justice when it comes to all the parents who don’t pay their child support? Did you know that child support is counted as income, and can prevent you from receiving aid EVEN IF IT’S UNPAID?!?
I have been a woman in a nice house, with a nice car, and nice things, WHILE RECEIVING FOOD STAMPS AND STATE PROVIDED HEALTHCARE. It was not good. It was not a lifestyle choice. Pride, which people so admire, kept my husband from claiming the unemployment he was entitled to. I’m sure you’re applauding him for that, but it was my humility in seeking welfare that kept my family ALIVE for those months.
So if you have a problem with people on aid, then you have a problem with us.  If you judge people like them, you judge people like me. Stop judging all the people who need it for months or years as though they’re all the people who abuse it. You sound like an ass.

I realize that’s quite a bit to digest in terms of information, profanity and opinion, but sometimes it’s just better to be short and snappy.

scumcollector

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The Irony of the Sad Giraffe

I have anxiety disorder. According to my therapist, it was an inevitable diagnosis, as I unknowingly spent my entire life as the poster child for it. I have a big imagination; I think too much, I worry too much, blah, blah, blah. 

I’m not disagreeing with her, but in an eager attempt to not blame myself for my feelings, I’ve begun to wonder if I really should blame the media. Totally serious. Can you open a magazine or turn on the television without the constant bombardment of fear-driven ads and news?

I promise, I used to only be vivacious, high-strung, uptight, peculiar, neurotic, and creative.  But because I do not live in a shack deep in the forest, I, like all of you, have been bombarded with media. And alright, maybe I’ve always been a bit of a basket-case, prone to melancholy…

Read about MRSA, soldiers without breakfast, overcoming ovarian cancer, famine, survivors of rape, deadly domestic violence, missing children, plagues, home invasion, war, pedophiles, tainted water, terrorism, corruption in the government, GMO’s, drought, nuclear threat.

Save the whales, save the bees, save the seals, save the rhinos, save the big cats. Give all your money to the ASPCA while we play this sad song and show you cute animals that need to be rescued.

Your health is at risk. You must consume only whole grains. No! Wheat is the devil! No wheat! Only plants, nuts and fish. But no, not fish! Go vegan! Don’t eat anything with a face, because animal products will kill you.

Take vitamins, and additional supplements. Never eat processed food, and avoid sweets like the plague. Soda will give you the diabetus. And for fuck’s sake, do not think that high fructose corn syrup won’t chase you down like a dietary bounty hunter.

Use margarine so you don’t get fat! No, not margarine, because it’s made of plastic poisoned oil!  Use butter because it’s real food! But cows have faces? But no cows are killed to provide the milk that makes the butter?  But do they eat grass? Do they live happy lives? Aren’t they chockablock fulla hormones and antibiotics?
Don’t eat eggs, because they’re unborn chickens, and chickens have faces! No, no, it’s okay to eat egg whites, because eggs are filled with Omega-3’s, but don’t eat the egg yolks!
Eat all the unusual fruits from the rainforest! No! Not from the rainforest, unless you live in the rainforest.  Everything you eat should be grown locally!
All day and night, with the fish oil and the Glucerna and the fiber and the preservatives and the fillers and the happy cows!

Smoking will kill you.

Exercise every day or you’ll get cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease — even IF you eat like the nutrition nazis!  Try weights and spinning and Zumba and Bickram yoga, and run a marathon!
(In fine print, you will read that long walks are just as good, but we can’t sell you any products for that, so you know, if you HAVE to walk, go ahead.)

The sun will kill you. But wait! We are all vitamin-D deficient?

Wear this ribbon and buy these things to show you’re fighting for the cure. Cancer centers, Autism Speaks, bad cholesterol, good cholesterol, your A1C’s, disposable catheters, get this diabetes kit, too heavy periods, St. Jude’s hospital.

Flash to ads for medications and then the lawsuits for medications. Liver disease, please. Ads for rheumatoid arthritis clearly state you should not take this medication if you have an auto-immune disorder. What do they mean? An auto-immune disorder like rheumatoid arthritis?

The Flu will kill you.

When they’re not worryin you about your innards, they start in on your appearance.  Are your eyelashes long and thick enough? Do you have enough hair on your head? Is the hair shiny enough? Can you tie it in a knot? Do the highlights look natural enough? Do you have hair you don’t want? Is your scalp healthy?
Do you have too many wrinkles? Do you get too much sun?  Do you use enough sunscreen? Is it the right sunscreen?  Buy this self-tanner!
Do you have bags under your eyes? Do you look tired? Do you have dark circles? Do you have uneven skin tone?
Are your nails healthy? How about your nail beds? Toenails have fungus?
Skin soft enough?  Skin shiny enough?  Skin luminescent like fireflies? Are you seeing age spots or freckles? Are you washing your face right? Are you sure it’s really clean?
Pubic hair groomed well enough? Here’s a dye and bedazzle beading kit for your bikini area! Genitals smell good enough? No itching? Toilet paper thick enough? Not too soft? No lint on your bottom?
Do you have white enough teeth? Are they straight enough? Do you floss daily?

Then, once you’re too scared to eat, and loaded up on big pharma, they ask you if you’ve  done enough to save the earth? Reduce your carbon footprint. Recycle, compost, and install solar panels. Don’t you feel guilty about water bottles, disposable diapers, and cars that run on fossil fuels? Are you doing enough to help the polar bears? Plastic is the devil!

Plastic will kill you.  
I know it’s everywhere, but try not to think about it.

Save the planet by using fewer paper products and plastic products, but buy our no-touch soap dispenser and our disposable towels, so that you can stop washing towels like you live in the dark ages!

Detergent will kill you.

Then they go into safety. Are there germs all over your house? Do you accidentally wipe your counters with raw chicken? Is your house full of carbon monoxide and lead paint? What about radon? Are you sure your house has never been a meth lab? Have you checked for black mold?

Is your car safe enough? Does it have sixteen airbags? Are your kids always wearin helmets, pads and seat belts?
Oh my Gawd, are you still smoking inside? Do you have smoke alarms, fire extinguishers an exit plan, and window ladders? Do you have an alarm system? Do you have a panic button? Shouldn’t you install video cameras throughout the house?

Is your phone giving a location? Is your wi-fi network secure?

Do you have enough money? Are you saving enough for retirement? Is your bank charging you too much? Is your investment portfolio diversified enough?

And your children. God knows you fail them every day by offering baby carrots and ranch dressing. May as well shove em out into the sunlight and hand them some water in a BPA plastic bottle, laced with detergent and lead. Join the PTA!  Coach a sport!  Carpool! Mommies, don’t you know you’re supposed to dance around the kitchen while you whip up faux egg white omelets and wheatgrass shots? Don’t you know you’re supposed to laugh when they spill red kool-aid on the white shirt we said was essential this season? Are you still smoking? Don’t you love your children?  Don’t you want to live longer for them?

And then onto your pets, just in case you managed to keep your children alive to adulthood. Are you letting fleas bite them? What about mosquitoes and ticks? Are they eating too much grain?  I know your dog eats cat poo coated in sawdust and drinks from the toilet, but shouldn’t you buy him organic food you refrigerate, and consequently must be bought more often? I think those milk bones were made in China. Do you let him stick his head out the window of the car? Why don’t you use a harness? Do you want him to die in a car accident? Don’t you love your pet?

After all this come the ads for what might be wrong with you. 
They ask you, “Are you depressed? Do you have anxiety?”

Fuck all, I dunno, AM I? DO I?  a1

 

 

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What a Doozy

I just played DOOZER for sixty-two points.  On Scrabble.  I play Scrabble because I’m old and geeky, as opposed to the young, cool people who play Words with Friends.  I’m sure whole new words for young and cool have been developed, but I am too old and geeky to be kept abreast of such matters.  Sometimes my kids tell me what’s cool or not, and they always promise me that they don’t want me to be cool…

Anyway, back to my DOOZER.
If you’re about my age, chances are that you remember a television program by the name of Fraggle Rock.
Honestly, I don’t remember what exactly Fraggle Rock was about, because that was in nineteen eighty*inaudible*, but I totally remember that I loved that show.   Something about a cave, and a shaggy dog, and a kitchen, and giants?  The best part of the show featured the tiny green creatures who constructed clear structures via radishes….*shrugs*  I dunno, I was like, nine, and it was fantastic!

fr     <— Fraggles, visiting the Doozers

fr2     <—– Doozers, aww!

The mustached Doozer there on the left was such a crotchety fella.  He was serious and dependable.  What a hero.

I Googled the actual definition of doozer, and it turns out that it’s synonymous to doozy and doozie.
And here I hoped Scrabble had begun including Muppets.

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Shady Superstore is Shady

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I know I’m supposed to hate the enormous/monopolizing/mega/discounted/superstore chains.
And I do.

I know I’m supposed to support small businesses, instead.

But I cannot.
Because like most of the mommies in the superstore, I am a broke-ass bitch who does not want to spend her days trekking about town on a scavenger hunt for more expensive tea tree oil shampoo, dog biscuits, printer paper, baby girl gifts, fresh fruit and gallons of TruMoo.  No.  And if I can have my oil changed while I’m shopping, all the better, thanks.

I do avoid the superstore.  I go five or six times a year.  Unfortunately, this prompts me to buy all the things I have trouble finding elsewhere; large butter beans, spinach and mushroom pizzas, cheap sweat pants, chocolate and peanut butter ice cream…

Of course, while I’m actually in the superstore, I see countless other items I feel compelled to buy; enormous jug of apple juice, pens, Valentine’s for the girls’ classmates, half a dozen cherry Greek yogurts, giant radishes…
The Mister, he sees other things we probably should pick up; additional baby girl gifts, yoga blocks, steaks, turnips…

By the time we’re in the check-out lane, I’m aware that this has been a costly trip.  *sigh*

By the time we get to the oil change area, I’ve calculated that we’ve spent approximately two dollars a minute while inside the superstore.

Shady.

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I Can Be One of the Faces in The Yellow Wallpaper

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I talked to my HME today.  It was a brief chat, as she was only ten minutes from work.  She told me she lives in her car, when in fact she lives in a lovely ranch home, but I got her point.  Working mothers; vroom, vroom, vroom.

HME asked me to call her in reference to my inability to make decisions.  She thought she could play the Monica to my Rachel.  Of course, by the time she spoke to me, I’d already come to a decision, but I thoroughly delighted in the fact that she thinks I made the right decision.

After searching the state’s website and a subsequent phone call to double-check, the decision was made for me.  Nice Lady on the phone confirmed I am not qualified to have my teaching license renewed, as I have only two-and-a-half calendar years, and I am required to have taught for four.  I did have the option of going through an entirely different program to obtain a brand-new teaching license, but I burnt that idea to the ground before Nice Lady and I even hung up.

HME poured fuel on that fire, by telling me how she discourages everyone from teaching, at least in the Midwest.  *insert details of political uprisings, salaries connected to test scores, and incompetent parents here*

She thinks publicly writing a blog is a fabulous idea.   She went on about what a gift of communication I have *gush gush* and how I shouldn’t waste it on stupid people.

See, in a university English department, I wouldn’t even stand out.   Among my own people, I am not the hippy-dippy-trippy, non-conformist, geeky weirdo.  In a university English department, Joeys are like the wallpaper.  Hoards of women in long skirts and clunky shoes, heads all topped with cropped-close dos or some version of a bun, wearin dirty glasses and tryin to shove red pins and Kleenex into the non-existent pockets of their pilled sweater sets.  Sexy-sounding harem, isn’t it?

Go ahead and Google images for fashionable English teacher.  Go on, I’ll wait.
That’s right.  Not a one of them are fashionable unless you count the ones who are drawn that way.

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