Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

From Weiner to Whiner

Oy.

Seriously, that is about all one can say as the latest Anthony Weiner sexting indiscretions come to light.

Oy, and a shake of the head.

When his penchant for naked selfies and flirtations via text first came to light in 2011, the fallout was exactly what one would expect from a purient, uptight country such as ours.  Calls for his head from all corners (especially the Right, since NOTHING like this EVER happens on that side of the aisle ... *Foley* cough *Sanford* cough cough *Vitter*), condemnation, ridicule, sympathy for his wife.

And he did what all panicky ratshits do when cornered - he lied.  Lied some more.  Lied about his lies, until lying was all he had left to offer and he had to face the truth as his own texts and pictures came out to haunt him.

Less than a month later (after seeking "treatment"), he resigns from Congress.

His wife, Huma Abedin - then newly pregnant - stands by his side and they "work through" their problems.

Pause:  This is just my take, but there would be no standing by his side, except in a divorce court.  Knowing he carried on this way with at least 6 women?  Um, no.  The only things we would be working through would be the dissolution of assets.  What he did is cheating.  It matters not that it stayed in cyberspace, it is still cheating.  If you so desperately need the attention of other women, so much so that you have to send pictures of your junk to them?  Well, that's fine.  But get the hell out of my life first.  (And a note to guys everywhere - that really is what your dick looks like - JUNK.  Not even Annie Leibovitz can make it look like more than what it is - an odd compilation of fleshy bits and pieces that we have to be in the mood to consider truly desirable.)

Is THIS the reaction you want?  Cause this is the one you get.

But, back to Oscar Meyer...

The scandal quieted down as scandals do, replaced with other world events, other tales of indiscretion.  Purient though we may be, we have a very short attention span.

Fast forward to May of this year.  The Weiner pops up.  He has decided that New Yorkers need him as their new mayor and throws his hat into the cockring.  Fine.  Whatever.  Let him run.  It will be up to New Yorkers as to what they will forgive, how they will weigh his dalliances against his political abilities to lead.

Things seemed to be going well.

Until ... insert Jaws music and picture of a dick rising up through the water...

Yes, that's right.  Getting caught, seeking treatment, being forgiven by his wife, and now running for office was not enough to scare this asshat into behaving properly.  He apparently learned nothing from 2011, except how to set up new email accounts and change his online moniker to Carlos Danger.

Talk amongst yourselves while I laugh my ass off.  Carlos Danger.  Seriously?   HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Sydney Leathers (a name almost as good as his), a 23 year old from Indiana came forward to excitedly tell the world that she was "manipulated" by Weiner as they began and enjoyed an online love affair of sorts.

Sorry, Syd, but you, your rush to the cameras, and your pouty overglossed bottom lip scream attention seeking famewhore.  You knew who he was the entire time.  You are not a child, but a grown woman.  You are not a victim.

"Obviously I felt like he's saying one thing to me, another thing to his wife, saying another thing on the campaign trail. I don't know who the real Anthony Weiner is, I guess."

Cry me a river, sweetheart.  Then get down off your cross and use the wood to build a bridge to get over it.

Look, Weiner is a dickhead.  Period.  A not very attractive man child who obviously needs his ego stroked constantly as he strokes his...you know.  That he now admits there are others out there who may come forward - all from his activities post FIRST scandal? 

He needs to drop out of the mayoral race.  He just does.

Anyone who shows this little personal growth, who is so indiscreet, so willing to throw all caution to the wind for personal satisfaction, so STUPID - does not exactly engender the public trust.

Yes, one can argue that this is all between he and Huma, and yes, the lion's share of the splooge fallout is heaped directly on their marriage, but anyone running for office is asking for the public to trust them.  And it is obvious he cannot even be trusted to keep his underwear up.

What Huma does is up to her.  Personally, I cannot understand a woman being this callously humiliated by her husband and staying, but hey, women - even in the spotlight - do stupid things every day.  (Bill would have found his shit on the White House lawn had I been Hillary.)

A note to the potential women still waiting to line up their Inside Edition interviews and allow that single victimy tear to fall artfully down their I-want-my-15-minutes cheek?  STFU.  You are just as stupid, self indulgent, and pathetic as the wilted Weiner you engaged with online.

No one feels sorry for you or him.  You both made your bun, now lie in it.

PSA: Puckered Spider Ass

Now that 24 hours have gone by and my heart palpitations are gone, I can sit here and type this PSA:  Public Service Announcement... or as is more accurate in my case, relate to you the cautionary tale of my Puckered Spider Ass.

As some of you know, I am allergic to spiders.  The last bite I got sent me to the ER with a racing heartrate, and home with an Epi Pen.  Also with the warning that typically each exposure results in a bigger physical response.

Spiders have never been creatures I consider friendly, in fact they have forever caused my intestines to move up near my tonsils at the mere sight of one.  But knowing that they are an actual physical danger to me?  Well, I have what I consider a healthy irrational fear of them.

Yesterday, I reached for my running shoes.  They were, as they always are, on the floor of the study next to my desk.  While texting with Natala about Carson's college visit, I slipped them on and laced them up.  After about ten minutes of texting, I was ready to get busy working out.  I wiggled my toes and thought I felt a small rock or something in my left shoe.  I yanked my shoe off and what flew out DESTROYED MY SANITY.

That is not hyperbole, that is not exaggeration for effect.

The LIVE spider that came out was huge.  How it had been in my shoe WITH MY FOOT for that long, I have no idea.

I am not ashamed to say I dissolved into gutteral screams, shaking that would not stop, and tears aplenty.  I managed to kill it with THREE strikes of a shoe.  Even after the first hit, when a piece separated, it kept moving.

It took both Rudy and Debbie to talk me in off the mental ledge. And again, how I did not get bit, I simply have no idea.

The point behind all of this is simple.  My shoes were INSIDE, not out on the patio or in the garage.  They were IN MY STUDY.   Take a moment and give your shoes a downward rap before putting them on. You never know what may have taken up residence in them overnight.

As for me?  The appointment has been made for a pest control service to come spray outside and in.  And my shoes?  Well, they will now get the shit beat out of them before they come anywhere near my feet.

Happy Birthday To Pat!

It's Darla's Day!

Cover Story or Cover Boy?

Wanna see my picture on the cover
Wanna buy five copies for my mother...
Wanna see my smilin' face
On the cover of the Rollin' Stone...

Lyrics, Cover of the Rolling Stone by Dr. Hook

The cover of Rolling Stone.  The place celebrities, musical and non, aspire to reach.  It represents cool, it represents arrival, it often represents a much needed shot of controversy in a lagging career. 

Today it represents something much more sinister.  Today's cover represents evil, terrorism, the face behind the deaths of a small child, two women, and a police officer, the face behind the life altering injuries of so many more.

Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, looking far less like a murderer and far more like a sex symbol rock god, graces the latest cover of RS.

The outcry was immediate.  The backlash started by individuals, picking up steam by corporations promising to not sell this issue.  Pundits weighing in, fire and police officers from the Boston area expressing their disgust, signing on to the growing boycott.

I firmly believe we have grown into a culture that gets its collective ass in a knot way too easily.  That we are all too quick to adopt an I'm-oh-so-offended posture over things.  That political correctness today is almost laughable.  (Could you even envision All In The Family being a TV show in this day and age?)

But this is something different.

Personally, I have zero problem with Rolling Stone doing the story.  Their reporting on serious issues outside the musical realm is top notch.  I welcome the story.  I do, however, have misgivings about their choice of photo.

Not because we haven't seen in it before.  We have.  Repeatedly.  It's not like they had him do a shoot with Annie Leibovitz.  It's a selfie posted by Tsarnaev on a social media account a long while ago.

The problem is the shot chosen to portray him.  It is pensive, scruffy in that sex symbol kind of way, and his disgusting fan club (yes there is one) will likely masturbate themselves blind over his "bedroom eyes."  It does not read "I planned and planted two bombs at the Boston Marathon."  It reads, "Hey babe, wanna hook up?"

In short, it makes him not what he is, but what he and so many teens long to be - celebrities, if only for a moment. 

And that is a dangerous place to put him.  There are enough disenfranchised young people in this world who will see this and have their warped visions of bloody, immortal glory reinforced. 

Would any cover photo have been acceptable?  I think so.  One that showed the reality of him being shoved face down in the grass when he was apprehended.  Perhaps his booking shot.  Those would show the reality of who/what he is.  Not this reality TV - Kardashian - The Bachelor candidate version.

While Rolling Stone has never shied away from controversy in its covers (Charles Manson, anyone?), I feel they have stepped in it this time.  And wiping a piece of shit like Dzhokhar Tsarnaev off their shoe may not be possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you would like to read the article without purchasing the magazine, it is available HERE.  I have read it - quite compelling, quite troubling, quite frustrating.

A Sneak Peek

For a while I have shared (on Facebook) pictures Carson has been creating based on characters from her book, Kingdom Come. 

She has given me permission to post a sneak peek - the first chapter - introducing Phoenix.  The picture below was completed this morning - an illustration from this chapter.

If you are interested to see her work in progress (nearly finished), click the link below.  I know she would appreciate the support and feedback.

Download KingdomComePreview

Additional pictures of the main characters:

Phoenix

Will

Arabella

Raviana

Imperfect, But Still Wonderful?

"I see trees of green, red roses, too

I see them bloom, for me and you.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..."

Those lyrics have been on replay in my head all day.  Written by Bob Thiele and George Weiss, and immortalized by the late, great Louis Armstrong, the song serves as a reminder that life is good, life goes on, and that we must always look to the future and hope for the best for those who come behind us.

Well, the best may be stretching it, but we can hope for the better.

Better than what we currently have.  Better than how we treat the planet which hosts our slovenly, careless, piggish selves.  Better than how we treat one another.

Face it, as a people we continue to grow daily.  As a country we continue to evolve and correct the missteps, f*ck-ups, wrong headedness, and brutality of which we have been guilty.  We are a work in progress.

All day long, I have been trying to remind myself of that.  That our laws are not perfect, nor will they ever be.  That we are not perfect, nor will we ever be.

And that even when mired in the worst of that imperfection, we must continue to fight for better.

Which yes, brings me to Trayvon Martin.

The story has been hot since the bullet entered his chest and he exited this life.  The tale of what took place that night has polarized this country, has reached around the globe.  The basic facts all but getting lost in the extraneous slandering of a teen boy, as those who love to hate the other scrambled for justification as to why he died.

Anything to take away from the most basic truth:  He was walking home, minding his own business, talking on his phone.   And for that sin, he paid with his life when a wannabe Rambo came along.

Ahhh, that inconvenient truth.  So, deflect, deflect, deflect...

He smoked pot.  Yes, yes, he did.  But I can take you around the corner to my daughters' high school and show you a school full of white teenagers who do the same.  Do they deserve to be shot down?  Um, no.

He took stupid selfies and posted them on his social media accounts.  LIKE EVERY OTHER STUPID TEENAGER. The girls slap on the lipgloss and duck pout, and the boys - regardless of color - adopt their best gansta pose trying to make their toothpick frames somehow manly.

He was not a perfect teenager.  Do me a favor and let me know when you find one who is.

He texted with a friend about guns.  And??  I don't care if he was actively trying to procure yellow cake uranium.   What was he doing THAT NIGHT?

WALKING HOME FROM BUYING SKITTLES.

All of that other stuff is so much spaghetti thrown at the media wall in an attempt to justify him dying.  Make it seem like less of a loss, less of a crime, less of a travesty.  It is as lame as if one of you is murdered and I say, "Well, she had a weird fixation on Dalmatians."  Or "He liked Earth, Wind, and Fire cover bands." Like any of that is a REASON you deserve to be dead.

Was he molesting small children at play?  Keying cars?  Breaking into automobiles or someone's house?  Stealing bicycles?

No, no, no, and no.

He was walking.

And this apparently pissed off George Zimmerman.  How dare this black kid in a hoodie walk through his neighborhood?  Zimmerman was instructed not to follow him.  He did anyway.  He had a round in the chamber ready to fire. 

Color me shocked that Trayvon, when confronted, fought back.  That the kid dared to go against the movie script Zimmerman had written in his head in which he plays the hero, saves the neighborhood from the black teen thug, and stands on a grassy knoll shouting, "Wolverines!" while music swells in the background.

Poor George instead found himself up against a young man who was not going down without a fight. 

I would expect nothing less than any of you.  If you were approached at night by a strange little pig of a man with a gun, would you just lay down?  No, you would fight for your life.  Anyone who says differently is a Nixonesque liar.  And if you have taught your kids to just go along with a bad guy instead of fighting and causing as big a commotion as possible?  Then shame on you.  Good luck when they end up on a milk carton.

I would expect Carson to leave no eyeball ungouged, no ball left unkicked, no flesh left unmarked were she in this situation.  I would expect her to leave this world beating the shit out of her attacker.

As did Trayvon.

He stood his ground.  Yes, that same bullshit law that Zimmerman hid behind as he made up his story and repeatedly contradicted his own story.  But apparently the only thing that matters is who is the last man standing.

I personally think that if if you instigate a completely unnecessary confrontation and it goes badly, you forfeit Stand Your Ground.  Instead you should pay for Shit For Brains.

Again, he was WALKING HOME.  There was no need for confrontation.  No need to follow him.  No need to get out of the vehicle.

NO NEED FOR THAT BOY TO BE DEAD.

What I have found laughable since this happened is the cadre of Zimmerman apologists who will buy him any excuse (or any excuse from him).  So many of these same folks (and yes, I have crosschecked Twitter accounts) are the same folks who actively culture slam Hispanics.  Who are Class A(hole) bigots about them all needing to go back to Mexico or "whatever taco eatin' country they come from."  The same folks who unashamedly went after that beautiful young boy in San Antonio when he dared to sing THEIR National Anthem at the basketball finals.  Those same people whose ugliness was on full display, defend George Zimmerman.  No mention of his Hispanic background, not a care in the world about the allegations that he is a child molester from way back, that he is an abuser, that he was once charged with battery of a police officer. 

No.  That's all cool with them because when you have to take a side, they went with what I guess they consider the lesser of two evils:  The half "tan" (his mother is from Peru) self appointed rent-a-cop over the teenage black kid.

The trial is over.  Did the prosecution overcharge and miss the mark?  Who knows.  I leave that to the legal scholars to duke out.  Will poor George's life ever be the same?  I hope not.  I hope somewhere in his cowardly heart he feels the tug of guilt over what he instigated.  I hope that with every day he is on this planet he reminds himself that Trayvon is not.

I don't care that he has gained weight, as some FOX News dullard used as some defense for how he has "already suffered."   That is the most offensive defense I heard in the run up to the trial.  If he gained weight, which he obviously did, that is his choice.  It is called self control, something of which we already know he shows a stunning lack.

I don't wish further harm or death on him.  The verdict has been read, and we all know that by next week, this brouhaha will be replaced with something juicier, bloodier, fresher.

I do wish changes in our laws.  There should not be a law that allows a person to kill another - no witnesses - claim self defense and simply go on about life.  There must be accountability.

There must be BETTER.

Stand Your Ground cannot translate to Last Man Standing Their Ground because that ground is a slipperly slope covered in blood.  There are simply too many guns in this country that are in the hands of simple minded, vainglorious kneejerkers.

Trayvon's death cannot be reversed.  His side can never be told.  I have seen the picture of him dead on the ground.  Skinny jeans, a hoodie, an open mouth that will never again speak, and open eyes whose last gaze was upon George Zimmerman.

Nothing about that night can be altered.  But going forward, what we learned can be the catalyst for change.  The impetus for dialogue.  The jumping off point for introspection.

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow.

They'll learn much more than I'll never know.

And I think to myself What A Wonderful World.

May Trayvon rest in peace, and let us always remind ourselves that this is still a Wonderful World, and it is ours to continue to make better for every child who comes behind us.

A Helping Hand

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

That's a sentiment to which we can all relate.

It would have to be the charmed life indeed, the absolute exception to the rule of life, in which a human being has not been hamstrung by circumstances that they not foresee.  We have all been yanked off the main highway at some point in our lives.  There we are planning, driving along so to speak, when suddenly we are diverted to an offramp - all our carefully laid plans, all our suppositions thrown out, all our security yanked like a throw rug from under our feet.

It happens.  It just does.  It does not mean a person has been less than prudent.  It does not mean they have been lazy, thoughtless, or in line for a karmic asskicking.

It simply means that sometimes circumstances, regardless of how hard we work, take over and leave us adrift, frightened, feeling like failures.

While I may not always chime in on Facebook posts, Twitter feeds, Instagrams, etc - I do follow many of you.  I am constantly humbled by your love of life, commitment to families and friends, and by how hard you work to keep the seams of your lives from coming unstitched.

For one of our own, however, those threads have come very loose and eviction is close at hand.  This is not through any fault of her own.  She works hard, very hard.  In fact, she has been working to better herself through more education, an expansion of her expertise, which is helping others get healthier in their own lives.

Pat in Canada has been a member of our family since the beginning.  And I would not be asking for your help if I did not fully and wholeheartedly believe she was worthy of a helping hand from DGMS. 

Due to a cluster of bad circumstances, Pat finds herself on the brink of eviction, without even a car in which to live should the unthinkable happen. 

Before you ask, YES, she is looking for work - ANY work - to help pull herself out of this position.  And before you ask, NO, she has no family to ask for help.  She has us.

And while she did NOT ask me to ask you, I have made the choice to do so.

If you can help us in our fight to help Pat, her promise, her goal, is to pay back any assistance she receives.

Namaste - the abiding belief that essentially we see and recognize the "spirit" in each other is what drives this place - what has always driven it.  We just did not have that name until we lost Toni.

If you can help Pat, if you can see in her, that which is also in you, please make a donation through the Namaste link on the left side of the page.

This place means none of us has to go through this life alone.  Because although our life paths may take us different directions, where it counts, we ARE all in that place as ONE.

It's My Sister's Day!

Happy birthday to an amazing woman.  Both professionally and personally, my sister is simply astounding.  A vivacious, brilliant, big hearted, forward thinking human being - when I look back over the landscape of my life - the hills, valleys, potholes, and gorgeous mountaintop vistas - she is the one who has been there for all of them.  Pushing me, pulling me, supporting me. 

It may be her birthday, but Kim is one of the best gifts it has ever been my honor to treasure.

This Is The End Is The Beginning Of Unending Laughs

Ok, ok, I know it came out weeks ago. 

And believe me, I have seen the not-so-stellar reviews on it, but it has stayed on my Want-To-See list of movies.

So when the opportunity presented itself, via Culley's main man sending up an SOS for some face time with Carson and I, I jumped at it.

"Want to go see a movie?  This Is The End?"

His reply, "I've heard really good things about This is the End; apparently my friends had to see it twice because the theatre audiences were laughing so loud that they couldn't hear some of the jokes."

Done.

And if I have my way, I will be seeing it for a second time soon, too.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard during a movie.  If I had to hazard a guess, it would be my first viewing of The Hangover.  The kind of movie where you laugh at something so hard you realize you miss the next three funny things because you are still peeing yourself over something else.

If you have read the reviews or seen a trailer, you know the movie centers around James Franco, Seth Rogen, Jay Baruchel, Jonah Hill, and Craig Robinson.  They are aided in the end-of-times hilarity by a cavalcade of cameos - Rihanna, Emma Watson, Mindy Kaling, Michael Cera (oh, Michael, a Capri Sun AND a salad tossing/BJ simultaneously?), and was that Paul Rudd? 

They all play versions of themselves - taking what we perceive of them and amping up the caricature.  And no one does it better than Danny McBride, who literally steals the movie from his equally funny partners in crime.  If you have ever watched Eastbound and Down on HBO, you know what a self absorbed, clueless, bag of hair he plays - take that, pour desperation and survival on top - what you get is, well, I won't ruin it, but Channing Tatum?  Pants off to you, my dear boy.

As to the reviewers who tore this movie up?  Lighten up, Francis.  Take your pompous thesaurus and step off.  It is not meant to be War and Peace.  It is meant to be a leave-your-tight-ass-at-the-cinema-door-come-in-and-enjoy-the-ride break from your daily grind.

If you are offended by profanity?  Stick to Monsters University.  If you cannot handle the sight of Hermione wielding an ax?  Opt for a night in with popcorn and some reruns of Golden Girls.  And if the thought of a spatula cross exorcism offends your delicate sensibilities?  Well, may the power of Christ compel you to go back to church and pray for a sense of humor because this movie is currently NOT for you.

But if you are secure enough to jump feet first into some End Times histrionics and some sophomoronic scenes of carnage and inanity - buy your ticket.

Just hit the bathroom first.  Because the laughs come nonstop and as they build towards the final scene, your bladder may prove to have the structural integrity of James Franco's house when God decides "Game Over."