Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Hate of the Union

Tomorrow night, in a further mocking of our country's history, reputation, and potential, Donald Trump will give his first Hate of the Union address.

Yes, hate.  He is not a statesman, he has zero idea of the actual state of the union, hell, I doubt he could even label half the states on a map.

What will happen is he will walk in, wallow in the fawning that is his very lifeblood, and begin to read a speech written by someone else, on a teleprompter, and bask in the artifice of the moment.  Because nothing in this administration is real.  Not the two shills who will sit behind him pretending to smile, clap, and offer reverence.  Not the assembled members of the GOPer legislature who are all in on the grift.  Melania's presence will be forced, and the Democrats who can stomach it will be faking their attention all the while.

He will stay on script, and the media will begin singing the "presidential" chorus once again.  But then, the bar for Trump is actually below the surface of the earth now, so as long as he doesn't dig a handful of shit from his Depends and fling it at Nancy Pelosi, he will be lauded as having been a success.

Sorry, not interested.  There are myriad things I would rather do than give him ratings - the air he breathes - or abuse myself by watching.  To that end, here are 50 Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch The Hate of the Union Address:

1.  Shave my head. With a samurai sword.

2.  Wash my dog's ass

3.  Wash my cat's ass.  

4. Wash all four cat asses in my house.

5. Roll naked in the moonlit snow.

6. Get a root canal.  Through my ass.

7. Get a colonscopy. With the Hubble telescope.

8.  Get a tit squashing mammogram

9.  Count the ceiling tiles in my gyno's office

10. Darn my damn socks.

11. Clear a clogged toilet with my bare hands.

12. Google Blue Waffle - click on images

DON'T

13. Wax my nethers.  All of them.

14. Eat deep fried cockroaches.

15. Re-enact the escape scene from Shawshank

16. Catalog the freckles on my body.

17. Wash my wood floors.  With my tongue.

18. Use feet shavings as spaghetti topping.

19. Take yodeling lessons.

20. Give yodeling lessons.

21. Learn to play My Heart Will Go On on a recorder.

22. Fall down a Youtube rabbit hole of actual rabbit holes.

23. Teach my four cats how to line dance.

24. Listen to Achy Breaky Heart on repeat.

25. Intentionally give myself 100 papercuts.

26. Watch Glitter.  Twice.

27. Walk 500 miles. And then walk 500 more.  All the while singing I would walk 500 miles... complete with Scottish accent.

28. File my taxes.  The old fashioned way.  On paper.

29. Attend a Flat Earth Society conference

30. Let Jack draw me like one of his French girls.

31. Play naked Twister with Alex Jones

32. Smell like Teen Spirit

33. Collect some green alligators and longnecked geese, some humpty back camels, and some chimpanzees, some cats and rats and elephants, and sure as you're born - of course I'm gonna catch a unicorn.

34. Run the Boston Marathon braless and in in flip flops

35. Read a FOX comment section.

36. Apply for Naked & Afraid.

37. Be on Naked & Afraid.

38. Poop in a bag on a broken down Carnival cruise (for you, Toby)

39. Clean my teeth with a freshly used toilet brush.

40. Tongue kiss Sheldon Adelson

41. Loofah Bill O'Reilly

42. Eat my own foot

43. Wear Meatloaf's skidmarked Fruit of the Looms on my head as a hat

44. Drink tea made of sock sweat

45. Teabag Pat Robertson

46. Boat through the Bermuda Triangle while under a ladder with one foot on a broken mirror, the other on a sidewalk crack, while a black cat walks in front of me.

47.  Sleep in a cave with a fitfully hibernating bear.

48. Cook a five course meal for Gordon Ramsey on his worst day.

49.Ski down a Double Black Diamond naked and on one ski. 

50.  Binge watch Black Mirror.  Anything those warped fuckers come up with will seem tame compared to the nightmare in which we actually live.

Feel free to offer up your own options for ANYTHING you would rather do than sit through a Dotard timeshare presentation.

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

#51 BONUS SUGGESTION

Stare directly into the Ark of the Covenant

Steve Wynn Craps Out

"Because the house always wins. Play long enough, you never change the stakes, the house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big, and then you take the house." - Danny Ocean, Ocean's 11

 

Ahhh, truer words have never been scripted.  

Las Vegas, once a railroad worker's end of week steam valve, has transformed through the years into a glittering man made oasis of carnality in the Nevada desert.  Its nickname of Sin City is apt, as it has everything your sinnerly little heart could desire.  A racy, mobbed up history, 24 hour gaming, thong laden pool parties, big name concerts, foods of all ilk to indulge your inner glutton, and "companionship" just a call away.

Las Vegas makes the fabled Sodom & Gomorrah look like The Magic Kingdom.

Millions of visitors from around the world flock to Vegas every year to leave their cares behind, ignore the clock, and dive headfirst into the action.  I am one of them.  In fact, I head back again in a month.

I have been frequenting Vegas since the late 80s when it was just on the cusp of undergoing its most important transformation.  Back then, casinos were smaller, smoke filled, and actual currency was still dispensed from the machines.  I have very fond memories of walking the Strip with my big bucket of quarters in hand.  Not so fond memories of filthy fingers and hands from scooping all those won quarters up.

Back then, gaming was the thing.  It was the bread and butter of the owners.  Rooms, shows, food?  All necessary components, but completely incidental to the process.  Rooms were cheap, food was cheaper - that simply was not where the profits were.  

But a young man had a vision.  He saw massive hotel + casino complexes, complete with shopping, fine dining, luxurious spas, in-house stars and attractions - a one stop shop of indulgence and decadence.  A place when once you entered, you would never have a reason to venture back out until the taxi came to take you to the airport and home.

That man was Steve Wynn.  His vision?  The Mirage.  A hotel/casino - the first to ever be financed through Wall Street junk bonds (thank you, Michael Milken) with 100,000 square feet of gaming, 1.1 million square feet of public space, 3,044 rooms (making it the largest hotel in the world at the time), high tech security cameras over every gaming table (first to use them), a volcano along its front that "erupted" every 15 minutes, restaurants galore for every palate, and Siegfried & Roy - the hottest ticket on the Strip.

There had been nothing like it, and once it opened, and was a screaming success, other casino owners and moneymen insured there would be nothing unlike it ever built again.  What followed was a metamorphosis - the smaller grand dames were imploded making way for the titans - Venetian, Bellagio, Treasure Island, Rio, Paris, New York, New York, Excalibur, Mandalay Bay, and on and on.  The new additions forced the mainstays like Caesars Palace, Circus Circus, and The Flamingo to up their game and build wings, towers, colliseums - anything to be able to compete.  And suddenly where you stayed mattered as much as where you played, and room rates became a profit center.

It was quite a time.

I remember visiting the Mirage in its early days.  The place was massive, beautiful, enchanting with its 20,000 gallon aquarium that spanned the back of the entire front desk.  Even with 100,000 square feet of gaming, which included 2,300 slot machines, you literally had to stand in line to play one.  

Steve had certainly gambled, but that perfect hand had come along and he not only took the house, he took all of Las Vegas.  He was now the golden boy and investors clamored for his attention, eager to be a part of his next winning hand.

I met him before he was the "it' kid.  I was working for an airline in Indianapolis and we had charter flights to LV twice a week.  In order to secure blocks of rooms at reduced prices, I went with another group coordinator and met him in his little office in the Golden Nugget - at one time his only property - downtown.  Nice guy, attractive, amiable, and friendly - he was happy to just be on the radar of airlines, even charter ones.

Fast forward 30 years, and that amiable little smeege of a man is a powerhouse.  He sold his holdings ( Mirage, Bellagio, Golden Nugget, etc) to MGM years ago for 4.4 billion, going on to build his namesake properties, The Wynn and The Encore.  I have stayed at all of them - gorgeous, detailed to a fault, high end, glamorous.  

Unfortunately, as we are now finding out, with the climb to fortune, fame, and power, came the hubris, ego, and entitlement.  And that amiable, friendly little man, is a raging, molesting, coersive piece of shit.

Seems Steve Wynn has finally crapped out.

News began breaking yesterday of his exploits, his penchant for scrotum flashing spa employees, and his insistence on his penis not being ignored during massages.  Nearly 150 employee stories have piled up around his reprehensible behavior, which included a 7.5 million dollar payout to a manicurist whom he forced to have sex.

The stories reported by the Las Vegas Journal are sickening and detail a decades long pattern of abuse of employees.  It was so bad that spa employees would pencil in fake appointments to avoid having to service him in any way.  He would constantly walk around in short shirts with no underwear. He would let his undercarriage fly free during pedicures, and constantly harass the women with inappropriate banter.  He also would insist on getting phone numbers of young cocktail waitresses in his employ.

Employees dreaded being summoned to his office to provide treatments like massages because he insisted on being masturbated.

And please don't start with the "Why did no one say anything?"  They did.  But in a town where power talks and Wynn held all the cards, nothing was done.  

“Former employees said their awareness of Mr. Wynn’s power in Las Vegas, combined with the knowledge that the jobs they held were among the best-paying available there, added up to a feeling of dependence and intimidation when Mr. Wynn made requests of them,” the newspaper reported. “Some said that feeling was heightened at times by the presence in a confined office space of one or more of his German shepherds, trained to respond to commands in German.”

So he, like Weinstein, Spacey, CK, et al, continued his campaign of sexual assaults unchecked.  And while, yes, the sex part was obviously a huge component in this for these men, the bigger aphrodisiac was the power.  The power to dominate.  The power to pull their dicks out with no consequences.  The power to get off, then move on with their days as if nothing had happened.  Leaving a vast wasteland of crippled psyches, nightmares, fear, and shame in their wakes.

I always find it especially stomach churning when these men have daughters.  In Steve's case, his daughter, Kevyn, was kidnapped in 1993 when she was 27.  She was stripped and posed and threatened should her father not pay the ransom.  He's a father.  The what ifs that had to spiral through his mind when he got the call that she had been kidnapped had to be horrific.  His daughter, at the mercy of God knows who and how many men.  The ways they could have been violating her, raping her, using her.  In the end, the ransom was paid, Kevyn was released, and the kidnappers caught, but still.  

His own daughter was a victim of men who saw her as a piece of flesh, a commodity, a thing.  Yet here he is, with a decades long resume of treating women the exact same way.  Those women were used repeatedly and paid huge ransoms with their hearts, their minds, their fears.  They will never escape.

And all of this brings me back to these questions: 

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK DO THESE MEN THINK THEY ARE DOING?

CAN THEY NOT KEEP THEIR DICKS IN THEIR PANTS?

DO THEY HONESTLY BELIEVE WOMEN WANT TO SEE THEIR JUNK IN THE WORKPLACE?

Guys, I do not give a mongoose shit who you are - mechanic or mogul - KEEP YOUR GENITALS IN YOUR PANTS UNLESS EXPRESSLY INVITED TO THE PARTY.

Your dick is not a gift.  It is not a party favor.  It is not a conversation starter.

And quite frankly?  Unless we are feeling equally amorous with you?  It's one of the funniest damned things we women will ever see.  Seriously, Steve, you are 76 years old.  Do you honestly think a 22 year old manicurist is turned on by your shriveled and patchy haired man raisins?  Do you really believe a 26 year old masseuse wants to touch your papery skinned, saggy ass or your softserve consistency penis?

Give me a break.

Even if it is consensual?  If a 21 year old woman beds down with you, Steve?  Think Anna Nicole.  It's not lust, it's lu$t.  It's a business transaction.  An agreement to play to your ego and your half dead prick in exchange for $omething.

Which also brings me to this - in a town where a single phone call could provide old Stevie with tight ass in any color of the rainbow - why target his employees?  

Because. He. Could.

It is that simple.  These men do it because they can.  Because there is no one who can stop them.  No one powerful enough around them to slap their ignorant heads and say, "Hey asshole, put your shit away."  So they gamble and gamble and gamble and gamble.  

Of course, Steve is denying everything, trying to obfuscate, spin, etc.  Good luck with that.  The number of women is surely going to continue to grow now that he has been dragged out of the casino and into the harsh light of #MeToo.

As Danny the oracle waxed crapsodic, "Play long enough ... the house always wins."

Sorry, Steve, you know how this works.  Sometimes you Wynn, sometimes you lose.  And this time, with a hand of 150?  You busted.  Big.

I Am Woman, Hear Me LAUGH MY ASS OFF

There is not a day that goes by that evidence is not presented confirming that the GOP is the home of misogyny, willful idiocy, bigotry, racism, and a whole lot of SPS - small penis syndrome.

 

Like somebody-get-a-magnifying-glass-and-tweezers SMALL.

With a cast of characters like Mike Handmaidens-Rule! Pence, Mark Women-Are-Eye-Candy Walker,  Robert Is-Rape-Wholly-Bad? Fischer, Todd Shut-That-Whole-Thing-Down Akin, and on and on - it is evident that what the men in the GOP fear more than ISIS and a Viagra shortage are strong women.

That's why is is not surprising that the leader of their party is the King of Creep, the Messiah of Misogyny, and the Grand Poobah of the Getcher Ass Back In The Kitchen Club - Donald Trump.  He is the embodiment of all their fears, and all they try to project to cover them up.

With all apologies to Teddy Roosevelt, these guys talk big and carry a small stick.

The latest contender for Most Likely To Have Hillary Nightmares is Missouri GOP Senate candidate Courtland Sykes.

Drink him in, ladies.  If this Senate run doesn't pan out, judging by his raft of headshots online, I'd say he is angling for a place in the human stew of hot tub love on the next Bachelor.

This is the kind of manchild who would LOVE to have a dozen women fighting over his "charms."  Just be sure you can stand the stupid, girls.  Behind that James Bond wannabe tinfoily steely stare, beats the frightened heart of a misogynistic shitheel.

His fears views on women's rights are quickly making the rounds this week.  Let's unpack his septic tank treasure chest of wisdom, shall we? (You can click on the graphic for the full sized version)

He starts off his answer to "Do you favor women's rights?" by introducing us to his fiance, Chanel, and joking that he'd better because she orders him to.

HAHAHAHAHAHA - funny, self deprickating, yukyukyuk.

He then promptly goes on to explain his support is conditioned on the "small price" she must pay - that of having a homecooked meal on the table each night at 6pm for his ravenous man belly.  He then foreshadows life for his future daughters.  "I expect one day to have daughters learn to fix <homecooked meals> after they become traditional homemakers and family wives - think Norman Rockwell here Gloria Steinem be damned."

Oooooo, Gloria Steinem is scary to the little manboy.  What with championing actual rights for women and all.  That's crazy!  How is a man supposed to keep us barefoot and pregnant and cooking his vittles if we learn that we are allowed to have actual thoughts and access to opportunity?

Oh, but it gets better.  Loosen your aprons, ladies, and settle in....

My head is nasty and snake-filled?  OK, ok, I cop to having some Medusa-esque hair issues upon first getting out of bed, but that's between me, my god, and my hairbrush.  

I will agree with him on this sentence:  Modern women can BE anything they want, including traditional women.  Yes, Courtland, we CAN.  And many of us do strap on the mantle of "traditional women" - staying home to be the primary caregiver for our children, doing the shopping, organizing, carpooling, etc.  I was HUGE into my career when we had our first child.  But in a decision between husband and wife - NOT a directive from husband - I began staying home with her.

I stayed home through all three.  But at no point did I abdicate my personal agency, my brains, my intellectual curiosity, my need to be more FOR ME so I could be more FOR THEM.  You see, you frightened little monkey, the "traditional" route involves a shitload of personal sacrifice for a long range goal.  It does not involve being ordered around by some shitstick in a tie who leaves the house every morning.

Did you all notice that it only took to paragraph two for the male GOPer's most feared poltergeist, Hillary Clinton, to appear?  Sorry, little boy, but Millennial women embraced Hillary.  As for you assertion that "they despise her" because of "her personal life's wreckage" and desire to not become her?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA MELANIA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA THIRD WIFE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MARRIED TO SERIAL CHEATER PIG TRUMP HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA TRUMP WHO RAWDOGGED A PORN STAR HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA WHILE MELANIA WAS HOME WITH THEIR BABY HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Give me a fucking break, you insipid little weasel.  Trump is a self admitted piece of shit, grifter, womanizer, molester, accused rapist, whose favorite sport (bone spurs don't matter in bed) is infidelity.  He famously swung from one female branch to the next like some horny bonobo with his dick in hand.  Melania is currently enjoying the very public disclosure that he not only slept with a porn star but enjoyed being spanked by her with a rolled up copy of Forbes, and then paid for her silence right before the election.

Do you really think Melania bowing out of traveling to Davos is about "scheduling conflicts"?.  I have no sympathy for her, as she knows what she married and has chosen a cush lifestyle over integrity and self esteem, but even I cut her some slack for not wanting to be trapped in Air Force Pun (sorry, his presiduncy is a joke) with him for hours.

Talk about "personal life's wreckage."  If you are casting aspersions at Hillary for staying in her marriage, you'd better at least tee up some super sized side eye for the Trumps.

Sigh - "campaign against manhood".  Sorry, Sparky, but that one exists only in both your little heads.  There is no campaign against manhood.  Maybe a campaign for manhood to start behaving better,. for manhood to police itself, hold itself accountable, learn that women are not manhood's playthings to be marginalized, used, abused, fondled, and molested on a whim.  

But wait, Bachelorettes!  He is SO supportive!  Up to a point.

Courtland, that's great.  Any daughters you may have should be allowed to "have their own intelligence" (clue here, Sherlock, you don't own that).  And look at that, you want them to get degrees, and ... wait ... "home based enterprises"?  Oooooh, I get it.  They can go to college, but they must confine their "careers" to something that works around dinner at 6, like the Tupperware ladies of yore.

New flash, you mental wasteland, wanting to "be all that you can be" is not just limited to an Army slogan.  THAT is what you should want for your daughters AND sons.  My sister would fall under your heading of "career obsessed banshee" - she is brilliant, multi-degreed, and respected in her field.  And she has no children.  As for dinner at 6?  If either of them is home, maybe, and he is just as likely to be cooking for her.  HER LIFE, HER CHOICE.  See, we women are allowed to make choices in this world.  I know that bit is at the heart of your fears and misogyny.  It sticks in your craw, as my mother would say, and drives you crazy.  

And yes, skidmark, women have been suppressed by men.  That is historically accurate, and is still a problem.  Think not?  Then why did we have to fight to be allowed to vote?  There are still men in your party loudly shitting their pants over that one.  Ever hear of The Night of Terror, Courtland?  It is when 34 women were imprisoned and beaten nearly to death for protesting outside the White House for the right to vote.  If being nearly beaten to death by men is not suppression... And it's not that long ago that we could not get a credit card without our husband's permission.  Fuck that, and fuck you.  Your party is a cesspool of insecure, frightened little boys who constantly try to make laws governing what women can do with their bodies.  FUCK YOU - THE SEQUEL.

You know, if you are lucky enough to procreate (and quite frankly, Chanel?  You in danger, gurl), you can thank we banshees who are currently taking to the streets, supporting one another in the legislature, and finding the courage to stand up and out the cretins who think we are property to be treated and trashed as they wish.  You can thank us for beginning the groundswell that is changing the landscape of how your daughters will be treated, how your sons will be expected to behave.

Finally, I love how you wind up your whiny, self serving stink think piece with I support women's rights, but...

Lesson, Courtland, nothing after "but" counts.  Your "but" negates your whole assertion that you support women having rights.  You go on to qualify what those rights are.  Let's see...

We have the requirement right to stay home and pop out children while staying thin and purty for your beer belly  

We have the requirement right to study Aunt Bee and nail her pie making skills

We have the requirement right to have a homecooked meal on the table promptly at 6 each night for your enjoyment

We have the requirement right to be seen and not heard, be nothing but accessories you can pull out on certain business occasions

We have the requirement right to teach our sons to be MEN LIKE YOU, and our daughters to be submissive, pot roast making, sperm receptacles (because let's face it - little boys like you have zero idea or interest in how to turn us on - our vaginas scare you)

And, We have the requirement right sit at home and smile blankly as you regale us with tales of the big, bad world that we would never understand

Courtland - I have daughters.  And I have raised them to be independent, smart, fearless, strong, brave, and in full possession of their bodies, decision making, and choices.  The path they carve out will be paths of their own choosing.  Careers? Marriage? Children?  THEIR CHOICES.  Not yours.  Not their dad's. Not mine.  Our son, the same.  HIS CHOICES, FOR HIMSELF.  As for my marriage?  It would not have lasted if either of us insisted on your definition of "traditional".  Ask my husband (who cooks FOR ME).  If I had not been as strong, independent, and smart, it would have never lasted 27+ years.  Our marriage has lasted because I am untraditional.  Because I am not a doormat.  Because I do not need my husband, I want my husband.

Yes, Courty, you read that right - I do not NEED a man.  That scares your hairy marbles the most, doesn't it?  The knowledge that women don't need you.  That scares your entire party.  That women have finally voiced "YOU ARE FULL OF SHIT."  And all you little emperors are now shivering naked in the cold light of the reality that we see you.  And are laughing at you.

To the women who choose to blaze a path in your career, eschewing children and "tradition"?  You go, girl.  Embrace your choice and go full throttle.  Fulfillment is defined by the individual, not by society.

To the women in this world who were raised by wetbrains such as Courtland?  I am truly sorry.  That anyone cut your potential off before you even knew what it was is sad.  But as long as you draw breath, you have options.  They cannot ever truly own your brain, your desires, your dreams.

To the women who choose to stay home?  If your budget affords that, plant each foot firmly and walk into your choice with your eyes wide open.  I have walked this path for 25 years, and it is as difficult as it is fulfilling.  As joyous as it is heartbreaking.  As liberating as it is confining.  Just remember who you are at heart.

A smart, self possessed, creative, strong, full-of-potential warrior.  

The kind that infects the GOP with SPS.

Schooled In Tragedy ... AGAIN

I have spent this morning happily cleaning, chatting with Toby, doing laundry, petting my cats.

Even happier, I spent some time with a breeder talking about possibly bringing a new family member on board.

So I had not been online for a few hours.  I finally sat down a little while ago to catch up on the news, and there it was.

A shooting at a school again.  This time in Kentucky.

Again.

That word.  It wears a person down.  Sitting here, I realize it is almost worn by a person because it cloaks me now, reducing my response to two heavy sighs, a setting of my jaw in anger, and the inevitable feeling of a sort of weary acceptance.

Again.

Innocent lives were brutally taken for no other reason than they were simply in the wrong place at the "right" time.

Again.

Two families will not sleep tonight, will not know rest again - at least not in the form they had come to know.  The kind where you know your loved ones are safely at home, too.  

Again.

Candles will be lit in vigil.  A community will mourn in the dark.

Again.

Politicians, those who do have the power to effect change, will offer up rote "thoughts and prayers" on Twitter.

Again.

It will happen again.  And again.  And again. And again, and again, and again, andagainandagainandagain...

Because this is what happens when a country simply doesn't give enough of a shit to stand up and do something. 

Again.

Those of you sitting at home in your tiny towns and hamlets, much like Benton in Kentucky, thinking, "Oh, that could never happen here"?  Think again.

Every person who ever finds themselves staring into the camera lens after a tragedy echos the same words, "I never thought it would happen here."

No one ever does.

The problem is that "Here" is a moving target. "Here" is an equal opportunity destroyer. "Here" shows no allegiance to a single location. And "Here" likes nothing better than to sneak up and surprise an entire community.

At this writing, the details are far from complete. What they do know is at 8:57 am, a 15 year old, armed with a handgun, walked into Marshall County High School, and began shooting.  The shooter was ultimately apprehended.

But not before ending the lives of 2 completely innocent human beings and injuring far more.

Police have not confirmed the name of the teen shooter, although the investigation continues as to who he is, his background, family, motives, etc.  

In the end, that makes no difference.

Whoever this animal was, he came, saw, deliberately unloaded his weapon, leaving only trauma, and no answers.

Not that any answer could ever justify the bloodshed and loss of innocent life - all the injured are teenagers.

Again.

Like you, my heart goes out to the students who now join the club of those who have survived a mass shooting.  I physically ache for the parents, friends, relatives of all Marshall County students – as they desperately attempted to reach their children, spouses, BFFs to verify their safety. And I cannot begin to imagine the anguish of those who heard only an endless ringing and no answer.

What I also feel is anger. Anger that better systems do not exist to protect school campuses, yes, but mostly anger that yet another waste of oxygen has decided to play God and end the lives of so many innocent people.

My message to people like him, to parents of people like him?  Ask for help.  Parents - open your goddamned eyes, and keep your goddamned guns locked up.  To teens who think school shootings are the answer to your problems?  Think again. 

I don’t care if your childhood was/is pure shit. I don’t give a rat’s ass if your girlfriend dumped you or if you just lost your job. I don’t care if you have chronic acne and never got laid. I don’t give two shits in a whirlwind that you believe you have been slighted, maligned, misunderstood, or marginalized by someone or something in this life.

We all go through shit. We all get treated in ways we don’t appreciate at some point in our lives. We all experience disappointments, let-downs, slights, heartbreaks, dashed hopes, crushed dreams, bad people, and life’s general ability to make us feel small.

That does not give us the right to strike out and demand some gory retribution.

So whoever you are?  You are old enough to know better, to understand the import of your plans, the permanence of your actions. Your life as you knew it may be over, but at least you still have a life.  You stole that from two of your peers.  

I’ll save my thoughts for the victims, and especially for all those who now have to learn how to take the next breath in this life, knowing that their child, their loved one, their friend, is not taking it with them.

We are a nation that literally has in circulation enough guns for every man, woman, child, and infant in our population.  Let that sink in.  That is over 300,000,000 firearms.  And you cannot tell me that every one of those is owned by someone sane, competent, responsible.  And do not give me the worn out old excuse, "Well, if there had been someone with a gun..."

Benton is a small town where the life of the outdoors (hunting, etc) is practiced daily.  Guns are not alien to this town. 

But you could be strapped up like Rambo and not make a tinker's damn worth of difference.  These shooters rely on the element of surprise.  They do not send a calling card indicating when they shall arrive to kill.  And even if you could get to your weapon?  Your own abilities paired with panic and adrenaline mean the outcome could leave more innocent lives taken as you try to "protect" them.  (See recent example out of Texas when a concealed carry enthusiast shot a car jacking victim in the head while trying to "protect" him.  He ran after realizing what a Great White Hunter he actually was not.)

Benton is not a huge city, roughly 5,000 people.  1,369 of them attend the high school.  And it is a town like this that will feel this tragedy to the bone.  Small towns may have some drawbacks, but one of them is not a lack of community.  Small towns, for better or worse, have that one down cold.

People know one another.   They have grown up together.  They look out for one another.  Yes, sometimes they are WAY too much in one another's business, but that's part of the tradeoff.

Their community will rally, they will mourn, they will move forward.  What else is there to do? 

I'll tell you.

Look at your child.  Hold the baby you just birthed.  Embrace your spouse.  Call your parents.  Hug your friend.  And then ask yourself if you are willing to sit idly by anymore and allow them to be sacrificed to a mindset that believes "more guns" is any kind of answer.

Because if you think it cannot happen in your town, you are wildly naive.  If you think it won't happen again, you have not been paying attention.  This is only the first fatal school shooting in 2018, and it is only January 23rd.  Yesterday a 15 year old girl was shot in her high school cafeteria in Italy, Texas, another very small town.  It will happen.  

Someone in your town is angry.  In fact, there are hundreds, thousands of these shooters out there.  They inhabit every school, at every grade level.  They are your co-workers, the people choosing apples next to you at the store.  They are there, feeling invisible, marginalized, penalized in life for things over which they feel they have zero control.  Feeling feelings that are too big, overwhelming, desperate. 

And most of all angry. 

Angry at their circumstances.  Angry at the perceived inequities of their life vs the lives they see others living where everything appears Nirvana-ish.  Anger because they have been told to be angry at someone, something, some group.  Directed to blame their life's lot on someone else.  The government, a skin color, women who won't date them, an ideology, a religion.

And that anger sits, ferments, begins to boil, until one day it runs over, cannot be contained, and with the help of 300,000,000 guns - explodes.

Changing yet another town's name to Here.

Again.

I know this because this article has been written by using entire LARGE sections of past articles I have written after past mass shootings.  All I had to do is change the town, adjust the numbers.

You Have Reached A Number That Has Been Disaffected

So, our government is once again shutdown.

For anyone counting, this marks the 19th time since the Congressional Budget Act of 1972.  A shutdown occurs when Congress fails to authorize funding for the federal government.  The years it happened are: 1976, 1977, 1977 part 2, 1978, 1979, 1981, 1982, 1982 part 2, 1983, 1984, 1984 the sequel, 1986, 1987, 1990, 1995, 1996, 2013. 

Typically a shutdown occurs when the threat is used as a political football - some pet project, hamhanded bill, or grudge match being involved.  But in 1982, that one was caused - I shit you not - by both President Reagan and Congress having social activities.  From the NY Times at the time:

The House and Senate will not act on the measure until Friday. Congressional leaders barred a late-night session because of major social events tonight by both Republicans and Democrats. President Reagan invited all members of Congress to a barbecue at the White House, while Democrats were having a $1,000-a-plate fund-raising dinner.

This is the capricious, this-doesn't-affect-me-or-mine attitude that is always a component of shutdowns.  Our Senators and Congressmen and Congresswomen aren't harmed by the lack of a paycheck or four.  But you know who is?  The millions of federal employees who live paycheck to paycheck.  Just counting back to the 1981 shutdown, an estimated 5,575,000 employees have been furloughed - that is fancyspeak for "fucked" as they received no paycheck during these times that lasted anywhere from days to weeks to a full month in many cases.

Think about your own family.  How would you manage without a full month's worth of pay?  With no notice.  In our country, currently 35% of adults have zero savings, and 34% have only a couple hundred in reserve.  

When leaders finally get their shit together, or at least stop flinging it at one another, these employees do not get retroactive pay.  Shutdowns can affect the income of everyone from active military to National Park employees, to secretaries, to the janitors that clean the legislators' offices.  Just using the military as an example, how kind to add to the stress of combat zones and/or separations from loved ones with the worry about how their families are going to eat.

Our current shutdown has all the components I have described:  political footballs, spite, and frightened and furloughed employees.  But now we also have a Wild Card component - A President who hasn't got a clue, and is as mature as a character out of Mean Girls.  Tweet as he might about Dems being to blame, the reality is this shutdown lays squarely at his bone spurry feet and that of the Republicans who currently hold both the House and the Senate.  

Let me be clear about this - while there were shutdowns prior to the Congressional Budget Act that occurred under Dems or a mix of Dems/GOPers, none of them resulting in furloughing of employees, this is the first ever of this scope to happen under a ONE PARTY GOVERNMENT.  So spare me the Tweets, faux indignation, and attempted finger pointing, GOP.  YOU. OWN. THIS.

At the heart of the dispute is DACA and protections for those under its umbrella.  These are people who were brought to this country as children.  They have grown up here, excelled here, know no other homeland but here.  Under the Obama administration, protections for them were put in place allowing them to come out of hiding, apply for a two year deferral of deportation, and be allowed to obtain driver licenses, enroll in college, work here, and pay taxes.  The rules are clear and include: are currently in school, have graduated from high school, have obtained a GED, or have been honorably discharged from the Coast Guard or armed forces; have not been convicted of a felony offense, a significant misdemeanor, or more than three misdemeanors of any kind; and do not pose a threat to national security or public safety.

No, there is no current path contained to citizenship.  There is no legal status obtained, just breathing room to stop hiding and pursue education, employment,  etc.  There are currently 700,000+ protected by the Obama era program.  And no, they are not MS-13 members, as our Idiot-In-Chief would have you believe.

Oh, and Dems are playing hardball on not funding Trump's bullshit big, beautiful wall he promised Mexico would pay for.  What's that, Vicente Fox?  "Fuck you, Mr. President."?  We concur.  Now GOPers are scrambling to find billions in our tax dollars to build the monument to hubris and idiocy.  And for the record?  Dem Senator Schumer actually did put partial funding for that damned wall on the table in talks directly with Trump in an attempt to move things forward, find a compromise that would protect DACA and assuage Trump's ego, and avoid a shutdown.  It. Was. Rejected. By. Trump.

Republicans, eager to curry favor with the "stable genius" in the Oval, constantly warp the details in order to continue to gin up, and play to, a base of easily frightened, intellectually incurious voters.  Yet, protections for these young people poll with the American populace at 70%.  Not surprising considering Trump's base rides in the 30s.

But keeping that base fed with red meat is more important than the actual majority will of the people, or the example of humanity this nation could provide, so here we are.  Shutdown because Dems will not back down on DACA.  Shutdown because GOPers, despite paying lip service and saying they want to do a DACA deal, refuse to do a DACA deal.  Shutdown because Trump apparently doesn't feel he would be winning enough if he compromised. And SHITDOWN because GOPers care only about filling Trump's emotional candy jar with red and pink Starbursts of loyalty to him.

The problem with that loyalty is all too clear.  They bow and scrape for a man who literally has zero understanding of governance, and even less the actual issues being faced.  His direction changes with the wind of whoever is blowing bullshit in his ear at the time.  So despite proposals being made, they have been shot down.  Even as Dems put forth a resolution that would insure military members continue to be paid during the shutdown, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, shot it down.

Let that sink in.  The party that grandstands on the dead bodies of the military, claiming ultimate patriotism and love of our fighting service members, used them as props and refused to pay them simply because Democrats brought the resolution to the floor.

Do not try to tell the military it is raining when it's actually GOPiss falling on them.

But it gets better in that completely gets worse way we have come to expect from the incompetent child in the White House.  Team Trump released an attack ad, heavily produced which means it did not just happen after the shutdown started, in which they accuse the Democrats of being complicit in all murders committed by illegal immigrants in this country.  And yes, it ends with "I'm Donald Trump and I approve this message."

But not to be outshined by his own nuclear orange radiance in that ad, he went another step further.  This is now the recorded message when a citizen calls the White House: 

saw this going around and wanted to check for myself: here’s the message you hear today when you ring the White House comment line during the shutdown pic.twitter.com/sCquYj0XnX

— David Mack (@davidmackau) January 20, 2018

 Yes, that's right, the recording in OUR HOUSE, and make no mistake, the White House belongs to the people, is now nothing more than Regina Gorge George's latest high school smear campaign.  The tangerine Mean Girl probably even has a Burn Book he scribbles in at night.  

This is where we are.  Our government is a punchline to a bad joke.  A limerick in which the main rhymed word is fucked.

I used the word disaffected in the title of this piece.  If you are unclear, disaffected means discontented and rebellious as to authority.

Take a look in any major city yesterday, the USS Disaffected has set sail.  From the bitter cold of Whitehorse, Yukon to the sunnier streets of San Fran to NYC, DC, Austin and 245 other cities - women and men formed a human tsunami to bring into full focus the magnitude of opposition self serving GOPers face as the 2018 midterms draw closer.  The disaffected majority are coming for Trump and his minions.

It has only been a single year of this mayhem, this shit spiral, this embarrassment, this danger.  But we are done.  We are done watching the "leaders" we pay ignore the wishes of the people.  We are exhausted daily by the uncertainty Trump has fomented in this world.  We are beyond done with Trump and Co continuously grifting, pocketing, and flouting the emoluments clause.  We are over watching our fellow human beings be targeted and put in danger by an uncaring, uninformed government.  We have had it with lobbyists running the show. 

And most of all, we are tired of dialing OUR WHITE HOUSE and reaching a wrong number.

We Are Better Than This

One year ago today, I set these words down.  Trying hard to hold onto hope and the knowledge that the good people literally showed they outnumbered the bad at the polls.  Today, as our government is shut down by incompetence, petulance, grift, and power lust, I bring this forward and share it again.  Marches will take place everywhere today.  Shows of our numbers, our strength, our patriotism in the face of this aberration. If you cannot get to a march, march in your heart.  Stay strong, use your voice, and remember - WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS.

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

Today is awful.  It just is.

Well, it just is if you are a human being who values other human beings.  

Today this nation hands the reins of power over to a wholly unqualified, intellectually incurious, middle school level maturity, reality TV personality.  It is one of the more shameful days in our nation's history that is already riddled with shameful days.

We have failed.  Not just our country, but the world who, despite our many hubris laden follies, still looks to us for guidance, inspiration, hope.

Basically, we have allowed our beacon to go out.  The lighthouse of this nation shall stand dark for four years as a cabinet of science deniers, educational failures, and professional grifters drag us along as they indulge their inadequacies, pat each other on the ass as they hurt the populace, and laugh at us as we cannot do anything about it.

Well, they think we cannot do anything.

But we can.

We start with the bone deep knowledge that we ARE better than what is being broadcast today to the world.  From that place we must stick together, we must march together, we must protest loud, long, unrelentingly.  We must bravely have one another's backs.  We must call, email, call again, show up at town halls, and when there is an election, we must run for office.  We must be a constant reminder to those who now occupy the halls of government that WE, the majority of the people, did not vote for this.

We did not vote for misogyny.  We did not vote for xenophobia.  We did not vote for racism.  We did not vote for LGBTQIA people to be treated as less.  We did not vote for a spray tanned, emotional cripple to indulge his narcissism at every turn.  We did not vote for a theocrazy theocracy.   

We did not vote to "Make America Great Again" because we are educated enough to know we were already making strides in that direction.  We know our shameful history.  We value knowledge, facts, data.  We know we are not a "disaster" as Trump and his minions bellow.

And Trump is already shaking.  This self serving reprobate who exists on ego and applause knows deep down that he did not win.  He knows his guilt, he sees the crowds amassing around the country, he sees the pushback, he hears the dissent, he reads the embarrassing articles, tweets, and missives that are everywhere.  He knows deep down that he is a fraud, and what's worse for him?  He knows WE know it.

He knows we are better than today.

We are strong.  We are smart.  We are humanitarian.  We care about each other.  All things he cannot relate to.  We care about protecting those who have been marginalized.  We see inequities and demand they be righted.  We acknowledge privilege, in all the various forms we wear it - skin color, gender, wealth, education.  We acknowledge it and strive to get beyond it so we may better relate, understand, HELP those who do not have such an easy ride through life.

As Trump is sworn in today, under an increasing dark cloud of guilt, complicity, and corruption, we must remind ourselves that we are better than today.  We are better than those who think words like "snowflake" and "libtard" are slurs.  Sorry, kids, but I will wear the label Libtard Snowflake proudly.

It means I care.  It means that I educate myself.  It means I will never believe I know enough.  It means I stand with those who cannot stand on their own.  It also means I know I am better than those who call me that.  Yes, I typed it.  I am better than racists, homophobes, misogynists, Islamophobes.  I am also better than those who stood shoulder to shoulder with racists and haters of all stripes, accepting the ugliness, embracing it, voting it into power.

I am better than you.  WE are better than you.  Because in the end, we will save this country from you.  Yes, we Libtard Snowflakes with our educations and big vocabularies and open hearts will save this nation.  WE are patriots.  We love this country, not with blinders on or through rose colored glasses, but we love this country knowing all that we have done wrong in the past, accepting all that we have inflicted, stolen, trampled.  We love this country because our ideals are worth protecting.  Not in some bullshitty "We're #1!" memey way, but with a love born of seeing where we have been, what we have accomplished, and what we still can be.

Those who throw those "cuck" "snowflake" "libtard" labels around are not patriots, as they like to call themselves.  True patriots would have been standing up demanding a new election.  Demanding a thorough, complete investigation before any inauguration was allowed to take place.  Patriots would be outraged that a foreign power had its hands in our election process.  True patriots see the long game, not just the short win.  

No, these people are not patriots.  They are patridiots.

They do not care that Trump was chosen, elevated, and today will be sworn in with a tsunami of guilt bearing down on him.  

They only care that they think they won.

When the reality is, they have lost.  Willingly, knowingly - they lost.  And they have done it out of spite, ignorance, and their laughable pride in being mental wastelands.  I have said it before, I will say it again - Sarah Palin made stupidity fashionable.  And these people still wear it like a brain mullet.  They don't read (no, People magazine does not count), think higher education is elitist, and have disdain for anyone who appreciates culture, arts, the world at large.

THEY are not better than today.  THEY are the embodiment of today.

Our only hope is that we, the majority, stand together, stand tall, stand strong.  We must make our voices heard at every turn.  We must protect the advances we have made.  Not just because it is right in principle, but because to allow protections and equality to be undone is to allow our fellow human beings to be hurt.  To allow Palin's death panels to become a reality - no one will be able to afford cancer and care.

There is power in numbers.  Maybe not when the polls are gerrymandered like some origami project gone awry, but when it comes to public pushback against our government officials and their heinous plots and plans - our voices matter.  

And when 2018 rolls around and the polls reopen, we must look back and remember today, remember that we are better than what we watched take place, and begin the process of firmly grabbing the reins back from those who who do not understand the honor and obligation attached to the power.

Today is a shitshow.  It is a national embarrassment.  Just know that you are not alone, you matter, and that you ARE better than today.

Because together we will eventually show the world that we are all working for a better tomorrow.

Food For The Soul

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. - opening lines of the classic, A Tale of Two Cities

I have found these words playing on a loop in my head for the past couple years.  Given the jaw dropping embrace of someone who has never embraced anything beyond self interest; the sickening ways societal advances have been stripped bare and threatened; the open employment of not just the dog whistles of hatred, racism, and bigotry, but plain speak in which the words are right there to be witnessed and recorded; and given the daily attacks against science, education, humanity - these words ring loudly.

We have advances being made in science and medicine, yet the worst elements are intent on inhibiting them.  The wisest voices get drowned out by the foolish and dangerous rhetoric of those who eschew logic, facts, data.  We watch with incredulity as the belief systems encourage their followers to abandon all critical thinking in favor of buying excuses for the worst being displayed before them.  In this protracted season of darkness, we cling to one another as the only source of light - a light generated by our belief in right.  In the midst of despair, and make no mistake, despair is all around, we still look for hope.  Despair may not have targeted you personally yet, but it will.  I despair daily over the uptick in violence and aggression against my son and every LGBTQIA human being.  Despair fills the hearts of families who know they face being ripped asunder by immigration forces who operate as Stormtroopers of Hate.  And while in our darkest moments when we falter, giving in to feelings of hopelessness, feeling we have nothing before us but the quicksand of anarchy, we find a way to remind ourselves that it is always darkest before the dawn, that we do have better days ahead.   

As for the Heaven vs Hell part?  I leave that to your particular views of divinity and afterlife travel arrangements.

In short, our daily lives are now filled with uncertainty, anger, depression, worry, and dread.  Experts write articles weekly regarding the depressive cloud that hangs over this country.  Articles abound with tips to pull yourself out.  Whether it is a walk in the sun, a break from social media, or a simple bubble bath - we all search for a "feel good" - something that temporarily transports us out of the darkness and into the light.  Sometimes you have to work at it, but sometimes you get lucky and it falls into your lap.

Last year, my sister, knowing what foodies and travelers my husband and I are, asked had we seen the show I'll Have What Phil's Having.  No, had honestly not heard of it.  She said it had started on PBS, but had headed to Netflix and was available within a few mouseclicks.  Hmmm, Netflix... Netflix... oh yeah - That service I pay for so my kids can distribute our password to their friends.  Got it.  Now what is that password???

A food travel show, starring Phil Rosenthal - the creative mind behind Everybody Loves Raymond, an actor in his own right, and a prolific writer/director/producer - everything from Bill Clinton's White House Correspondents' Dinner video to co-writing the 9/11 telethon America: A Tribute to Heroes - IHWPH found him traveling the world meeting people, seeing the sights, and sampling the wondrous cuisines of each locale.

To say I was hooked from episode 1 is not quite accurate.  I was hooked ten minutes into episode 1.  

Yes, the locale of the first episode - Tokyo - was exciting, and the food easily brought a tear to my tongue, but it was something else.  I found myself experiencing a feeling that is sadly unfamiliar.  I was relaxing.  Sinking into the couch cushions.  At some point my feet were up, a pillow behind my head.  I was tuning out the grind and settling in.  With the unlikely Phil as my culinary sherpa, but also as the chef feeding my soul.

Phil Rosenthal is someone who could easily be a prick.  Successful, financially solvent+, friends with stars galore.  All the trappings are there, but Phil has not been trapped.  He is just a guy, immediately likable, ready to admit what he doesn't know, welcome you along on his adventures, and encourage you to expand your horizons at home. 

There was immediately something friendly, relatable, charming, and yes, mouthwatering.  If you are a foodie, strap on a bib.

I binged all of the episodes of IHWPH, and in the best compliment to Phil and his crew, I was beyond irritated that it was over.  I had so enjoyed seeing these places through his equally novice eyes - sure we all know what Italy, Paris, LA look like, but he immersed.  He went local.  And in doing so, that is how one truly discovers the heart of a place.  The people, the obscure venues, the ability to learn and taste generations of cooking from those who learned from the generation before and on and on.  Sure, he sampled some high end, high brow establishments, but the real flavor was found in the homes, the hearths, the hearts of those who welcomed him in.

Fast forward to this past Sunday.  Again, bogged down in writing piece after piece about the bastardization of our governance, the fears I have for DREAMers, transgender people, families hunted by immigration, etc - my mood was dark, my blood pressure elevated, the trees of despair completely blocking the forest.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear?  But a gangly, tall everyman with a new show of good cheer. 

Yes, Phil is back with a new show on Netflix.  Same premise - travel the world, immersion style, trying it all, taunting his behind-the-camera producer-brother, Richard, and finishing up each episode with a lovely Skype session in which his parents are the true stars.  The only differences?  New title:  Somebody Feed Phil, and a catchy intro tune of the same name.

So where do we travel first?  Bangkok.  And yes, I will affirm what one of his guests states during a meal - most of us have our Bangkok knowledge direct from the hilarity and horrors endured by the gang in Hangover 2.  And we could not be more wrong.

I watched it through, entranced.  And then made my husband watch it with me again.  We now want to plan a trip to Bangkok.  The street food was incredible to view, the people smiling everywhere, and the elephants?  Oh, Philip, you lucky, lucky man - the trip to an elephant sanctuary brought tears.

My hat's off to Phil and his crew.  Of course they know that not everyone has the resources to travel the world like this, but that's not really the point of the show.  Explore your own backyard, as it were.  Try something new, off the beaten path.  Meet new people, taste new flavors, and most of all, remind yourself that this world is far more than it gets reduced to in our minds each day.

The good people still outnumber the bad.  Everywhere.  And they are just like you, just like me - they smile, they are house/town/country proud, they laugh, they live, they love, they share.  

So thank you, Phil.  For the smiles, the unfamiliar sensation of relaxing again, for showing the best of times in these worst of times, and for feeding something that has quietly been going hungry - my soul.

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

Napkin up and treat yourself to I'll Have What Phil's Having & Somebody Feed Phil - both available now on Netflix.  No heartburn - guaranteed.

27 Years Loving And Being In Love

27 years. 

It has been 27 years since Rudy and I walked into a pristine wedding chapel atop a cliff and walked out husband and wife.

The setting was idyllic.  Kauai.  Balmy tradewinds.  Gorgeous sunshine.  And the ignorance of bliss.  Or the bliss of ignorance.

Either way, we were what every newly wed couple is:  in love, hopeful, a little deluded, and convinced that all days will be what that one was: PERFECT.

Like all couples we soon discovered that love is not a cure-all.  It does not protect you from all harm.  It does not keep storm clouds at bay.  It doesn't make it all better.  And it certainly does not exist in some pristine vacuum a la Corinthians 13. 7-8.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

With a divorce rate of 50%, we have all been witness to the fact that love cannot bear all things, believe all things, hope all things or endure all things.

Because love is subject to the whims, capricious nature, quirks, foibles, eff ups, laziness, and callousness of human nature.

And when those things get in the way, when loving another person stops being fun and we realize that "Oh shit, this requires effort," people have a tendancy to leave in search of those perceived greener pastures where everything tingles, skin is flushed with excitement, and someone will always think we hung the moon.

At least temporarily.

Because that is the problem.  No one can sustain that "new dating perfection" we all front.  Two people, no matter how hot for one another, will eventually succumb to getting comfortable.  It happens, because at heart what we really want is acceptance for who we are, not who we can pretend to be.

That, my friends, is the key to 27 years.  Yes, respect, adoration, awe, commitment, courtesy - all those things are there, they must be, but there is more.

When life has thrown us lemons, we stuck.  When the horror of losing our first pregnancy hit, and mascara would not adhere to tear drenched eyelashes, I realized he loved me without it.  When a hurricane took everything we had and we endured not only loss, but separation, isolation, insecurity, and uncertainty - we turned towards one another, seeing the ideals we thought we were about crystallize into reality.  He realized I wasn't with him for his paycheck, the nice TV, an island setting for our life.  I was with him even if it meant owning nothing and living in a tiny hotel room with a baby.

We have weathered storms both real and figurative.  Some out of our control, many of our own making and choices.  We have survived distance, heartache, separation, aloneness.  We have endured placing our marriage on the back burner in pursuit of a good we deemed greater than our selfish wants:  our children.  We have survived falling in and out of love.  Because every couple who gets this far in the game knows that loving and being in love are worlds apart.  Caring that someone doesn't get run over by a truck is love.  Being in love is far more complex, unpredictable. 

As Alan Alda's character said in Four Seasons, "There are times you hit lows and you can't stand things about each other--like the way her teeth click when she eats, the way I smell my sweatshirt before I put it on. Sometimes we drive each other crazy. And then there are times we go through a period like the one we're in now. It comes over us like an unexpected wave. Puppy love. I can't wait to see her, and then when I'm with her my heart beats faster. You'd expect it with a stranger, but not somebody I've spent half my life with. It's wonderful."

Oh, how that sums it up. 

The sixteen year old girl in me is constantly at odds with the 51 year old woman.  The sixteen year old wants to be in love always. The 51 year old knows the realities.  The 51 year old had to know her partner was states away and could not dote, woo, and cater at the drop of a hat.  The sixteen year old always stomps her feet, daydreams, and fantasizes.

The sixteen year old is dangerous.  Because she rules the heart not the head.  But then, I think the "sixteen year old" phenomenon is not exclusive to females.  I think Rudy has a sixteen year old boy who misses exactly what I miss, when I miss it.  And I think the adult Rudy wrestles just as badly with the puberty laden Rudy, trying to rationalize hard and fast realities with a heart that wants what it wants.

It wants to beat faster.  It wants to block out the rest of the world and its responsibilities.  It wants to lay in bed all day just feeling the beat of my sixteen year old heart next to it.

Someday.  That was our word for 10 years and three months. Someday.

I am thrilled that "someday" is now, someday is finally everyday.  

Our self imposed exile has played out, all three kids are firmly moving on their way in this world.  We finally see one another at the beginning and end of each day again.

And as we have through each separation, we will continue to stand on the firm foundation of 27 years.  27 years of hoping, believing, enduring, and wanting.

We will last.  Not just because of love.  But because of everything love must be supported by in order to survive.  Not the least of which is the adult head powered by the sixteen year old heart.

Happy Anniversary, Rudy.  I am in love with you. 

Happily ever after is a journey, not a destination.

We Are The Shithole

Let me preface this by saying that nothing about today's lastest Trumpism is surprising.  I am not shocked.  I am not open mouthed.  I am not broadsided by his verbal toilet again backing up and showering ignorant, thoughtless feces all over the country.

What I am is angry.

Because this piece of sewage with bad hair and rheumy eyes is representing ME.  He is representing YOU.  He is representing all of us.

Today, at a White House immigration meeting, he demanded to know why the proposed deal would include protections for people from "shithole countries" like Haiti, El Salvador, and many nations in Africa, instead of the much more favorable locales of places like Norway.

Shithole countries.

I see.  

Let's look at some "shithole" conditions people may be enduring as they dream about America's promise and wish for a better life in the United States of America, shall we, Donald?

Nearly destroyed yet people attempt to live from day to day inside

This is a home.  Would you want to live there?

No plumbing, no electricity, many live alongside raw sewage

Their water runs through pipes like these emerging like this

Danger ever present, every day

Loss is a daily reality

Some hide in the sewers for safety

Hunger is not just a feeling at mealtimes.  It is ALL times

The conditions in these pictures can absolutely be described as "shithole."  It is painful to look upon, and our minds try very hard to move on lest we begin to imagine ourselves facing the horrors so many live with around the clock.  

Of course they want to come here.

Oh, wait. they are HERE.

Yes, that's right, Trump, you sanctimonious, racist fuckstick - these are all pictures from the United Shithole of America.  These are all your citizens living in horrendous, oppressive, dangerous conditions every single day while you spend our tax dollars on flying to your golf courses, creating bullshit awards shows, and giving billions to your cronies.  Your citizens are still dying, with little food, and no electricity on 45% of Puerto Rico.  Your shithole country has already racked up 1420 gun incidents, with 427 deaths in 2018.  IT IS ONLY JANUARY 12th.  You still ignore Flint, Michigan and their toxic, undrinkable water.  This country you love to "We're #1" about?  Yes, we are.  We are #1 in divorce, drug addiction, debt, obesity, car thefts, gun ownership, murders and total crimes.  This country over which you pretend to govern is replete with bigotry of all kinds, and the aggression attached to it.  This country lets children go homeless and hungry, forgets its veterans, and consistently steals from the poor to give to the rich. 

Yet, even with the dangers, poverty, and hopelessness aplenty in this country, it still looks better than what human beings in those so called "shithole countries" are desperate to flee.  Disease, wars, famine, and the never ending fear of losing the ones you love.  So yes, people from Haiti would lick your shoes for the chance to just wash dishes in the USA.  Oh, wait, some of them already do at Mar-a-Lago.  So, those Haitians are ok?  People from El Salvador want only to escape the constant violence for a chance to see their children grow up.  There are African nations where hunger and disease and gang wars threaten every living creature.  

No, our immigration system is not perfect, we know that already.  But a bullshit wall won't keep people out, and spewing racist bile about dark skinned countries while expressing a desire for white skinned Norwegians?  Seriously - why would Norwegians want to come to this shithole?  They have healthcare, common sense, and a longer lifespan.

It is shameful to me that this administration full of dullards, grifters, and race baiters/haters have so little knowledge of our country's Constitution, and none about our country's history.  This country used to be a beacon of hope that shone all around the world.  A place where one could breathe free, work hard, and make a life.  A place of sanctuary.  The words at the Statue Of Liberty read:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Most people are only familiar with that last part - 

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

What we have now is a garishly stupid, openly dismissive, devoid of understanding and compassion, corpulent emperor with no clothes standing beside a golden toilet.  A human sewage plant being cheered on by the fetid waste that voted for him, thinks like him.  If you can call it thinking.

I have zero problem with the profanity.  Anyone who has hung around this blog long enough knows that.  My problem is that this shameful bag of bile is currently the President of The United States.  How he actually got there is being sussed out by investigators.  But while he is in the White House, he is supposed to represent what makes this country better; he is supposed to be the force that helps insure we live up to our founding ideals.  He is supposed to give comfort to our citizens, especially the ones mired in the shitholes of our own nation, and reassurance to those around the world. 

He is supposed be the face of this country.

Sadly, the face of this country is an ass. 

And Now For Something Lighter...

Human being are easily influenced, easily coerced, easily led.  We just are.  Primarily out of an instinctive need to be part of the tribe, allowed access inside the cave, protected, accepted by the horde.

It's why we group ourselves.  Clubs, churches, fandoms, professions, sports teams, TV shows - it gives us a sense of belonging, of being like the gang - whatever that particular gang may cling to or espouse.

We see it daily in advertising, especially when it comes to our vanity.  We are constantly shown ideals and we in turn strive to meet the bar.  It can be as simple as a mascara ad that makes you believe you, too, could be one of the longlashed lovelies you have always envied.  (Pssst - they are wearing false lashes under the product.)  A zit cream that will take you from high school wallflower to dating the football captain or head cheerleader!  Shampoos that will transform; lip ointments that will Jolie your kisser; plastic surgery that will attract all to your newfound confidence (and bigger boobs or suctioned thighs).  Fillers, freezers, tonics, magic bullets galore that promise to make us more acceptable to the masses.

Think not?  Remember The Rachel haircut?  'Nuff said.

And that's fine.  We all succumb at one point or another.  My generation's high school tribe requirements?  Designer jeans, Izod shirts, Nike shoes.  Anything less, and well, you were ... less.

At the end of the day, we do what we do because it makes us feel better about ourselves, and our hope is that we are perceived a certain way, accepted.  I make no apology or hide that I love my esthetician and her deft hand with fillers.  I am in love with my Bow Flex and its ass lifting return on investment.  Again, we do what we do because it's what we humans do.

So, in a world where beauty norms are constantly being recalibrated, the bar being raised higher and higher, it is no big surprise that a new standard of male beauty is being embraced.  Lower and lower.

Penis whitening.

Let that one engorge your brain's WTF sector...  do I have your full erection attention?  Good, I shall try to be delicate in this intercoarse.

Whitening has been around for a long time.  We mainly know it in terms of making our pearly whites whiter.  Every Crest commercial shows nuclear white smiles surrounded by adoring friends and paramours.  But whitening took a downward turn, or simply went downward many years ago.  It was a procedure that was actively utilized in the porn industry where a close up can be ANYWHERE - yes, that's right, anal bleaching was the norm.  I suppose that makes sense, I mean who wants to pick up a DVD with their favorite pornformer in it and be stopped mid self love by the sight of a dingy starfish?

Like so many niche endeavors, anal bleaching began to go mainstream - much like full Brazilian waxing.  These days you can even buy a do-it-yourself kit on Amazon.  

So here we are, fancy white bungs now the new little black dress, so it only stands to reason that someone, somewhere would look down and think, "Nah, I can do better than that."

Skin whitening has been popular for a very long time in Asian countries where people perceive whiter skin to be elite, as more melanin translates as someone who labors outside.  It is currently a 10 billion dollar industry.  And now doctors in Thailand have extended that service down yonder, although they had been whitening vaginas for some time already.  

Done with laser treatments that break down the melanin, men are flocking to the clinics that now offer the service.  And since it takes more than one round, most buy a package package.

The BBC Thai service spoke to one patient, let's call him Rod, who had undergone the treatment, who told them: "I wanted to feel more confident in my swimming briefs".

Which makes no sense, I know, but then one person's dusky junk is another's shining treasure, I guess.  Seriously, I promise I am not being stiff or sanctimonious here.  To each his bone, er own.

It can be hard on a guy though.  As with any laser procedure, there are risks of burning, scarring, injury to the pipe organ, even to the reproductive capabilities, but it is not stopping the influx of guys intent on turning their one holed friction whistles into ivory towers.  Given the risks, one could even say, it takes balls to do it.

Again, we all fall into the trap of being more acceptable, aesthetically pleasing to the tribe.  So to these brave soldiers, I give a full salute.  I just hope that the next big thing is not giving the male sascrotch a Rachel.