Like everyone else, my inboxes are stuffed full daily with ads and offers, proclamations and exaltations about products of all ilk.
Sure, my email addresses exist on myriad lists - your does, too. But I compound the inbox assault exponentially because I refuse to pay full price for anything online. I am notorious for putting something in a cart, going through the purchase process right up to the email address point and then stopping.
Then I wait...
Within 10 minutes to two hours, I open my inbox and there is said company begging me to come back, complete with a discount code for my purchase. (Same with ebay. Hit Watch on an item and then wait. By morning you will have an offer in your inbox for the item at a discounted price.)
But I also clog up my text messages because I will sign up for promo codes at the time of purchase by supplying my phone number. It's fine. I get the discount. I make purchase. And I can delete with ease, no opening the emails or text messages needed.
But sometimes an email just begs to be seen in its entirety. I may be inured to offers to make my colon cleaner, my dick throbbier and able to go all night, my snatch snatchier, but I am still only human and curiosity gets the better of me when I am awake at 2am and cleaning my inbox.
(Sidebar: Guys, give that notion a rest. Seriously, bury it with all the other bullshit you bandy between yourselves, garbage you gleaned from watching porn, and the incellitis you have contracted from listening to human trash like Andrew Tate. We women don't want it to be 12 inches and no gas station point of sale supplement is going to get you ruler length. Seriously, where do you think it is going to go? Our esophagus? Study some anatomy. And go all night? Honey, there's a point where your performance is all chaff and no wheat. Actually, all chafe and no wheeeeeee. Learn how to love and use what you've got. Talk to your partner. Pretty simple.)
Anyway, back to my inbox... email inbox. Here, grab my hand and allow me to pull your mind from the gutter where I led you.
Ready? OK.
There I was at 2am. Done reading 14 horoscopes and Tarot predictions for my day, week, month, year. Nothing new out there about BTS. Twitter, sorry, X, had done nothing but raise my blood pressure. So I opened my Gmail. The heading alone was enough to elicit a gag response. Yet I clicked.
What in the raisins in potato salad world? Who? WHO brought this to the idea table and WHO sanctioned this product?
I get it. It's been roughly since the dawn of teeth that humans have put any number of things in their mouths to clean, whiten, and help the breath created from eating mastodon. Myrrh, charcoal, tree bark, ginseng, herbal mints, salt ... anything in the pursuit of oral hygiene.
Somewhere along the line, we all pretty much settled into the one thing that actually provided that fresh breath, cool-when-you-take-a-breath-through-your-mouth sensation - MINT. Spearmint, peppermint, wintergreen. Kiss someone and that is what we are used to running into. I do clearly remember when the big companies began introducing vanilla. For me, it was an instant no. Brushing my teeth with a cupcake just did not hit right.
But salted caramel? I cannot even wrap my mental tongue around what this has to be like. I pour salted caramel on my ice cream. I order it via desserts on dinner menus. Rudy and I are currently plowing our way through a box of Salted Caramel ice cream bars at night. Salted caramel is what I have to brush my teeth because of, not with.
I cannot. You'll sooner find me hitting 'Add To Cart' for that ubiquitous sex toy that turns you into a conjoined twin with your partner while promising to improve your bladder control, blood pressure, and joint pain.
Just know it will sit in my cart until you follow up with a coupon code... And not for free salted caramel lube.
(Note: for a very long time I have set the comments to moderate meaning I see them before they can be published. I am opening them up to publish immediately because I miss the days when our comments section was a source of dialogue and hilarity - we'll see how it goes. Chime in with your favorite email spam.)
Once upon a time, a woman with too much on her mind decided to open up a space on the internet to catch the random thoughts that traversed the scary synapses of her cranium. Heated, hilarious, odd, political - all contained within the phrase 'Don't Get Me Started' - as anyone who knew the woman was quite familiar with her ability to rant nonstop when warming to a subject.
Through over 19 years - yes, that's correct, the first piece was March 23, 2005 about Terri Schiavo - the woman carved out a niche that seemed to attract like minded souls who needed a laugh, some food for thought, discourse, disgust, comedy, camaraderie.
Then American Idol entered the zeitgeist and things really took off. The musings over contestant auditions she shared with friends via email morphed into full scale recaps twice a week. What began as text only, soon evolved into Photoshopped extravaganzas that kept the women up into the wee hours so followers could wake up to a fresh recap of the previous night's viewing. Word spread, more people came, laughs went up and out, and soon the woman saw a community slowly begin to build.
In between recaps, the topics she wrote on were varied. Her family, her marriage, politicians, elections, fake legs being found in grills. Along the way, real people coalesced into a family of sorts. People shared their highs, lows, fears, foibles. Real connections were made, real friendships developed. Despite all the skepticism that still abounds about the internet, DGMS has always flown in the face of it all. And that woman, THIS woman, has been, and is, eternally grateful.
Welcome back, friends.
Yes, I know I have been missing again. To those who have asked behind the scenes, I have given this answer: I did not set out to step away. It just kind of happened as I realized I needed a sabbatical from being angry every time I sat here. As we closed out another incredible year of Yes, Virginia elfing, I took those warm, happy feelings and decided to build on them in my private life. I have immersed myself in my granddaughter, my kids, my marriage, my mother-in-law.
But.
Yes, there is always a BUT.
BUT I never intended to stay away this long. BUT I knew with each passing day that I missed the release writing provided me, the connection I felt with all of you. BUT I did not know what would finally spur me to sit back down.
Yes, Rip Van Tinkle and his court case is easy keyboard fodder. That tangerine twat will never not be there to type about. Israel and Gaza and Hamas and Ukraine and Russia and Iran - all of it keeps me up at night. The steady and relentless erosion of women's rights in this country is shameful and frightening. And the upcoming election, which will determine what this nation will be for decades to come, keeps my stomach in a constant knot.
It's all been there in my mind. But what really brought me back today was a question someone posed to me in the comments of a photo I posted on Facebook last week. It made me realize a couple things.
I really have closed ranks on my life and what I have been doing/where I have been.
Assumptions are easy to make in the absence of actual information.
While I don't owe anyone justification of what I do, I actually enjoy sharing.
The photo was simple. Palm trees, the ocean, all viewed from the vantage point of a balcony at a Florida resort.
The question asked was fair. It drilled down on the location vs the limits of "desires vs responsibilities", and if it bothered me to "spend your time and money in one of the most regressive and repressive states in the country?"
Again, given my political leanings and passion about what I believe and have openly shared, the query was more than fair and honestly appreciated. I left the simple comment that, “This is where my husband currently works, so this is where we currently live.”
But it made me realize that after 19 years of sharing, a sudden lack of it meant that assumptions were easy to make. So here goes…
Yes, I now live in Florida. Having lived in Texas for over two decades in total, I can say that this state, politically, is basically that state with palm trees and alligators. Better view, same heinous mindsets, politicians, laws. I will add that living here, mere miles from Mar-a-lago, means that when I travel to see my granddaughter in Colorado, my eyeballs are routinely accosted by that cantaloupe cretin’s ego laden aircraft which sits both close to the interstate and to the taxiways. Ron DeSantis, that doughy-picked-last-for-dodgeball-everyday-in-middle-school-so-he-takes-it-out-on-everyone excuse for a Governor presides over this state in which a single retirement community – The Village Idiots The Villages – proudly hosts the highest rate of upside down pineapples, loofahs, and STDs in the land. (Look up the references, just know you were warned.)
Would I rather still live in a blue mecca like Colorado? Of course I would. But my “desires vs my responsibilities” currently make that impossible. My desires would be that my husband would be managing a resort in the Maldives and that we live in a hut over the water. My desires would be that I could still see my granddaughter, my daughter, and my son multiple times a week. My desires would be that my husband would finally retire.
But then there’s those pesky responsibilities. Food, shelter, tuition, his mother, our bank account. And the great job with the great pay was not in the Maldives, not near our kids and grandkid, and until our responsibilities are fulfilled, he won’t be retiring.
So while that picture was easy to extrapolate into a “she’s choosing to vacation in a heinous state and support the most vile mindsets and people” assumption, it’s just not remotely accurate. We moved here a couple months ago. And while I hate the political climate, I am determined to add my blue vote to the pile, while enjoying the actual climate. I find peace in being able to turn my head while I am typing and see the palm trees swaying and the Intercoastal Waterway. I am grateful that my husband truly enjoys his resort, his coworkers, his owner. And I know how lucky I am – we are – to be able to help our daughter complete her doctorate, help our son get fully launched, and for me to be able to travel each month to indulge in the wonder of my only grandchild.
In addition to moving here, we have been able to move his mother to a beautiful facility near us instead of her being alone in North Carolina. That move facilitated her finally being able to meet her great grandchild last week. It makes it possible for her and I to do simple things like go to Target and Publix each week. For her to see her son regularly.
All beautiful things that take place in this backwards state. I learned living in Texas that it is possible for both things to exist at once. Texas is a place with so much diversity, yet so narrow in its chokehold mindsets. But there I met incredible people, had much love, laughter, adventures. And when the opportunity presented itself, I got the hell out. The same will be the case with Florida. This is not forever, but it is for now. And as such, I will make the best of it. And the best of it will include going to the beach, on weekend trips down the keys, heading to Magic Kingdom and Epcot (because no, Disney is not filled with pedophiles wanting to diddle your children. That would be the ever growing list of conservative preachers, politicians, and LEOs who continually get arrested for sex crimes against children. But I wouldn't expect those who would readily buy gold sneakers and a bastardized Bible from the anti-Christ to know these things.) The best will also include living so close to DGMSers like Debbie who is more family than friend, and finally getting to meet others like Kerry and Katy in person.)
But back to this space and my use of it. I spent time the last few days reading old posts, recaps, rants, and ridiculous stories I had written about. And I found myself laughing out loud. Which is what this space really has been about. Even when I write about the most serious of stories, I have always tried to weave in humor, dark though it may be. Because we need to laugh, now more than ever.
So, to that end, in the spirit of the ridiculous that has found its way to DGMS through the years, I leave you with this as my way of saying, I’m baaaacccckkkkkkk. (Special thanks to Katy who started my day with this most wonderful of earworm tunes/cautionary tales.)
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