Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Wow
And to think I do this unintentionally just trying
to get the bastard started all the way across.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Oh Dear God in Heaven
As a Ginger, I get it. My summer routine, should I forget to wear SPF Flannel, is burn, blister, peel, freckle, repeat. I have had burns that bad in my youth; once I hit 20, I embraced my pale flesh. There are parts of me that have never seen sunlight that, I swear on all that's Ginger, glow in the fucking dark. And they shall remain that way.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Yep, this pretty much covers it.
I do have my days when I get up and ask myself, "Why the hell am I doing this, again?" And it's the same answer every damn time. If I stopped, if I shuttered up the windows, locked the doors and walked away, I'd miss you guys something terrible. I'd wonder and worry and desperately need to check in and make sure y'all were doing okay. I do it, because out here on the Plains with the prairie dogs and tumbleweeds and a couple of Cute Chicks who I love dearly but are lousy at adult conversation, I get bone lonely. Before blogging, the only adult interaction I'd have were the occasional trip to the grocery store and chance coversations with the UPS dude. There were days I wouldn't say a word to anyone. And then I started harrassing wirecutter on his blog, he encouraged me to go AWAY and start my own, and then y'all came knocking. And you stayed and became family. And I wouldn't change a minute of it.
The Voices In My Head: Another sappy post about why I blog
The Voices In My Head: Another sappy post about why I blog
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
In support of technical/vocational education
I was probably not your typical high school student. I took advanced math, science and English classes. I took four years of French. I blew up the chemistry lab, not on purpose. Shut up. I squeaked through calculus and trig. I fell in love with Greek mythology and the classics. And I was the President of the French Honor Society. I also took woodshop and auto mechanics instead of Home Ec.
Now don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Home Ec; but I had two grandmas and a mom who covered all that. I didn't need in-depth instruction in how to prepare a pot roast. I did have a dad who was a frustrated carpenter, and who insisted I know how to fix basic things before he'd give me the keys to my 1965 Mustang that I purchased with my own money. So I took woodshop and auto mechanics my Sophomore year. Two of my all-time favorite classes. Two classes that taught me skills that I've used consistently throughout my life. Did I plan on being a carpenter or a mechanic? No. But as a homeowner and car owner, I've used the skills learned a hell of a lot more often than I've spoken French or solved for y.
Three years ago, my alma mater stopped offering all vocational education programs as part of their efforts to become a premier college prep school. But guess what? Not every kid is destined to go to college. Not every kid wants to go or should go. That's pounding square pegs into round holes. Within a year of the decision, the drop-out rates at this premier school skyrocketed, leaving some people scratching their heads. And others saw it as a positive result in that the standardized test scores and average SAT and ACT scores rose. But some kids were abandoned and left to find their own paths. And I think it's a travesty. A public school isn't there to indoctrinate or to "weed out the academically weak", it's there to provide educational paths for ALL students. And eliminating the vocational path is the height of short-sightedness and elitism.
And this is why Mike Rowe is one of my favorite heroes. Read the story of a group of vocational students fighting for their futures, the way the school punished them for their acts of protest and watch Mr. Rowe's video supporting their efforts.
STORY HERE
http://youtu.be/b50_bRcUi00
Now don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Home Ec; but I had two grandmas and a mom who covered all that. I didn't need in-depth instruction in how to prepare a pot roast. I did have a dad who was a frustrated carpenter, and who insisted I know how to fix basic things before he'd give me the keys to my 1965 Mustang that I purchased with my own money. So I took woodshop and auto mechanics my Sophomore year. Two of my all-time favorite classes. Two classes that taught me skills that I've used consistently throughout my life. Did I plan on being a carpenter or a mechanic? No. But as a homeowner and car owner, I've used the skills learned a hell of a lot more often than I've spoken French or solved for y.
Three years ago, my alma mater stopped offering all vocational education programs as part of their efforts to become a premier college prep school. But guess what? Not every kid is destined to go to college. Not every kid wants to go or should go. That's pounding square pegs into round holes. Within a year of the decision, the drop-out rates at this premier school skyrocketed, leaving some people scratching their heads. And others saw it as a positive result in that the standardized test scores and average SAT and ACT scores rose. But some kids were abandoned and left to find their own paths. And I think it's a travesty. A public school isn't there to indoctrinate or to "weed out the academically weak", it's there to provide educational paths for ALL students. And eliminating the vocational path is the height of short-sightedness and elitism.
And this is why Mike Rowe is one of my favorite heroes. Read the story of a group of vocational students fighting for their futures, the way the school punished them for their acts of protest and watch Mr. Rowe's video supporting their efforts.
STORY HERE
http://youtu.be/b50_bRcUi00
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Those dirty Disney perverts
At least they have an appreciation
for the fat-bottomed girls.
We make the rockin' world go round, y'all.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Monday night drunken hula hooping
Today was a BITCH. Got a call this morning from a panicked Poppy, mom had slipped in the bathroom and hit her head on the sink. I only caught the words, "gash, blood, ambulance" and knew where they were headed. I met them in the ER and held Poppy's hand while they examined mom and made sure she hadn't knocked something loose. It was good and bad; his guard was down and we got to reconnect after a little falling out a few weeks ago; cleared up some things. We were planning a trip to the cabin after school's out when the doctor came out to let us know they'd stitched up mom's noggin and were admitting her overnight for observation. She's a tough old bird; we redheads have thick skulls. SHUT UP.
After I got them settled in a room, I went back to their place to gather her hospital documents (living wills and shit, I hate that) and pack an overnight bag, feed Snoopy and lock up. By 12:30, they set me free; I had some Walmart shopping to do and I was perfectly dressed in tshirt, Stewie Griffin pj pants and sequined camo houseshoes. But I digress. Two things I picked up were tiny little bottles of Sutter Home Moscato wine and a Gold's Gym 2.5 pound hula hoop. Not a planned selection, it just happened.
Fast forward, chicks have been fed and I'm bored. Time to break in the old hula hoop, it's been about 30 years. I am surprisingly good; first trial 22:17. Then I had some wine. Second trial 18:02. More wine. 15:52, oh so close! More wine, laying on the couch saying "hula hoop" with each letter alphabetically: "aula aoop", "bula boop", "cula coop", "dula doop"..... Took the hoop out in the back yard to get really crazy. Realized I'm too buzzed for crazy hula hooping....
So now I'm back in the house with a third glass of wine, or bottle, I think one little bottle is equal to a glass but I'm not sure, anywhoo....sitting here blogging, admiring my hula hoop and searching for a little digital video camera. If I can figure out how, I'll record and post my hula hooping prowess.
After I got them settled in a room, I went back to their place to gather her hospital documents (living wills and shit, I hate that) and pack an overnight bag, feed Snoopy and lock up. By 12:30, they set me free; I had some Walmart shopping to do and I was perfectly dressed in tshirt, Stewie Griffin pj pants and sequined camo houseshoes. But I digress. Two things I picked up were tiny little bottles of Sutter Home Moscato wine and a Gold's Gym 2.5 pound hula hoop. Not a planned selection, it just happened.
So now I'm back in the house with a third glass of wine, or bottle, I think one little bottle is equal to a glass but I'm not sure, anywhoo....sitting here blogging, admiring my hula hoop and searching for a little digital video camera. If I can figure out how, I'll record and post my hula hooping prowess.
~sigh~ what can you do?
As a friend once told me, (Army Corps of Engineers), build a bridge and get over that shit. I've got bigger fish to fry, and dealing with a delusional individual who thinks every member of the female gender is out to emasculate and enslave men isn't one of them. Thank God.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
A Rebuttal
I'd like to clarify a few things.
First, this is metaphorical. It means that sweet talking seduction will get more than speaking down to me or treating me like your whore. So to clarify, I would never, let me emphasize NEVER, put a man's vulnerable dangly parts in peril unless it was a matter of life and death. I have much better methods of handling obnoxious assholes than kneeing them where it counts. However, if a man puts his hands on me, he has effectively put his 'nads on the line. If I'm fighting for my well-being, I will knee, punch, grab and twist, bite and do my damnedest to bring the shithead to his knees where I can finish him off. So unless you seek to do me harm, your tender bits are safe around me. ~collective sigh of relief from the male gender~
Second bone of contention, the whole equality/superiority thing. Women are equal to men in what counts the most, Liberty. The right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. If you are a man who believes that by merely possessing a y-chromosome, your rights supersede those of women, then you really don't get the whole "liberty" thing. If you think going out and making a living while the little woman sits at home and watches Oprah and eats bonbons, makes you superior to her, then you're wrong on TWO counts. What a woman accomplishes in the home is just as valuable and at times, more demanding than what many men do in their days. You spend 24 hours being a housewife with small kids and see how you fare. Women aren't "superior" to men, men aren't "superior" to women. We are both human beings with the same God-given rights.
Third bone of contention, sex. (Sorry Poppy, you might want to skip this part). This one is a tuffy for me because of my background. Growing up being told that sex is nasty and women shouldn't enjoy it, I have a very twisted, stunted and painful view of my own sexuality. In one part of my head is every man, preacher, boyfriend, husband who distinctly drew the line between a "respectable woman" and a "whore" with the level of enjoyment being the divider; and in the other part of my head is a very sensuous, loving, passionate woman who wants that deep connection with a man that includes a full, adventurous and satisfying sex life. On the one hand, I fear sex and on the other I crave it. And all the negative, terrifying, stunting emotions come from interactions with men who hold the same beliefs about sex and women as those voiced by Mr. Poretto. This narrow-minded view of what is and isn't acceptable for a woman sexually is one of the biggest reasons I've never had an orgasm during sex, why I was too ashamed to masturbate until my mid-40s, and why my first self-induced orgasm reduced me to tears. Seriously, I came and cried. It scared the shit out of me.
I would like to state here that sex isn't the Devil. That whatever position you want to try is just okey dokey. That you won't spontaneously burst into flames sending your soul to eternal Hell if you indulge in oral sex, doggy style, bondage, spanking, or any other kinky little thing that you and the person you love wish to gift to each other. Because that's what sex is, it's a gift. It isn't a "duty" one has to fulfill, it isn't an obligation, it isn't a bargaining chip to be given or withheld in exchange for something; it isn't a nasty act of mutual degradation. It is one person giving themselves and the person they're with a whole lot of pleasure. Pure and simple. So darlins', my beloved friends, go forth and let your freak flags fly.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
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