#ROW 80 POST 43 – SUNDAY CHECK-IN – TRUTHINESS IN ADVERTISING

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I am pleased  and proud to announce that I will be hosting Jade Kerrion's Double Helix Tour on Wednesday, January 2, 2013! She is a wonderful writer and just a wonderful person. To celebrate the launch of Perfect Betrayal and Perfect Weapon, Perfection Unleashed will be available for only 0.99 at Amazon, (down from $2.99) for the duration of Jade's virtual book tour through March 1, 2013. Her writing is thrilling and I think, prophetic in many ways.

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I know that ROW 80 is on hiatus. I also know that I posted #44 yesterday, so yeah, I apparently can’t count. I’m trying to knock off the hard-wired anality that is me. I know that I pretty much ditched the last half of it too, due to “illness.” If Wayne Borean wants me to bring a note from home, I’ll channel Mom and see if she’s willing to provide. She should be, since she follows me around and has been busy fucking up every single clock in my house all these years, except for when I was homeless. I can’t blame her there, I wouldn’t have followed me, either, had I a choice. Ma can’t even provide a decent haunting; she just louses up all my clocks so that nary a one tells the same time. The least she can do is provide a note to the headmaster telling him I’m batshit insane and here the analogy just ran off the road.

Well, I wanted to bitch about advertising anyway. The kind that is on TV. I actually avoided “TV” for quite a while and had a good streak going there. We kind of got around it with HULU and DVDs and I didn’t have to watch 35 episodes of “Walker, Texas Ranger” in a row, or "COPS" which has become unintentionally hilarious, due to the fact that every time it’s from Tampa or Hillsborough County we recognize both the miscreant and the law enforcement officer. If we still drank, it’d be a hella drinking game. Take a drink every time you recognize Officer Friendly and his playmate, Quandarious Hammond!

I’m okay with this and JC can watch the things he likes; besides "Walker" and "COPS," he enjoys the Animal Planet and "Criminal Minds" and "NCIS". All cool stuff and the last two are shows that won’t kill off any more of my brain cells, but My God and all that is Holy! The fucking advertisers are horrible! The tag lines alone are an insult to anyone with an IQ over 12. To wit:

Some woman facing the camera bellows, “Women! We have to get real about what goes on in the bathroom!” Oh. Really? What was I doing before? Was pooping into a little hole a trip to Fantasy Island? What the fuck? Never mind dealing with toilet paper and wrapping up sanitary napkins or tampons or all of that hoo-ha when we menstruated, for those of  us who are of the distaff nature. Thank god that Acid Trip is over. Please, Mrs. Spokes person, tell me how I can make my bathroom experience “real.” Should I have been wiping my ass with my toothbrush? No? Maybe I should put my deodorant on my ass? No? Maybe a little mascara, since I’m too stupid to know that I’ve just been unreal in the bathroom all these years. Then, this dim-bulb woman goes on to say, “I like to feel clean, really clean.” Not ME! I want to run outside and roll around in the mud after I go to the john! Thanks, Quilted Northern Ass-Wipe for making women sound stupider than ever.

If I had some Internet Darts...

Would someone please, please, please tell Gallagher to stop that shit. It’s not funny in 2012. It will not be funny in 2013. It wasn’t funny in 1987 or whenever he last plagued my existence. My best friend at the University of Michigan was a total Gallagher fan and I wasn’t. What we do for friends is hard to believe; I’m no saint and I’d do it for her again; Cynthia I miss you. God rest your soul.

Not. Funny. Ever. Ever. Give Geico a refund.

There’s a kind of commercial that is supposed to be “sophisticated.” Walker 46 shows a glass of whiskey and plays this cool-cat kind of music on the piano, with snare drum and rim-shot. Very cool. Very grown-up in a 1964 kind of way. Unfortunately, I remember those mornings after my parents had those parties and the living room smelled like cheap cigars and farts, so the urban suavity and cool sophistication is kind of lost on me. That’s what that music reminds me of.

Cigar ashes, farts, regret and hangovers. Sophistication, yeah...

CDW and Charles Barkley. These have to be the most hilarious, knowing and dead-on commercials in the history of. CDW has the client mentality down, certainly, after years of dealing with, well, clients. Charles Barkley and the fat, little red-haired dude, who is the caddy are hilarious. Charles took golf lessons and is still, bar none, the worst golfer in the world. He knows it and is okay with it. I idolize Charles Barkley. He doesn’t care that he’s that horrible. When he says “So you my caddy, blah blah” and caddy replies “you have a bunker to the left of you, a bunker to the right of you… remember, this is Client golf” and hands Charles an iron the size of his head, I crack up every time. Charles just looks at it. Great stuff.

I wonder if that club is a Mac?

So, general adverts are still in the main, horrid. People are still being paid to write shit and talk down to their audiences, and trying to make us want crap we don’t need. Some things never change.

#ROW 80 POST 44 – WE ARE YOUNG AND HAVIN’ FUN 2012

"We Are Young"  fun. Official Video

Sorry PSY; I love you and Berklee College should be proud, but fun. rules!

The title says it all. This post is about all of the stuff in 2012 that made me laugh. When I laugh, I feel young. And dammit, I love to laugh; it is the best high, the best drug in the world and I love to share it with people. I don’t care how stupid it is; I laugh at a lot of stupid stuff and myself as well. When I lived at FSJ, homeless shelter, there were a few of us who laughed all the time, at, well the expense of others… but they didn’t know they were being laughed at, so it was okay… sort of. Anyway, moving on, here’s some of the funny shit of 2012, in no particular order; stuff that made me laugh and I want you to all laugh too:

1)         http://www.theworld4realz.com/cotton-swab-causes-emergency-room-visit/

I’ve tried to tell you why this is one of the most serious funny pieces I’ve ever read, but I can’t stop laughing long enough. The dialog between Andi-Roo and her Hubz, talking to Andi-Roo’s mom, the dawning horror of Andi-Roo when she realizes what the nurse really means by “safe at home,” and it’s not big shards of glass on the floor or cleaning her ears with a knife, or the “dumb-ish” nurse, the whole piece is flat-out hysterical, even on like the 5^th reading.

I've heard the adjective "fearless" applied to ol' Nic here. Maybe he should get some. Fear, I mean.

2)         Is actually a post I can’t find, but it has this very boffo picture of Nic Cage in bear suit in “Wicker Man,” a remake of the 1973 “classic.” I do have the picture and I’ve posted it here for you to enjoy, but back to Nic; I never saw either of the “Wicker Man” movies; the older is supposedly classic, but I hear the newer one sucks out loud. I ran across this picture in a “Worst Movie of…” on Cracked.com. There are not enough superlatives to describe what I felt upon seeing this picture. Feel free to supply your own.

*Burp* I wonder if I have Briefcase-Breath?

3)         Lion Drome. I actually thought JC was going to have to take me to the hospital for this. I literally stopped breathing during this awesome post on Cracked.com by Robert Brockway. Having “PD or non-PD, that is the question,” for some reason, also causes me to laugh harder and cry harder and to call Mr. Brockway, “Bwockway” for some reason. I hope he has gotten over that. I bought his book, too. Eventually, I may be able to read it. If my eyes ever settle down. In March. In the meantime, check out this “Executive Lion,” or better yet, read his whole post @ 

http://www.cracked.com/blog/15-old-photographs-that-prove-world-used-to-be-insane/ and a tip of the hat to Mr. Robert Bwockway, who has provided me with hours of hysteria and apoplexy. Enough clap for him and on with our merriment.

4)         This is something that I ran across in our freebie newspaper that comes out 5 days a week, the Tampa Bay Times. It’s called the “Zim Bear.” The link connects to the whole post and the post itself is interesting for a couple of reasons. I wrote it during a very brief period of lucidity, when I was writing my S.I.F.O.T.S. blog, on March 2, 2012. It’s actually kind of hilarious, in hindsight, now. February 29^th, 2012, I wrote, “Chthulhu Doesn’t Live Here Anymore,” which was wishful thinking on my part. He lives here part-time now. I just collect the mail and water his plants. I really should write a follow up post, “Chthulhu, is that Yhouhlhu?” but I so confused myself just trying to type that, I think I’ll leave that moment of whimsy alone.

So, the rest of THAT month is pretty sketchy and some of this I don’t remember, but this is when the tremors moved in and stayed, along with my bipolar symptoms, for real. If I weren’t so damned rational and old, I’d probably have jumped off the roof. The fact that I understand what is going on, makes all of the weirdness pretty easy to deal with. That and the hella medicines my psychiatrist makes sure I get. The Tampa Police Department are good to me as well. “PD or non-PD, THAT is the question?”

5)         Oh! Speaking of. @YumaBev. I cannot have a list of hilarity without the Numero Uno funniest lady on the planet! Funny was still abed when she got up. Over at Parkinson’s Humor, I couldn’t believe it when she was trying to figure out a way to live blog her DBS surgery! Yup! That’s our girl! Only Bev would come up with that corker! A crappy day won’t dare show it’s face around her! I laugh just thinking about her. YumaBev is one of those people that when you think of her, you’re glad to be a member of the human race; she’s that great. Without her and others like her, Jim and Penny Adams, Cyndee Bowen, and P.A.N.D.A., all  tireless workers, their grace and insights, it would be so hard for anyone with Parkinson’s or any Movement Disorder to understand and deal with and try to navigate any of the medical care systems and understand more importantly, the symptoms. Bev and her (now mine, too) buddies are reassuring, and fun. Back to more fun.

 Check out Bev's websites Parkinson's Humor and YumaBev.com and @YumaBev on Twitter. Her book Parkinson's Humor is available on Amazon.com and the proceeds go towards a cure for the disease. A worthier woman and a dearer one to my heart, would be hard to find in this hemisphere.

6)         Spiders. Yeah, I know. Most of the world (of 15 readers?) just jumped off my blog, ¼ of you went ewww!. The rest of us went, SQUEE!! It depends on the type of spider. Nikki McCormack wrote about them and started with the cute little fuzzy type of jumpers and I can’t believe anyone thinks those are icky or scary. We have a batch of them that live on our porch banister and they have their little territories staked out. Once in a while, they bump into one another and jump! Turn and dart off, very synchronized. I think they’re cute as hell. They stay outside and don’t intrude on anyone else’s space. I loved Nikki’s description of Harvester spiders; something about walking death, as I recall.

We did have an interloper; a brown recluse got in the house, when we were living in the homeless shelter. JC got him, we were moving anyway; that was just a little added incentive. We had already been dealing with bedbugs. We didn’t need rotting flesh on top of that.

Anyway, check out the world’s funniest video on why not to film a jumping spider:

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/a2ab701e7e/why-not-to-film-a-spider

7)         So, this gets us to the 2012 Presidential election, with all the signs, portents and many important issues and timely questions and serious discussions. The tone was pretty well set by the world's largest and continuous, party, Twitter. I thought that after 2000, the election was an aberration, because it took a month. It turned out I was wrong. The election of 2012, according to who you listened to, was a continual ongoing work of art, a Noh drama, bushido in style, or a train-wreck. Romney, Ryan, Rovian and nothing less than epic. The fact that Hurricane Sandy intervened and Governor Chris Christie got to play Orestes to Romney's Agemnon made it all the more epic-er!

What made it so extra-fun was being IN Twitter and reading and sometimes even trying to come up with witticisms in reaction to the shit that one Mitt Romney was saying, however, our fearless leader, President Obama was holding his own, and Mr. Chuck Wendig an awesome, awesome writer, who blogs "Terrible Minds" was also adding to the hilarity with his #fakedebate; once again, JC was at the ready, poised to dial 911, when I came up for air:

I can honestly say that I have never, ever enjoyed political discourse so much. I am sure that Mark Twain, H.L. Mencken et. al,, would agree.

8)         Winding this up, I thought I’d include one of my own idiocies. I come from a family that celebrates its idiocies, much in the way Rome allowed her generals to celebrate victories with triumphs. The only dilemma here is which of my many stupidities garners the honor.

Could it be the time I followed myself on my own blog? That was a good one, but wasn’t really all that complicated and didn’t require the level of air-headedness or denseness necessary, nor the prolonged state of confusion I typically exhibit.

How about the time I “rebutted”  Andi-Roo on a #ROW80 post about Suicide and then, in a swift, rapier-like and extremely cunning move, worthy of Errol Flynn and Dr. No, I submitted MY post title, with HER verbiage, so SHE rebutted HERSELF? The editor, Wayne Borean was probably swamped; knows us both and just went with it. The twin posts festered around on the internet and on Paper.li for a few hours before I caught the error and fixed it. A huge MEA CULPA followed and lots of falling on my cyber-sword. Andi-Roo, was vastly amused, as I knew she would be. Thanks Zeus for that wonderful woman. Had it been anyone else, I would have had to change my name and move to Neptune. That’s not really quite showy enough. I could go back and scratch around in my old blog posts and what not, but I’m just too damned lazy.

This stupid Parkinson’s Disease, not-Parkinson’s Disease, that is the question leaves me tie-rd. I sleep 11 or 12 hours a night sometimes. I got up today around noon. Ate breakfast, took vitamins and I’m ready for a nap. I digress. PD, or non-PD seems to be a lot like the elephant in the room. I keep wanting to pretend that everything is the same, but my damned brain will not allow for that.

So, I’ve got what seems to be a perpetual geek show in my head. Everything is weird. “Chthulhu is that Yhoulhu?” should be a sit-com in my head. Anyway, the last thing that I did that counts for a stellar idiocy that had me laughing for a while, was this doozy:

This is what happens when I cook

Now, to top it off, yesterday, when I was getting off the bus at the grocery store, this topped it off. There was a little round woman, very jolly, a sort of Mrs. Claus type, saying “God Bless,” to one and all as they exited. I, as everyone knows, am a hardwired creature, like a cat. I do the same thing, every time. I get up, cane and all and brace myself for the next stop. I don’t like to stand in one place too long. I prefer to be a moving target, as it were. She says something about me not falling, or am I okay, or am I really blind and I hear her say “Or is that your hustle?” It didn’t register for a minute. I stood there, with a blank look, so she repeated herself. I grinned and said, “It’s 3 things; it makes a good weapon, too.” We both laughed, as I got off the bus. That shit cracked me up.

I know I haven't blogged for a few weeks. I've been deliberately lying low, due to my neurological whatever, which is a bore, but there it is. I am pleased  and proud to announce that I will be hosting Jade Kerrion's Double Helix Tour on Wednesday, January 2, 2013! She is a wonderful writer and just a wonderful person. To celebrate the launch of Perfect Betrayal and Perfect Weapon, Perfection Unleashed will be available for only 0.99 at Amazon, (down from $2.99) for the duration of Jade's virtual book tour through March 1, 2013. Her writing is thrilling and I think, prophetic in many ways.

ROW 80 POST 42 – THE RISING OF A DARK NIGHT, PART 2

I didn’t realize that when I wrote this piece that there would be a part 2. Aaron responded to my 1^st post and that spurred further thought. So here we are; I want to quote him:

“I hope this will get people to become more proactive and realize that so much was lost yesterday in innocence. The young man that did the senseless tragedy is responsible. All of the events make me question a world gone mad. A world where we teach our young boys not to cry or feel emotion. We show them examples through the media of other men that are bumbling idiots or uncaring fathers. Young men are unprepared for the perils of the world and they don't know how to get help when they need it because we are teaching them to "be a man." In my opinion, a man is a person that is not afraid to ask for help or too prideful. I will continue to blog and hopefully show the world that boys and men need positive role models and maybe I can make a difference.” -- Aaron Brinker, dadblunders

That is the heart of the matter right there, I believe. Boys are taught to be “men” and not show their feelings. They bottle up their emotions. I recognize this, because I was raised this way, by my mother, not my father, perverse as that sounds. My mother accused my father of being “weak,” when he shed tears, yet she was the one with the psychosis, as am I. To my detriment, I do not cry easily.

In general, when tragedy strikes or we deal with injustices, we turn to humor to use as a bulwark against the pain. In the case of the killings of Americans in Libya and the subsequent furor over the extremely provocative “Muslim Rage” cover in Newsweek, which was completely tasteless, Muslims and non-Muslims, like me, hung out at #muslimrage to make fun on Twitter. “#muslimrage “I hate when the hummis goes off.” It became ecumenical: #catholicrage “when the priest drinks all the sacramental wine.”

Humor is wonderful as a balm and to diffuse even the biggest blowhards, but it can’t bring back the dead, nor heal the broken-hearted. What we are left with is often a sense of bewilderment and helplessness. For someone like me, I understand all too well, how the heart of darkness can intrude.

I have written before of my mother’s mental illness. She was raised by people who were incapable of raising healthy children and should never had had any. The fact that the youngest son of 3 is relatively healthy, but clueless is more a testament to my mother’s care and protection of him as a child, than any actual raising done by his parents, my maternal grandparents.

My mother suffered as a child; much of it, she wouldn’t speak of. Suffice it to say that my childhood was pretty awful, and though when she died our relastionship was mended and I loved her dearly, it has taken me 57 years to gain the insight I’ve garnered. This is no one’s fault. Insight and growing is arduous and change really, never stops.

Anyway, I was a lousy girl-child. More a boy-child in thought and temperament. I was taught to fight back and make bullies pay and pay hard, although my mother bullied me ferociously into adulthood. My father, being the mellow soul, watched over me to make sure I came to no real physical harm. He too, was a victim of emotional bullying from her, but was staying in the marriage I believe, until I was grown.

She left him when I took off for music school. To say that I have Asperger  syndrome (note: at the time this was written, ABC News has helpfully highlighted the fact that there is NO link between violence and Asperger. I thought I was just socially inept all these years...) and do not relate well with people is to put it mildly. After a series of disastrous relationships, broken marriages, drug and alcohol problems, homelessness and ill health, Parkinson’s Disease, or non-Parkinson’s-Disease-that-is-the-question, bipolar, mental illness, psychosis, but perversely, great careers, I’ve finally figured out that I’m not the person my mother wanted me to be.

Gee, what a shock. So, I hate when I start on one topic and it ends up here. But, in explaining all of this, I’m also telling you, that there is something in me, that lurks. That is very dark, indeed. I try to keep it tamped down. It is “impulse.” It roars up, like a lava flow. It tends to come out at the oddest moments. It engulfs like a hot wave and it does, indeed fill my limbs with heat and light. I feel it when something good is about to happen and when I witness the bad. It is something atavistic and it scared me, at first.

It feels about like this looks. For real.

"Angel" is about a vampire who was given a soul and spends his time trying to find redemption and forgiveness for all the wrong he has done over centuries. I can relate, and identify somewhat with both sides of his character, and also how quickly he shifts from the light to the dark. Maybe we all walk that tightrope carefully. JC always says to me when I leave, "Be nice," and in the main, I am. I know I carry something that can easily be used as a weapon. I'm aware that I have to play chess mentally and try to be adept in situations that may need defusing. Not my greatest forté; diplomacy. I've been better lately, with JC's help.

The man got on the bus shortly after I did; I was riding to my local grocery store. The man was short 11 cents. He fussed around for a minute, searching his pockets. We waited a good while. The bus driver was not moving until the young man coughed up the 11 cents. I’m in patient, but not-THAT-patient mode. I sigh. My PD tremors were not noticeably bad. We were still waiting.

This young woman comes tearing up the aisle and puts 11 cents in the change hopper. The two of them go running to the back of the bus. The bus lurches off. The couple come tearing up and plop down in the only seat; the one in front of me and they have a baby. They’re both frantically fussing over their baby. They’re both neat and clean. The baby is clean and bundled up. This family is homeless and they’re on their way to a feed. 

They’re probably new in town. This is my home bus route. Everyone knows me on this route. There are several feeds and services for the homeless along Nebraska. I had an extra 5 bucks, so I handed it to the woman, as I got off the bus, saying to her, “It gets better, honey.” The man started to cry. My limbs were on fire. I hop off the bus and hear “Ha ha, Viola, you a crazy bitch!” My usual fan club.

I think this dark and light is in all of us. I see reports about these young men. They’re described as “geeks, loners, bright.” They may be “geniuses.” I’m no “genius” but, what is that, anyway? Everyone is peculiar. We could so easily be that way, or could we? I cannot for one minute imagine harming another person, especially, a smaller, weaker one.

My psychotic moments are rare and I am not a harm to others when they occur. I get confused, which is funny, because I am confused most of the time anyway. I call it my confuse-a-what. I remember them now; I didn't when it first happened. This is all beside the point. My fears, or psychoses have to do with my overarching fears of not having any security, so if everything isn't so, I freak out. Well, it's really funny if you think of it like that, because when is anything every like it should be, we're talking about PEOPLE for goodness sake! Nothing is ever where it should be! But, moving on, this isn't about me. I'm really harmless, unless I decide not to be and I'm iron-clad on being harmless, unless someone gives me a damned good reason not to be. See? 

But there’s no balm, no easing for wanton destruction of innocent life; here’s where I can’t stop the confuse-a-what. Other than trying to help pass stricter gun-control laws. Other than talking about this now and speaking out against the NRA and starting one of my endless and famous SignON.Org petitions which delights Rick Scott, Governor of Florida and his Minions. Other than that, I got nuthin’ as the song goes. Except an empty heart over this. This tears me up. Both JC and I are stricken. Everyone is devastated and when people are so universally affected by a tragedy of this magnitude, something is deeply, desperately wrong. We have ignored so many signs and warnings. We may not get another.

ROW 80 POST 41 – THE RISING OF A DARK NIGHT, PART 1

This title, as all my titles, is a deliberate play on words. Beginning with the tragic and horrific shooting at the Batman "Dark Knight Rises" in Aurora, Colorado on July 20^th, 2012, we now have witnessed the bookend, at least I fervently hope, but I fear that is going to be unmet, at the Sandy Hook School in Newtown, Connecticut, where little schoolchildren were the apparent Big Bad, in what has become a depressingly, horrendously, all too-familiar script. 

Unfortunately, even the Batman can't fix this.

I hardly ever, ever write about current events. The fact that I feel compelled to do so, was driven by this one picture; this undid me. Not the Batman. But the Brinkers. I owe dadblunders much. He has been such a wonderful presence in my life. He and his family. They are a reminder of all that is bright and warm and hopeful in life. Families just as great as theirs were destroyed last night. Never, ever forget that. That's how this post came to be. Shame on me for ignoring all other tragedies of this ilk. Shame on me for not speaking out. For not thinking "it will never change." Of course it won't if I write and do nothing. It will never happen again.

Along with the ever-increasing body count, we also have the ever-increasing screeds and alarums coming from the nuts of the right-wing and the NRA, who keep insisting that NOW is not the time to discuss gun control. If not NOW, then WHEN? The last time, 3 days ago, was not the time. It’s never the time; it will NEVER be the time according to the NRA. 

In fairness, the NRA does promote gun safety and proper usage, but is tangled up with the usual gang of idiots, who vow to hang on to their weapons until they are pried from "my cold, dead hands." That time can't happen soon enough for me, if the recent carnage is any indication of their stability.

All the worn shibboleths are trotted out: “Great, when we outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns.” And, “Our 2^nd Amendment rights guarantee us the right to bear arms.” Fine. Terrific! But, I’m pretty sure, that as with ALL of our Bill of Rights amendments and the wide language employed deliberately, so that states’ interpretations could be employed, this did NOT mean, "let's use school children for hunting practice."

Let’s get real here. The 2^nd Amendment, like all of our amendments uses porous language, purposely to allow it to be used as framework to construct a tighter law. It does not mean, “Gee, let’s just use it to mean whatever the hell we want it to mean and fall back on it whenever we fuck up!” I’m talking to you, GOP and NRA. 

Just because you all think you look sexy as hell running around waving your Glocks and .387 Magnums doesn’t confer you with sexy, or power, or a big wang, either. No one is going to rape your dog or steal your kids. The fact that we have dead school children, CHILDREN killed DELIBERATELY makes no impression on you whatsoever? If I sound provocative, I mean to. I think it's time to bring it on and have a good old-fashioned brawl. Let's put aside polite discourse, since that's getting us absolutely no where and y'all are doing whatever the fuck you want to do anyway. 

I call bullshit on your stupid, neanderthal attitudes, GOP and NRA! Are you listening to me, you morons? You are a bunch of white, mean-spirited, lick-spittle, cock-sucking assholes. You take it up the ass for every corporation and big business concern going and you're too pussy-whipped to stand up and say "THIS IS WRONG!" It's wrong to allow the allow killing machines, i.e. Assault Weapons (side note: CT DOES have an Assault Weapons Ban, so fair is fair.)

Now, having said all of that, I have to put on my devil's advocate hat and state that, the barn door is open, the horse is gone. I realize that these types of guns are easily bought on the black market and through gun lords and once procured, there you are. Still, this illustrates the very point, I think  what I'm trying to state in my confuse-a-what style is this: just because the horse is gone, doesn't mean we burn down the barn. We need to figure out how to corral the horse; carefully. Careless got us into this mess.

But, aside from that; what kind of cold-hearted bastards are you, GOP and NRA, that you cannot put yourselves in the positions of these families who are grieving over their lost children, their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers and weigh the costs? Are you that granite-hearted? Are you that alienated from the human family? Don’t you see your country is hurting? This affects all of us; we are all grieving and diminished by this tragedy and your response is “Oh, this isn’t the time to talk about gun control.” Then, tell me, when is it the time? When one of your sons or daughters dies by a gunshot? How about then? Is that the time?

ROW 80 POST 40 – SIGNS AND WARNINGS

With a complete lack of any other idea, I have decided to start a post about the warnings regarding side effects caused when taking certain medications. If I stick to writing this, I may even finish the bastard. The last several attempts, produced actual posts, but my win-loss record overall, is dismaying.

Anyway, so yeah; medicine, medications, salves, pills, injections, you-name-it. Over-the-counter or prescription, topical, taken internally; it doesn’t matter. These things can do some pretty frightening ju-ju to your tender self, if you’re susceptible, or if you abuse the shit. Some of this crap causes side-effects even if you look at it, or handle it improperly. Poof! Up in smoke! Just like nitroglycerin!

Now, I’m not talking about the warnings for chuckleheads on ridiculously obviously stuff, like you see on costume Superman or Bat Capes: (Warning: Cape does not enable wearer to fly. This one’s stupid anyway. Batman never could fly, he had a Bat ‘copter and he had all kinds of shit in his Bat Utility Belt, so that one was just wrong.)

This might have looked more sinister if not taken half in the SUNLIGHT.

On second thought, no.

No, I’m talking about the Cripes-a-Mighty side effects and warnings that are plastered all over a bottle of pills that you get from your friendly pill-pusher pharmacy or your witch doctor. I am currently taking Cymbalta for depression, 30 mg per day. It works and THANK GOD, I do not have any of the following:

·       Nausea

·       Dry mouth

·       Sleepiness

·       Fatigue

·       Constipation

·       Dizziness

·       Decreased appetite

·       Increased sweating

But, you know what? This is kind of boring. There’s another drug I heard about, that I have not yet had to take; I'll get to that in a minute. I’m also on Topamax and it has a batch of side effects too:

·       Unusual sensations, such as burning or tingling

·       Fatigue

·       Drowsiness

·       Mental and physical slowing or delays

·       Nervousness

·       Upper respiratory infection

·       Coordination problems

·       Weight loss

·       Loss of appetite

·       Taste changes

·       Confusion

·       Difficulty with concentration or attention

·       Nausea

Hmm, some of that sounds an awful lot like some of the Parkinson's Disease symptoms, I was experiencing BEFORE I started taking Topamax, along with the others; tremors, drooling, stiffness, ball-o-toes 'n' fingers, etc. Still have that and all this other shit, now that I'm taking Topamax because I’m bipolar and have a tendency to get really, really, really psychotic, and there's a chance I might get violent, 'cause I have this thing called "poor impulse control," and a kinda sorta violent streak for a girl, so, at first I was taking some other anti-psychotic drug. I can’t even remember the name now. I just remember the One Warning, “If you itch and break out, get to the ER immediately!” I itched and got to said ER, where I was Presto! Change-O! put on Topamax! So, now, along with the above, I risk these lovely side effects: 

·       Mood problems

·       Decreased sense of touch

·       Viral infections

·       Abdominal pain (stomach pain)

·       Joint pain

·       Weakness

·       Sore throat

·       Dry mouth

·       Indigestion

·       Mood problems

·       Back pain

Plus, the ability to write horrible run-on sentences. Well, shit. I’ve EXPERIENCED (Hello? Who hasn't?) all of this and more. I had all, or most of this BEFORE I took the Topamax. I still have ALL (Hello? Who doesn't?) of this, I just am no longer on a hair-trigger. I still have an inclination to bust heads now and then, but it's just an idle notion, and aimed at the unjust bullies of the world. Of course, looking at this list of bullshit, you can see why anyone would be in a pissy mood. Jeepers!

This other drug that I’ve heard about, but have not yet had to take is for ADHD. Oh, please God, no. Even if I had it, I would tell no one. There’s a new drug that has “can cause tics” as a side effect. Un-fucking-real. The tag line says, “Blah takes care of my ADHD, I do the rest.” I’d do the “rest” by hopping off a fucking bridge if I had to take a drug that gave me tics.

At first, I thought it was "ticks" like "woodticks." I wondered why anyone would want insects as a side effect. Then, when I realized it was "tics," I was all like, "HELL NO!"

keeping in basements and eating pets occur in 10% of patients. If you miss a dose, please jump from your roof, shouting "AIYEEEEE" on the way down, while taking 2 doses, at your next regularly scheduled eclipse. If you begin to levitate, cease taking your medication and call your exorcist immediately." That's the shGeeze, if a drug is going to give you side effects, they should be fun side effects. For instance, I want that medicine that says: "May cause sightings of the dead. You may sprout horns and/or cloven hooves. Cases of hot-dog finger have been noted in clinical trials. Instances of Chthulu setting up houseit I wanna take.

ROW 80 POST 39 – IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER SOME CHRISTMAS CHEER

This seemed like a good title today, because that’s kind of the way I’m feeling. Do not misconstrue. I do not feel bad; I feel quite well actually. As absolutely boring as this is, so I’ll make it short, I’ve been eating well, exercising (if walking is an exercise) and sleeping. A lot of sleeping. Like 10 to 11 hours at night.

We’ve kind of been doing the Christmas thing, à la watching gobs and gobs of ABC Family Christmas movies on HuluPlus, which are pretty good. Lots of laughs and plenty of tears. But the holidays do that to people, don’t they? Times remembered, or mourned because they never were, tend to bring out the hankies. It’s okay, though. It’s genuine, and again, JC and I are scheming on how to get some Christmas to folks around here, who won’t have a Happy this year.

Turns out Señor and Sra Chupacabra like chocolate and we like Mango juice, so they’ve been renamed Señor and Sra Neighboress. She also cooks a mean picadillo. Mama runs in and out of the house and Neighboress pays her no mind, so the curse has been lifted. For those who were out in the lobby getting snacks during that part of the show, Viola put a curse on Sra Chupacabra when Sra C complained about the cat’s non-existent fleas to Señor Landlord. Viola put a Scottish Erse curse on Sra C for that. The fact that no one speaks one another’s language in this scenario may have led to a wee misunderstanding.

Anyway, we’ve been trying to spread our brand of Christmas cheer, but sometimes it’s hard going. JC and I were walking back from the little market on the corner with a Sunday paper. Some sour old guy was sitting in front of the market when we came out. JC greeted the man. “Hi, how are you?” …. “Not so good, eh?” Of course, I burst out laughing. A lot of it is just JC’s deadpan delivery. Great. Now, this sour old guy thinks I’m laughing at him.

JC hustles me along. I had been to the grocery store, earlier and I had JC meet me at the bus stop to help me carry the cat food. Yes, cat food. This is the most spoiled-rotten cat in the history of. I had too much other crap to stuff in my back pack, so I called him and he met me to help carry. So, I start telling him about the sour clerk I had at the store. She never did crack a smile. And I used all my best jokes, too! I know! Usually, I’m laying them in the aisles. So, I said something inane and she just looked at me. Everyone else was laughing and I just said to her, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your day.” Asperger strikes again. I couldn’t get my shit and get out of there fast enough.

I almost left 2/3 of it sitting in the store. If the bagging guy hadn’t stopped me, I would have left it behind. I’m so socially inept, it’s painful. JC thought it was funny, and it actually is (everyone else, sans target laughed.) We stopped at the little market to get our Sunday paper and Maria and Rick and people we actually know are there. I had broken my sunglasses, which JC repaired, but I really need dark glasses, so was trying on new ones, being ridiculous. Some lady looked at me aghast, like “act your age,” but who knows what she was really thinking. I found another pair. JC was down the counter, talking to Rick. I looked at JC and pointed to the glasses, and he said “We ain’t left the store yet.” That garnered a laugh from Maria and Rick.

I’m trying to pay for the paper and glasses, and as usual, my mouth is running 190 miles per. I do this when I’m trying to get stuff and pay for stuff. I hate, hate, hate to put anyone out and make them wait for me. Yes, I’m that insecure, or nervous, or whatever. Echoes from my childhood. So, I just spew whatever is bouncing around in my head.

I’m trying to hoist this stupid back pack full of cat food off my back and up onto the counter to get my money. I tell Maria, “This is nothing, you should have seen when I had 300 lbs of crap in my shopping cart and I almost took out the wine aisle in Sweet Bay. That poor couple I was bearing down on saw their lives flash by before their eyes. I could see it in their doomed souls. When I zoomed by, I said, ‘This is why Mary don’t drive.’”

I had 24 cans of this crap in my back pack. She will ONLY eat the Shreds. No Paté, no Gravy Dinners. Just Shreds. Dammit. *Stamps her little foot* 

I thought we were going to have to pick Maria up off the floor. I didn’t think it was THAT funny. Okay, maybe a little bit. At least we got to spread a bit of our Christmas “cheer.”

ROW 80 POST 38 – THE RAT WHISPERER – A LOVE LETTER

Being homeless broadens one’s horizons. Yeah, no shit. That makes it sound like a candidate from MissManner’s School of Perfection chipped her nail polish and ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. Well, if you want to look at it like that, be my guest, but you will have missed out on all the stupidity, catastrophe, fun, yes fun, and peril that put my dumb ass in this predicament, in the first place.

I would also like to climb further out on this metaphorical limb and perhaps break the branch altogether and say, that life is one hell of a lot more entertaining post-homeless, than pre-. Along with all of the attendant annoyances, Food Stamps, and the idiots of the FDC, Medicaid and the non-existent elves of “medically needy," and “costshare,” plus, all the redundant nightmares of the state and federal bureaucracy, we get what has to be the King of all Bad Governors, Ever.

Am I Sparkly Enough?

We have the ever evanescent presence of Florida Governor Rick Scott of the Sparkly Pluto Party, who along with his mendacious, shit-witted, and mostly stupidly-named minions of the state government who have never met a state or federal program they couldn’t fleece. Turns out one HUNTING DEUTSCH, Rick Scott’s “Job Czar,” whatever that is supposed to be and do, resigned after being paid unemployment benefits?!?!?

 On second thought, I am rather dim-mish here. Truthiness, y'all...

I KNOW!!!! What       The     Fuck???? How come Rick Scott is still alive? How come Hunting Fucking Deutsch just gets to resign? Seriously? Does this Scott have a reason to inhabit air molecules? And how come all of this malfeasance is just explained away, like, no biggie. No big deal. Imagine for a minute if you or I did something vaguely, oh, I don’t know… criminal? Maybe, steal a loaf of bread, because we’re hungry? That shit happens here all the time. I’ve seen people get arrested at my grocery store. I don’t know that they’re prosecuted, but they take them away.

We’d end up like our pal Quandarious Hammond… Really. And here is Hunting Deutsch, just waltzing off to the, I guess, the Black Forest, with a freaking Nazi-sounding name like that. No German-Bund hate mail please. And just why is it, that the GOP always has people with the stupidest names imaginable? That one guy, Crpsx Grpn, or something. I can’t find him on Google, anyway, you know who I mean, honestly. Another toad. Well, I’m too busy or lazy to look for him and my eyes are still trying to get over Hunting Deutsch for God’s sake!

Geeze, I wasn’t even going there, but I remembered that and that’s all it took. I was going to talk about “The Rat Whisperer.” Our kitty-cat, so proudly displayed here on my blog, was a gift that showed up late one night, when JC was sitting outside. He doesn’t always sleep all through the night and he doesn’t like to be inside all the time. It’s quiet here at night; blessedly quiet. During the day, it’s all boom boxes and Latino music and hurly-burly. We love it, but it do get raucous, so night time is a good time to sit out and reflect.

JC has had troubled times; as have we all. I dealt with mine by doing the go crazy-on-the-installmentplan. When the ARM bubble payment was due, man was that a bitch! But, it came right, I think. It's been almost a year, since that part and JC has been by my side for 2 years now. For him, with all of his goodness and purity, he was let down and hurt badly. No one should ever have their trust used and broken the way he did and as long as I’m alive, that will never, ever happen.

JC’d had a little dog once, and when he had to go, he had to leave her behind. I’ve heard lots about that little dog and how he loved her so. When we were all over at the homeless shelter, of course, we couldn’t have dogs. Cats would show up, and they would get fed, with whatever scraps, were around. One of the guys there still cares for the strays. I remember him hollering, “Who’s feeding these cats spaghetti! Cats don’t eat spaghetti!”  Meanwhile, the cats and possums were wolfing down spaghetti, donuts, cheerios and ramen noodles. Basically, anything anyone put on the ground, by the kitchen. 

Being in our homeless shelter was nothing so much as like being in high school; a very dangerous high school at times, but high school. You had cliques. I guess once a nerd, always a nerd, because that’s where I ended up; with the nerds. JC, H, D and a few others. Out on the outskirts, not doing drugs, or drinking, just kind of hanging out between doctor’s appointments, physical rehab, trips to SSA, parole offices, grocery stores, part-time jobs, or vocational rehab classes. Man, we lived there. Live-in school of hard knocks.

So, being nerds, we were also kinda, but not really, easy prey; we sat where we could watch ALL of the goings-on, keeping our backs to the wall, so to speak. We sat in the back in a row in porch chairs along what had been an old hotel on a cement easement. Underneath the easement, there was a family of rats. There were about 2 or 3 generations of rats living under there. They came and went, and JC started feeding them. The rats brought their kids and grandparents along to feast on the plenty.

We had been sitting out there for months and people were bringing out their sandwiches and crackers and here’s JC collecting all of this and feeding these rats and making pets out of them.  They would hear his voice and come out and wait for him to bring them “treats.” The owner came by one day. “Hey! Who’s been feeding these damned rats? If I find out, that person’s going to be kicked out of here!” This from the guy who is renting to burglars and dopers. So, we had to cool it on feeding the rats. 

When Buttercup, Butterball, Butterscotch or Mama came to us, she was very, very shy. I think she may have been abused. There is damage to the right cornea of her eye. It took JC a long time to get her to the point where she would let him pet her. She is still leery of people she doesn't know; I’m grateful for that, because she still is not keen on being a totally indoor kind of cat.

She’s really a charmer and so funny; it's been years since I've had a cat. The most fun though, is watching the interaction between Mama and "The Rat Whisper." She loves him to pieces and follows him around. She looks up into his face, when he talks to her. He gives her directions with his hand and he uses American Sign Language. I may not know what he's saying, but she does. Lately, she’s been after his shoes. She gets her claw caught in his shoelace and the shoe “follows” her and then she takes off! It’s hilarious the way she zooms out of the room. JC is used to dogs and he said once, “Do you think she likes us?”

I said, “She likes me, but she adores you.” It’s the truth. And I love him, unreservedly and forever; the way it should be.

ROW 80 POST 37 – ONLY ON NEBRASKA

I go to our supermarket pretty regularly; several times a week, in fact. It’s probably one of the few places I can go and feel… I know not what I feel. I don’t drive, because I’m legally blind. Oh, I suppose I could drive and I did for a while, when I was just blind in my left eye. It made for some interesting guess work, as regards distance between objects, moving and stationary. Depth perception was nil anyway. I no longer had that annoying 2-of-everything thing going on, but still, when I had about 83 near-misses in 10 days, I decided it would be better for everyone if I just surrendered my license and went quietly. Surgery on the left eye did nothing except, surprise! That annoying 2-of-everything is now back, only sometimes the 2 things are real far apart, sometimes they’re almost 1 thing. It’s psychedelic, without the pestiferous and lurid colors, odors, sounds and… oh, wait. I have this other thing going on, that provides all of that. Never mind.

Anyway, yesterday, which was Wednesday (another missed check in! Damn!) I went on my weekly jaunt to the store. As we have no vehicle, I go after JC returns home from his class, that way we only use 1 bus pass and save an extra 4 bucks. It’s easier for me to go as well, because he has bad knees. Our little operation works quite well. The pass-off of the ceremonial bus pass, farewell kiss and off I go, back-pack and whack-a-mole, dark glasses and ‘tude.

The attitude has mellowed somewhat. I only get overtly hostile if someone runs directly over the top of me now. I employed the 3-foot rule for a long time. I still have the option to detonate if my person or property are manhandled, which believe it or not, has happened in the grocery store, but we have a saying there, “Only on Nebraska.”

It’s an apt saying and timeless, apparently. I’ve been shopping there, since I was dumped unceremoniously down the street in a homeless shelter over 2 years ago with my food stamps. It was zany then and seems to have gotten worse, so it’s just my style. I forget about how random and crazy this place truly is until times like yesterday.

Some observations and highlights, if you don’t mind. First off, Management either heard my endless bitching about “Sleigh Ride” by Thelonius Monk, or I just missed that part of the endless tape, that’s filtered through bad speakers and is just a crackly static anyway.

I swear I DID recognize the woman who came up to me hollering “Girl! You look so fantastic! What choo been doin’ since you got out?” I totally scoobied that one and said, “Oh, you know, a little of this, a bit of that. And you?” She rattled on about “our old gang.” We reminisced about stuff I do not remember. Had some laughs and promised to keep in touch. Hug, hug and off she went. I’m really not sure what we got “out” of. I’ll ponder that awhile.

I never cared for Scooby and the Gang. I can't believe I know what "Scoobied" even means. Too much "Buffy" and "Angel"

So, as I was a-pondering, I’m bent over, looking for some soup and of course, the soup I wanted was on the bottom shelf. Dude comes up and says, “D’you know where the Velveeta is?” I straighten up and say, “Well, logic would dictate that it be with dairy products, but that is not the case, so it’s probably with the air filters.” Ha ha. He goes off and I continue wrestling with my soup. Dude comes back. “You were right!” Shit, blargle. “My name’s Tom.” “Hi. Tom. My name’s Mary.” Dutifully shake hands. He says, “Are you from around here?” I say, “Actually, I’m on loan from another planet.” He gets the hint and leaves. Aargh. I so hate that.

Well, shit. Now, I feel like I need to skedaddle. I don’t do well when I think people are on the prowl. I get real defensive and from there, I get jumpy and all offensive quickly. Crap. I go and get my pastrami; I’m about through anyway. Now, here’s where it starts getting really weird.

The saying “Only on Nebraska,” started about 2 years ago, when I was trying to pay for a prescription at the pharmacy. Between the cash registers at the counter, there is a perfectly round hole cut through the top and people were throwing their trash down the hole. The pharmacy clerks put a medicine bottle to prevent this. That didn’t stop people, customers from removing the bottle and stuffing their garbage in the hole, so the clerks wrote “DO NOT REMOVE” on the white plastic lid, which I found (and still do) absolutely hilarious. At the time, I said something like, “This is just unbelievable,” or some other amorphous thing expressing my incredulity. I had a lot to learn about this neighborhood. The pharmacy clerk, who lives around here, said “Only on Nebraska,” and it stuck.

Anyway, I paid for my groceries and went to the customer service counter. I needed to get 2 rolls of quarters so we can do laundry. What happened next was something out of a Marx Brothers movie. I have no idea which Brother I would have been, probably Gummo or Zeppo, although maybe we were more like the East Side Kids; really low-rent.

There was a woman in a Fedex getup doing Lottery or Money Order stuff being helped. To the right of her was this troglodyte of uncertain sex in Bermudas, striped tee and baseball cap with a bag containing a sub and a bag of wings. I was behind these 2 with wallet, a twenty, bottle of water, cart of crap and whack-a-mole.

There was some fussing and fidgeting going on. Now, remember I cannot really see all of this and when things get weird, I get weirder. Fedex lady finished her business and stepped away. When she did so, something fell to the floor in front of me. I looked down. What in the name of all that is unholy mackerel Moses on a bicycle is that a finger? I look closer. It’s a root! Gah, it’s a moldy finger-root!

I scream out “Sqhiieeeee…. She dropped something…. Wha is this….?” I’m in full panic mode. I’m not sure if this is a finger, a spore, some hellish curse. Just make this go away! Dear God, if that fucker moves, I’m outta here. I will levitate, melt, sprout wings; I am not going near that mutant bastard whatever it is!

Well, in my fugue state, I walked to my right, laid down my 20.00 bill and my bottle of water, saw the bag with the sub and the wings and thinking it was mine, since I had gotten JC some, and had an identical bag, picked it up; the troll had disappeared. Meanwhile, the customer service clerk had come around and looked down, said “it’s a chicken bone; disgusting,” gotten a paper towel and whisked it away to never-never land.

Troglodyte comes back and hollers, “Where’s my sub?” just about the time I holler “Where’s my money?” so we have a nifty little ballet there for a few moments, until we get that sorted out. Cashier lady sees me huffing and puffing like an ox on ‘roids and the troll is about to cry and says “Ladies (?) take a deep breath.” We do and life rights itself.

I have too many groceries to take home on the bus, so I go out front and call a cab, then call JC to tell him I’m on my way home. As he and I are talking, a traveling dog-fight goes by, in the form of a kid on a bike with monkey-handlebars. He’s got a boom-box duct-taped to the handlebars, speakers facing out. Rasta hair, flapping in the wind. Dude’s cranking it, both with pedals and volume, full blast. Of course, all I can hear is static, with a bit of bass and shouting. At least the kid is respectful. He nods at me as he zooms past. I nod back and burst out laughing, once he’s gone. Only on Nebraska.