Ham at Christmas and a Jew for Jesus (er... not so much)

Okay, so inspired by The Queen's post on ham as the traditional Christmas dish, I just had to wonder at the source of this tradition.

At the time of Jesus' birth, and long past his crucifixion, Jews did not eat pig. So one could reasonably assume Jesus didn't eat pig. So who gave permission to eat pig? From what I was told, it was Paul. Or rather a dream Paul had.

So it would seem Paul granted unto man permission to eat pork products. Thus the tradition of eating pineapple-garnished ham to celebrate the birth of Jesus, who would have never, as an observant Jew, eaten pork. As Yul Brynner would say, "A puzzlement." Hmmm...

Anyway, I got a call from my sister yesterday; probably the most adult phone call we've had in years. So as she's bitching about her husband and telling me about all the people in her life - her church friends, the pastor and his wife, the community she's cleaved herself to - I asked her about her attendance at church. As she chatted away about things having to do with church and religion, she said a few things that made me wonder.

She said she's doesn't believe Jesus was more than a prophet, nor does she believe in the resurrection.

"So why do you worship Jesus if you don't believe he's God?"

"Well, you know me. I'm a follower."

"Well, what's wrong with being yourself? Why pretend to be someting you're not?"

"It's just easier. If the people around here knew, they would pray for my soul and then shun me."

"Wow. What a narrow community you live in."

"You have no idea," she said.

Southern Missouri - this is no surprise.

A video maker after my own heart

Another brilliant gem that I stumbled upon. :-)

*Sigh* I've Been Tagged

Since Ellen decided to irritate tag me, I'm now supposed to come up with seven random new things about me.

Okay...

1. The best pizza I ever ate was Pagliai's in Cape Giradeau, Missouri. Still makes my mouth water 30 years later.

2. I accidentally clocked my Astronomy professor in the chin with a telescope when I was a freshman. Yes, I drew blood but, thankfully, not an "F".

3. I once attended a Christian Bible Study group while in college in Springfield, Missouri. Springfield. MISSOURI. Home of John "cover those justice statues' naked pillows of sin!" Ashcroft. I'm proud to have emerged with my Judaism well planted and firmly intact.

4. If I had to do it over again, I'd pursue one of the earth sciences as a vocation (astronomy, geology, meteorology -- verra cool stuff).

5. I learned that if I want to chase a tornado, I'd better not do it with my BFF in the car screaming "WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! GO! GO! GO, DAMMIT!"

6. I threw pennies into the foundation of my new condo, because a friend said it would bring me good luck. Liar.

7. I just ran to the bank to deposit $20 in my sister's account so her itty-bitty husband could gas up the pick-up and deliver firewood. Parasites.

Ellen: Happy, dear?

From the Archives: Thanksgiving 2003

Preface: My sister-in-law sent an email out to all family members with pictures of her daughter's (my gorgeous niece's) Halloween. My bi-polar, hard of hearing sister, 'Joni' in her unfortunate "Reply To All", waxed effusive about our niece, using far more exclamation points than is natural for a 46-year-old woman.

She said that she and her bull-riding wanna-be, flatulent pygmy of a husband would be in town between Christmas and New Years and would like to see our niece. She went on to say she knows it will be "hard when 'Mike' and Marcia don't particularly want to be around eremy-jay."

Of course, this little gem isn't news to the family; it's just interesting that sis doesn't seem to get that the lack of desire to be around eremy-jay isn't limited to only my brother and me.

Nonetheless, I wonder if my bro 'Mike' knows this was emailed to EVERYONE. It will be interesting (if not uncomfortable), because he does so enjoy finding something over which to become enraged at my sister. A written confirmation of what has already been expressed in whispers or through body language (or in the case of my brother, right to her face) should not be a big deal, but it has the potential for manufactured outrage if there's the slightest embarrassment at the "Reply To All" faux pas.

Regardless, I would lay odds many of my family members have seen her name in the "From" and hit Delete without bothering to read it. Then again, it's so easy to rubberneck a serious car wreck.

Note: I recognize the tenses in the following are all over the road, but what do you expect from a post-dysfunctional Thanksgiving maundering? Also note, this is pre-eremy-jay and the names have been changed to protect both the sane and the insane.

And now, from the Dysfunctional Family Holiday Archives, I bring you Thanksgiving 2003.

*******************

My God. Where do I begin?

Let's start with the bi-polar sister. After spending $340 (of my money) to get her car fixed and inspected and get her license tags renewed, Joni tooled her way up I-44 to spend Wednesday evening at my brother's house. My brother's plan was to go to his mother-in-law's farm up north and spend the day with her family, and my sister was to tag along. They were to join us at my uncle's house later that evening for dessert.

Wednesday night I got a phone call from my sister's ex-sister-in-law, 'Sharon', a holy roller from Branson Missouri, the biggest and glitziest hole in the buckle of the Bible Belt. Seeing who it was on the Caller ID, I let it roll over to voice mail -- I reeeeeaaallly didn't want to speak to her. Our last conversation regarding my sister (and the $305 Sharon was going grace my sister with to help her pay November's rent) was unpleasant, as she decided that my brother and I needed to step up and take some responsibility for Joni. The conversation was peppered with the occasional "Praise Jesus", "Praise God", or "All the Glory Goes to Jesus". (Needless to say, that wasn't coming from me.)

Mind you, for 20 years we have been “stepping up” for Joni and helping her through her marriage to Sharon's alcoholic/drug abuser/compulsive gambler brother Stuart, as well as her three hospitalizations for mania, her divorce from the aforementioned loser, and the loser's subsequent suicide.

Anyhoo... Holy Roller Sharon's message asked that I have Joni give her a call as soon as possible. Well, thinking the call had something to do with their aunt who has cancer, I passed the message on to Joni. Turns out Sharon is angry with Joni for writing a letter to their incarcerated cousin, Marv, who was doing time for having a methamphetamine lab. The contents of the letter, meant for Marv's eyes only, detailed the aftermath of the deadbeat ex-husband's funeral wherein my sister explained that she had paid for the coffin, burial and tent revival-like services with the proceeds of a life insurance benefit, and Stuart's brother (bitter, gay, alcoholic, and desperately in need of a life) had tried to sue Joni for the other expenses (flowers, tombstone, ambulance bill, repairs on the car Stuart used to kill himself with, blah blah).

Marv's wife, Sandy (bi-polar, too, by happy coincidence, and for good measure, a holy roller), receives all of Marv's mail. She read the letter and apparently felt it was her Christian duty to report the contents to our favorite Harpy for Jesus, Sharon. Sharon's resultant message on Joni's voice mail was "You'd better get your act together if you want to meet Jesus". My question was why? Was he appearing with The Osmonds in Branson for the holidays or something?

'Kay. Back to Thursday. Things were going very well at my uncle's house. I hadn't seen him in several years (even though we only live about 2 miles from each other), but I met his new companion, Susan, a published writer and poet. We had some good discussions and I liked her. Also my cousin and his daughter were there, along with eight other people who were complete strangers to me. Still, we had pleasant conversations as we introduced who we were and what we did, etc. Good people. It was refreshing to sit around the table with a bunch of people who said "Oy!" a lot. It was a very lovely evening.

This was BS (Before Siblings).

**Cue Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries"**

Around 8:30, we hear a knock on the door. Enter the siblings and one sibling-in-law.

I'd somewhat prepared my uncle and cousin ahead of time, telling them that Joni was... animated. They are aware that she is mentally ill, but it's been a while since they'd seen her. I'm sure it was quite an eye-opener.

The siblings settled themselves at the table, and I could tell my brother was not happy. His eyes basically told me, "I'm pissed and I'm about to blow." His eyes also said, "I've been dealing with this all damned day long and you're going to be in for a treat."

Joni plopped herself down at the table and loudly began to share. I'm talking SHAAAARE. She discussed the new "boy" in her life (whom she'd met the weekend before). He is an unemployed bi-polar who lives in Branson and nine years her junior. Not that there's anything wrong with the age difference, but she's already picking out her china pattern. Yes, Kyle is bi-polar, too, but he's on the depressive side, so they "balance each other out!" she proclaimed excitedly. They'd spoken for hours and hours when she was visiting her ready-to-be-raptured ex-in-laws in Branson. According to Joni's dissertation, Kyle doesn't believe in pre-marital sex. But if they're to be intimate, he's going to leave that up to Joni. Isn't that sweet?

No doubt my cousin John, whose 14-year-old daughter was seated nearby, thought it was sweet too.

Joni did manage to get around (in her Bette-Davis-Whatever-Happened-To-Baby-Jane style) to find out who everyone was. "And who is THIS lovely lady over here?"

In the midst of polishing off an entire bottle of sparkling cider all by herself, she shared a poem (inspired by Alfred Joyce Kilmer) to which my brother whispered beneath his breath, "Oh, Jesus." She recited it with all the poetic accoutrements, including iambic pentameter, pregnant pauses, and quiet reflection.

For your edification:

The Tree

When I grow up, I'd like to be
As strong and pretty as a tree
When I reach up to the sun
I'll know my day has just begun

The birds will all nest in my hair
There'll be white droppings, but I won't care
The wind will try to blow me down
My feet will stand to the ground

And when the Fall is finally here
I'll display bright colors from ear to ear
So now you see how it would be
If I could only be a tree

Copyright ©2003 Joni (just in case you’re thinking of swiping it!)

Her poem was acknowledged with indulgent and charitable praise, as I thought it would be, by the saner people seated at the dining room table. In the meantime, the heat of embarrassment wafting off my brother was actually bending light.

It was some time around this point that Joni whispered to me, asking if she could spend the night at my house since she couldn't spend another "f*cking" night at my brother's. I said okay.

She proceeded then to ask my uncle if he knew someone our father went to school with: Bob Kaplansky. My uncle said that he was four years younger than our dad, so he didn't really know many of his friends. Joni proceeded to tell him (loudly) that Bob had been witnessed to and was now a Christian. "And his grandfather was an Orthodox Rabbi!" Of course, Joni (in an earlier phase of mania while she lived in Florida a few years ago) was baptized a Christian. The assembled group of Jews nodded sagely and patiently endured the onslaught.

It was then that I mentioned to Mike that Joni would be spending the night with me. He said "Thank God!" and "You are my savior!" and "I was about to cave her head in." He also mentioned that he was done with her. Seriously. He didn't want anything to do with her again. Ever. He meant it. I nodded and said "okay".

By around 9:30, I was developing a serious tension headache. Imagine that. So I decided it was time to go. 'Course Mike had to go then, too, because Joni had to get her stuff out of his house. We said our good-byes to everyone. I thanked them for the lovely meal and the nice company, said good-bye to my uncle who walked me outside. He never said anything about Joni and neither did I.

As my brother and I walked down the driveway to our cars, he decreed that Joni was not allowed in his house. He wanted the key she had to his house. I was to go in and get her belongings. I said, "Fine." We got in our cars and I followed them home.

On the way to his house, I informed Joni of Mike's decision. She asked "Is this going to be like the time he didn't talk to me for years?" I said, "It looks like it." I also told her he wanted his house key back, and she removed it from her key ring and gave it to me.

We arrived at my brother's house and waited for him and his wife to get there. It was a little odd that they weren't already there, because they'd left ahead of us. In the meantime, I spoke with Joni about our brother and how he behaves and explained that much of the subject matter she discussed was inappropriate, as she didn't know any of these people and it embarrassed Mike. And me.

Eventually, the minivan pulled into the driveway, and I got out of the car. Debra (Mike's wife) got out and I saw that Mike was not in the car. I walked up to the car and Debra said, "I'm sorry, Marcia, but your brother is a pr*ck."

I sighed resignedly, "I know."

Debra said they had some words in the car on the way home. Mike had been in a bad mood all day, and he behaved badly at her mother's house, insulting Joni, calling her choice names that even the most crass among us would consider rude, and dismissing others' entreaties for him to "be nice." Somewhere along the main drag home, my brother declared he was going to walk home, so he got out of the van at a stoplight. This was why it took so long for Debra to arrive as she couldn't talk him back into the van.

I followed Debra into the house where we talked a bit while Joni waited in the car. I gathered all of Joni's belongings and apologized (not for my brother's behavior, but because of the entire situation). We hugged after I gathered everything and said our good-byes. Debra then asked if I would mind seeing if I could find Mike and bring him home. I said I'd try. Joni packed up her car with her stuff and we left.

I drove down the main drag a bit, turned around and found Mike on the shoulder of the eight-lane freeway. He was just standing there. I shuddered as I had a flashback to the time when this man was nine-years-old and laid down in the middle of Women’s Coats at a local department store and proceeded to have a temper tantrum. I shook it off and pulled over. He remained standing there, then eventually walked over to my car. I rolled down the window and said matter-of-factly (because this happens all the time, you know), "Get in."

He said, "uh-uh."

I said, "How come?"

He said, "Where's my wife?"

I said, "I don't think she knows how to get you to get in the car. I don't think she'll be able to say anything that you'll find acceptable for you to get in the car."

"She should have been the one to come and get me."

"She asked me to."

He didn't say anything.

I said, "Do you want a ride or not?"

Knowing I would leave him on the side of the road - much like I did in the department store when he was nine - he got in.

"Did Joni get her stuff?"

"Yes."

"Did she leave my key?"

"Yes. I gave it to Debra."

"I'm done with her."

"I know."

I then dropped him off in his driveway with a "See ya." As I pulled away, I noted that he did not go in the house, he got in his car. Whether he stayed in his driveway or went for a drive, I don't know.

When I got home, Joni was waiting for me. She took my dog out for a walk, and I called Debra to let her know I found Mike and the last I saw him was in the driveway. We talked a little bit more, and I told her that I loved her and appreciated her. That was pretty much it with my brother for the weekend, although later I heard he'd spent the night in a motel room.

Meanwhile, Joni came in from walking my dog and took her pills. In due course, they worked their blessed chemical magic and had her pretty much unconscious. Thank you, God, Eli Lilly and Roche Pharmaceuticals. Me? I took two Excedrin at 3:19 a.m. as the tension headache had grown exponentially, threatening to make me violently ill.

The next day, she awoke. She insisted I help to enter her poem in an online poetry site she’d found in the back of the TV Guide. She generously promised to share the prize money with me. Gee, I hope we win.

After fortifying myself with more than the prescribed dosage of Excedrin, Joni and I went shopping at Walmart - my brother had promised to buy some things for her, but obviously, that ship sank in the harbor. So I ended up buying her some things she needed and some things she didn't. I also bought her a new pair of shoes. I gave her $20 for gas, so she could get home.

We'd planned to have dinner together that night, but somewhere along the way, she'd made other plans for dinner with a friend. I didn't object. She realized what she'd done and praised me for being sooooo understanding about stuff like that. In reality, I was deliriously happy to rid myself of her presence that much sooner. She would be spending the weekend with her non-Holy Roller, ex-in-laws.

When we arrived back at my place, Joni packed up her stuff including her "Power" Rider that was collecting dust in my basement and we hugged and she went to have dinner with her friend. I was free. Praise Jesus.

The night before Thanksgiving, I had gone to my first NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill) family support meeting. While it was very timely and informative, I was told to "embrace chaos." Oh, I embraced it, all right. I think I pulled something.

In conclusion, I don't remember my first family Thanksgiving, but I do remember my LAST - November 27, 2003. I'm done.

THE END

**********

Thanksgiving 2007

Yeah... Good times.

I suppose I should never say "never", because today I'm going to a family Thanksgiving at my bro's house sans the bi-polar sister and her gas-passing, miniature cowpoke. The family dynamic has changed with the addition of my niece, so I'm hoping for blessed boredom and quiet, apart from the peals of laughter from my little sweetheart's mouth as she and her Aunt Marcia play.

My Favorite Candidate

This man knows that the greatest danger to America is NOT Iran, and it's NOT North Korea - it's Pakistan, for the love of God!! Joe is absolutely correct. If anything happens to Musharref and Muslim extremists assume power there - Pakistan not only has a nuclear program, they actually HAVE nuclear WEAPONS. We'd better all pray Musharref stays in power, or we are all fucked.

Joe is also right about this: Guliani's sentences all consist of a noun, a verb and 9-11. I used to like Guiliani when he was real. Now, with presidential power looming in his beady little eyes and neo-con fascist Norman Podhoretz advising him on American imperilism, God help us.

I'm glad Joe's taking swipes at Guliani. And here's another good one:

Aulways and Forever...

So I tried to call my friend Brad today. I've been meaning to set up some time to go see him, so I was hoping to drop by the nursing facility where's he'd moved to this past summer. He had MS. Had.

He died September 22.

I learned this from his sister, whom I'd called to see how I could get in touch with him since all I got when I dialed his phone was a message saying the phone number was no longer in service. My first thought was that the phone set up was too difficult to use or that he was no longer able to use it effectively, so they disconnected it. Turns out the latter supposition was correct, but to an extreme I wasn't prepared to consider so soon.

I learned he'd spent the last three weeks of his life in the hospital, that he died from respiratory complications, that in this hospital here in St. Louis he'd received the best care he'd ever had, that he was surrounded by his family, and that his death was a very peaceful one.

Brad was cremated. And typical of my friend, he wanted part of his ashes scattered at the H of the Hollywood sign in L.A., and part of his ashes will be interred in a plot near his parents' graves in St. Louis.

My timing with Brad has always sucked. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends - I was five when we met in the first grade. He lit up the room at our 20th high school reunion. For me, he was the only reason to be there.

After I hung up the phone with Brad's sister, I spent the first ten minutes reeling from the news, wishing I could have said good-bye, wishing I could have picked up the phone a month ago and gone to see him.

I'm pretty sure I had a dream about him some time in the past three weeks. One in which Brad was talking, that his MS had reversed its course and he was better and walking and hugging (the latter he missed being able to do). Maybe he is better now. And maybe he's still saving me a place like he promised the last time I saw him in August.

For some reason, I can't this tune from Dave Matthews Band out of my head right now:

I am no Superman
I have answers for you
I am no hero, that's for sure
But I do know one thing
Where you are is where I belong
I do know where you go is where I wanna be
Where are you going?

Brad, I love you. Aulways.

Met the In-Law

[Note: Some names have been changed. Don't want any google searches making life unpleasant.]

I dragged my BFF to my writer aunt's book signing. I thought she would find it interesting, but mostly I wanted a witness.

Today was the day I finally met my brother-in-law, Eremy-Jay. It was magical.

Yes, he is as short as his pictures suggest, and his head is very small. Yet the large stetson fits him nice and tight. The cowboy hat, along with the bullriding t-shirt and large rodeo belt buckle was a breath of fresh air in the Holocaust Museum.

I greeted them, hugging my sister first. Then I held out my hand to my BIL and said, "Hi, Eremy-Jay. It's nice to meet you."

Eremy-Jay's tiny head smiled and he grabbed my hand in his tiny, but overcompensating grip and said, "Nice to meet you. What is your name?"

"I'm Marcia," I replied, understanding that he's never met me and gently trying to pry my crushed hand from his grip. His face lit up and he suddenly pulled me into a hug, causing my forehead to collide with the brim of the decidely inflexible and apparently immovable straw hat.

Pulling away, I managed to gird my loins and chit-chat a bit my sister and her spousal unit, but people were coming in the doors, including relatives and old neighbors and friends who knew my parents. It was easy and rather nice to be distracted by it all.

I bought my writer aunt's book. She signed it, and then BFF and I disappeared into the Holocaust Exhibit until the program began.

The turnout was pretty large, so they moved things into the board room. Sis and my Boston aunt were there, saving seats for us. Boston aunt sat between me and Eremy-Jay, who, not surprisingly, fidgets. During my writer aunt's talk, I was pleased to learn that the cowboy hat is indeed removeable, if only for the few moments when Eremy-Jay fidgeted enough to drop it on the floor. Twice during the presentation, he reached over and wanted to see my book, which I let him have. I admit I was impressed by his interest, so I thought I'd offer to buy them a copy of the book, thus keeping his tiny hands off mine.

After the program was over, we started to file out. I asked them if they wanted a copy of the book. My sister brightened up, "Yes. That would be really nice!"

Eremy-Jay says, "Can we get two?"

I looked at my sister and then at Eremy-Jay and then at my sister again. "Do the two of you need two books?"

Sis says, "No, we can share."

"Well, I want one for my brother," Eremy-Jay unreasoned.

I glared at my sister. This is the brother that's LIVING WITH THEM. IN. THE. SAME. HOUSE.

Rather than telling him that if he wants one for his brother, he can buy one, I bought it. Maybe it's guilt for calling him an Oompa-Loompa behind his back. Or for not allowing them to stay with me in my house while they were in town. I don't know. Still, after spending $54 on two books that will only end up as a fourth leg for a coffee table or a chew toy for one of their six dogs, Eremy-Jay will remain an Oompa-Loompa. And they're still not staying in my house.

Sis then invited me to go to lunch with them at Lion's Choice. (It should be noted that it was 4:00.) I told her I ate lunch. Eremy-Jay said, "Well, just come and sit with us."

"I have to take [BFF] home, and I was invited to Uncle Enny-Kay's house." A part of me suspected the only reason I was being asked to go to Lion's Choice was because I might have been expected to pay.

BFF and I blended into the crowd a bit more and schmoozed. I talked with Boston aunt some, but learned she was headed for the airport. Drat. I needed some family history. I'll get it though.

Moving on...

More schmoozing and deftly avoiding the happy couple, my sister meets up with us again as we're getting ready to leave. "We'll see you at Uncle Enny-Kay's house!"

"Oh, you've decided to go?" I ask. Accccckkkkk!

"Yeah," she said brightly.

Internally, I roll my eyes.

"All right. Well, then I guess I'll see you at Uncle Enny-Kay's."

"Okay."

While I'm walking out to my car, my BFF said, "She really pushes your buttons."

"Yeah," I sighed.

BFF believes there's some Aspberger's involved with Eremy-Jay as she observed him rubbing his fingers together a lot. I'll take her word for it. Also she observed that the happy couple are both pretty out of touch with reality. Uh-huh. Yup.

I spent about a half hour at BFF's house, bitching, letting a second dose of Excedrin kick in and cuddling with cats.

I'd tell you about the rest of the evening at my uncle's house, which was relatively uneventful, but looking back 24 hours later, it was just kind of sad for me. Sad because I really do miss my sister and I still worry about her, but she and her hubby are a package deal now. It's like if a favorite sweater gets ripped in such a way that it's no longer wearable, but I can't bear to throw it away.

Hmm...

Anyway, I had to get back home. I walked with my sister to show her my car, embracing her as we walked. We're halfway down my uncle's lengthy driveway and all of a sudden, here comes Eremy-Jay running on his tiny booted feet. "Oh, I want to see your car, too!" he exclaimed, breathless.

So much for some alone time with my sister.

Well, I guess I can share that Buffalo Bill sat in the driver's seat of my new car and bounced excitedly. I had to explain the hybrid engine function to them, they thought I had to plug it in to charge it.

Having explained this and that, it was time for me to go. Eremy-Jay pulled me into that awkward hug and said, "So, do I have your respect now?"

Deftly avoiding the cowboy hat brim of death, I replied, "As long as I have yours." He laughed and crushed the bones of my hand together again. (I honestly saw my 73-year-old uncle jump when Eremy-Jay shook his hand.) I told him take care of my sister, and he smiled, "Don't worry. I will!"

I then gave my sister a big hug and a kiss, told them to drive carefully and watched them walk back to my uncle's house, arms around each other's waists.

Strange little man, but a definite improvement over the first husband.

I don't know how dinner with my brother, SIL, sister and BIL went on Saturday, and I didn't ask. I assumed that since there were no contusion, bandages or open sores, any conflict that might have been was limited to verbal assaults. Although my brother does so enjoy being antagonistic and ill-mannered.

*sigh*

On the bright side, my niece called me "Tante" thanks to my BFF's coaching. And when it was time for them to go, she didn't want to leave my arms, starting to cry when I gave her to her mom. She reached for me and it just warmed my heart. My girl!

Mom said dryly, "Wow, I really feel good about me."

Heh.

The Maternal Claws Emerge

An interesting Saturday. A bat mitzvah in the morning, a cousin's birthday party in the evening and, for me, bonus time with my nineteen-month-old niece.

Or so I thought.

My sister-in-law (mother to my niece) asserted herself on a couple of issues yesterday. During services, my niece got a little restless (as expected) and she started babbling loudly. I gently put a couple of fingers over her mouth, and my SIL said, "Marcia, don't do that" and pulled her from my lap.

Next, at lunch in the synagogue, I just casually mentioned I was concerned about the growing intolerance in the rural areas and worried that my niece might be targeted in school. My brother seemed to agree, and we talked about her going to Ladue, but my sister declared that Ladue was filled with snobs. Never mind that it's a good school, that it's diverse, that parents are involved and education standards are high. I suppose if that's snobby, I'm having trouble finding a problem with it.

Well... okay. She's entitled to her opinion and ultimately it's none of my business.

Last night, my niece was moved from lap to lap between me, my SIL and my cousin. Stupid me thought she needed to walk around a bit, so I took her outside to the patio and around the pool area, carrying her. I put her down and held her hand as we walked back to the the clubhouse. She let go and started running and I went after her, but saw that she was running toward her mother. Her mother picked her up and said, "She's too close to the pool. I don't want her taking off on you."

Confused, I said, "Okay." She was holding onto my hand just fine until her mother showed up.

I accompanied her back to the doorway of the clubhouse, at which time, SIL said as if she needed to explain herself further, "She just takes off sometimes and I don't want anything to happen."

I gently replied, "I wouldn't have let anything happen." I may be fat, but I'm faster than a 19-month-old with only five months of running experience.

"Oh, I know," she answered brightly. "It's just it's Aunt Mimi's party, and I wouldn't want anything to ruin it."

"Okay," I said, suitably chastised for yet a third time that day. And now a bit hurt.

I decided not to follow her into the clubhouse, so I headed back out and walked around the pool in the dark, trying very hard not to cry. I was successful. Somewhat.

I ended up in the other side of the clubhouse and went into the ladies room, thinking I could be alone, but there was my cousin Sandy, the birthday girl. Bright and happy that about 100 friends and family showed up to surprise her for her 50th birthday.

I sobered up, determined not to ruin her party with my own private pity party.

"Hey, you gonna do karaoke with me?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't think so. I don't have nearly as much wine in me for that," I smiled. I only had diet coke.

I followed Sandy back out to the crowd and saw that my brother was geared up and ready to leave. I chit-chatted with him briefly, not bothering to mention his wife's averting a tragedy by pre-emptively saving their daughter from drowning due to my neglect and subsequently ruining Sandy's party. SIL emerges with my niece in her arms and I put on the cheerful face to say goodbye.

My niece reached for me and my SIL let me take her. I carried her out to the car, because walking and holding her hand is just a formula for disaster. I chatted away, giving my niece kisses along the way. When we got to the car, I gave her back to her mother to put her in her car seat. My niece reached for me again, and I just gave her kisses and got out of the way. I said my good-byes, told my brother I hoped his foot felt better, and headed back into the clubhouse.

I was eventually talked into singing karaoke with my cousins. Which I'm glad I did. We sang Drift Away, then We Are Family. I really need to get them into my life more.

Today, I'm just tired. Still confused. Still hurt.

Can't wait for next week when my insane sister blows into town with her socially retarded husband.

Oh, it's great to be me.

UPDATE: I received an apology by email sent around 4:30 a.m. She admitted to having overreacted but that she didn't know where her daughter went. She assured me that she trusts me, then suggested a dinner date for me and my niece this week. I apologized for assuming she'd seen me with her and promised to make sure to tell her next time. I hope to be taking my sweet little girl to McDonald's or Red Robin next week.

The sister/brother-in-law coming to town issue still hangs in the air like mustard gas. I just hope they're serving a lot of wine at my aunt's book signing next Sunday or that my brother doses up on Flexaril for the weekend.

Oh my...

Nuff said.

In Defense of MoveOn.org...

With more and more people getting arrested for wearing t-shirts that are not obscene and anti-war, or pulled away from microphones and tased for asking a question, it's really disturbing how many people don't give a shit that freedom of speech is under attack. Even more that habeaus corpus is gone, or that the Pentagon is being sued because certain members of the military are being intimidated for being atheists/agnostics/non-Christian.

Don't you know this?

Don't you care?

Are ya gonna sit there and HOPE it gets better?

We have become of nation of enablers to political alcoholics.

While conservative dickwad John Cornyn (R-TX) manufactured yet another outrage, the spineless Democratic congress decided to ignore war and poverty and healthcare and education to pursue a toothless resolution condemning MoveOn.org for GETTING IT RIGHT.

Of course, Petraeus' military service is admirable, but he allowed himself to be pushed into a role of setting and selling the Bush policy. Just like McClellan, just like McArthur, once you cross that line, you're no longer a military man, you're a politician. And you're fair game.

Cenk of The Young Turks (and a former Republican) says it way better than I can:



Go Cenk!

That H.L. Mencken was One Smart Cookie

I learn something new every day when I watch Countdown with Keith Olbermann on MSNBC. Tonight he introduced his Oddball segment by reading a quote from H.L. Mencken. The quote was so incredibly apropos, it bears repeating:

When a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any, save the most elemental — men whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack or be lost...

All the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum.' The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.

Baltimore Sun (26 July 1920)

Day-am...

Okay, it's not at all surprising what direction my brain went after reading this, but I wonder about the political context of Mencken's time. How profoundly astute and even prophetic, given the fact that there is indeed a downright moron adorning the White House.

I thoroughly enjoyed chuckling with Olbermann's studio crew over this one.

Colin Powell for President! No, really - I'm totally serious!

I always thought Colin Powell was an honorable man who was swept up in the frenzy and optimism (*retch*) of a new Administration. But 9/11 changed so much about everyone - even the best and brightest of us. The cooked intelligence surrounding Bush's phantom imminent threat of WMD from Saddam, as well as the conflating of Iraq with Al Qaeda, led Powell to the UN to make the case for war. General Powell's commitment to serve at the pleasure of a folksy, dry drunk caused him to meet his credibility Waterloo.

But the man's redeemed himself in my view. Actually, he redeemed himself by walking away from the boy king. He joins many other good and decent men who've walked rather than deal with Bush and company - John Danforth, Paul O'Neill, James Comey, among others.

The September 10, 2007 issue of GQ Magazine, General Powell gives a wonderful and insightful interview. He says everything I've been feeling about the dangers we face and the fact that, okay yeah, we're vulnerable, but let's not let that destroy who we are. Moreover, HE OFFERS SOLUTIONS - what a friggin' concept!

From GQ:

What is the greatest threat facing us now? People will say it’s terrorism. But are there any terrorists in the world who can change the American way of life or our political system? No. Can they knock down a building? Yes. Can they kill somebody? Yes. But can they change us? No. Only we can change ourselves.

I would approach this differently, in almost Marshall-like terms. What are the great opportunities out there—ones that we can take advantage of? It should not be just about creating alliances to deal with a guy in a cave in Pakistan. It should be about how do we create institutions that keep the world moving down a path of wealth creation, of increasing respect for human rights, creating democratic institutions, and increasing the efficiency and power of market economies? This is perhaps the most effective way to go after terrorists.

And one more:

Let’s show the world a face of openness and what a democratic system can do. That’s why I want to see Guantánamo closed. It’s so harmful to what we stand for. We literally bang ourselves in the head by having that place. What are we doing this to ourselves for? Because we’re worried about the 380 guys there? Bring them here! Give them lawyers and habeas corpus. We can deal with them. We are paying a price when the rest of the world sees an America that seems to be afraid and is not the America they remember.

Back to me:

The worst thing the terrorists can do to us is change who we are. And they are winning. Bright, intelligent people think it's okay to torture human beings, that Abu Ghraib doesn't need to be examined too closely lest we disgust ourselves with the truth of our government's behavior, that the military industrial complex Dwight D. Eisenhower warned us about in the 1950's doesn't require close scrutiny, that civil liberties should be sacrificed in favor of security, that the U.S. Constitution is an overly optimistic and dated document that doesn't address the needs of today and should be ignored.

Based on the last six years - war profiteering, the loss of Habeus Corpus, warrantless wiretapping, the Military Commissions Act, certain provisions of the Patriot Act, the pronouncement of the Geneva Conventions as "quaint", torture (euphemistically referred to as "rendition"), Abu Ghraib, GITMO, loss of worldwide credibility - this generation will certainly not be remembered as America's finest, not ever. I don't care how many nations the Shrub says we need to invade to fight his ridiculous "war on terrorism". (That man is INSANE and needs psychological help.) We will be thought of as the German people were at the end of WWII.

Colin Powell is brilliant, and I wish he would run for president on an Independent ticket. As undecided as I am right now about who to vote for, he would totally rock my world. Somebody needs to.

9/11: America the Victimized

First of all, I sincerely honor the memories of those men, women and children who lost their lives to the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. My heart goes out to their friends and family. There will never be another September 11 that passes now or ever that I will not think of them and that frightening, appalling day six years ago.

And now, the commentary... and I am addressing the living.

Calling for a troop withdrawal "emboldens the enemy".

Horse shit.

A local disc jockey said it best. We have become a nation of victims. Just think: some idiot terrorist in training, running around in the 130-degree heat of the desert, climbing monkey bars, taking target practice, recognizes it's 9/11, and sees that after six fucking years, America - 300,000,000 people - is still licking its wounds.

Imagine how goddamned emboldening THAT is to that black-hooded shlemiel running around in the desert.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt once said, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself."

King George W. Bush says, "Be afraid. I like you afraid. You'll believe anything I tell you when you're afraid."

Great Britain suffered through two World Wars, through the terrorist bombings of the Irish Republican Army, through the subway bombings in London. Do they mark those special days by beating their chests in grief? Do they rend their clothing? Do they relive those anniversaries with hours and hours of replaying six-year-old media coverage, dramatic films and historical re-enactments?

No. They give these tragedies their due reverence and honor, then they pick themselves up and move the fuck on. And they're not afraid.

America was knocked to its knees and has been whining and lashing out like a tantrum-throwing child ever since. And what a gullible, lazy, distracted, clueless, apathetic and undereducated bunch of children we are.

Get up, America. For the love of God, let's remember who we are. We're America. We aren't afraid of freedom. We aren't afraid of civil liberties. We aren't afraid of anything.

Wipe your collective asses, stand up and flush.

Proselytizing Rebuked!

As I exited my car in the parking lot at Schnuck's today, two young men in white shirts, black ties and black pants approached and asked to speak with me. (UPDATE: With apologies to the unnamed cult, which I had previously thought was the source of my irritation, here is a more accurate representation of a different religious sect that attempted to save my soul. Note: the boys I encountered were not riding bicycles, and we were not on the surface of the moon.)

"No, thank you!" I replied hurriedly moving along, noticing the black plastic nametags with "Jesus Christ" embossed underneath their names.

They followed me even as I doubled back to lock my car.

Cultist #2: "Are you sure we couldn't talk to you a bit about [insert favorite God/Jesus/gospel reference]?"

"Yep, I'm sure," I said pressing the button on the door handle, then moving toward the store entrance again. "Have a great day!" I called.

"Thank you. You too." Cultist #1 called.

"Hey, did you just lock your door with that button?" Cultist #2 asked.

"Yeah," I said, still walking and not looking at them.

"That's really cool!" he said, the two of them creepily following me.

Resisting the urge to turn around and proselytize about getting Prius, I said, "Yep, it's a pretty cool little car," just as I stepped on the automatic door opener. Thankfully, the two zombies didn't follow me inside, but I had the wherewithal to watch where they were headed next, which, thankfully, was away from my car.

Personal (and possibly provocative) commentary: Okay, how fucking insecure is your faith that you have to walk around in pairs, seeking out individuals in a strip mall like Dick Cheney on a quail hunt, imposing upon them to steal a half-hour of their lives they'll never get back, just so you can dazzle them with your breathtakingly absurd dogma?

Proselytizing cultist nutjobs should never approach a liberal, Jewish, middle-aged woman with PMS and an attitude.

More Reasons to LUUUURVE My Condo...

Wow... Our first condo meeting where we had a quorum. And it was a doozy.


Cast of Characters:
BOT Prez Lacey
BOT Treasurer Kevin
Firefighter Ken
Trailer Trash Woman Turned Condo Owner (TTWTCO)
Trailer Trash Woman's Live-in Boyfriend (TTWLIB)
Cute But Very Angry Man
Parking Space Woman
Other People's Parking Habits Man
Noise Militant and Non-resident Pam
No Automatic Garage Door Opener Woman
Apologetic Trash Can Woman
Non-Contributing Woman
Fellow Monkey Bar/Weldon Spring Hating Neighbor Woman
Firefighter Ken's Bored Teenaged Son
Noise Militant's Lawyer Husband
Noise Militant's Mom (Actual Resident)
Non-Contributing Hot Young Blonde Woman


Major Issue #1
Some owners have decided they're not subject to the same rules as everyone else and have not paid their condo fees. Condo fees pay for some building insurance, water, sewer, trash, lawn care and snow removal. Anyway, these folks are collectively about $8000 in arrears. That's a lot of money, and while even more than that has been recouped, action is being taken against others. It takes time to follow the law, and the BOT is doing their best. But what got some people up in arms was the idea that condo fees may need to be raised to compensate for the shortfall. Weelllll... that got things rolling.

Trailer Trash Woman Turned Condo Owner: Well, who are these people? Let's print their names in the newsletter!
Trailer Trash Woman's Live-in Boyfriend: Yeah! Who are they?
BOT Prez: We can't do that.
Firefighter Ken: Why not?
TTWTCO: We did that in our old neighborhood!
Me: [to myself] Where was that? Jefferson County?
TTWLIB: I wanna know their names!
BOT Prez: We're not going to give you their names.


Major Issue #2
The annual budget. A disproportionate amount of time was lost following these five words "Does anyone have any questions?", thanks to Noise Militant and Non-resident Pam who questioned nearly every entry in the budget. I actually heard my hair grow while all this went on.


Major Issue #3
First bid on a sprinkler system: $110,000
Potential cost per condo unit: $1500
The notion that we owners should all rally to purse a lawsuit against the builder to pay for a sprinkler system never promised to us: Priceless

Jesus Harold Christ on an ab roller. What a bunch of precious, precious people. Apparently, all these condo virgins seem to be under the impression that "maintenance-free" means that either someone runs around to each building with a hose and an oscillating sprinkler and waters the lawn, or a sprinkler system was to be installed.

Cute But Very Angry Man is absolutely OUTRAGED that the GRASS IS DEAD! When the suggestion was made that we could have a few volunteers among the residents to water the lawn, Cute But Very Angry said, "AND HOW MUCH WILL YOU DEDUCT FROM MY CONDO FEE TO DO THAT?" BOT Prez Lacey and BOT Treasurer Kevin both correctly retorted, "Hey, like we're being paid anything?"

Firefighter Ken believes a sprinkler system was implied, in spite of the fact it was never stated in our sales contract or by the sales agent. He insists the BOT must act as our advocate in pursuing the acquisition of one from the builder. I was proud of myself that I did not laugh as Firefighter Ken is in my district would be one of the poor slobs to haul me down a ladder in case of fire.

Having had 16 years of condo living prior to this colossal error in home-buying judgment, my understanding of "maintenance-free" seems to be rather in line with the builder's. But what do I know?

Anyway, Cute But Very Angry left shortly thereafter in (surprisingly) an angry huff.


Major Issue #4
The way into our area of the subdivision has a circle drive that halfway around empties onto my street. Some of the residents on the circle drive have taken to parking on both sides of the street, causing problems for the school bus, the garbage truck, and drunks at 3 a.m. who think the circle drive is the Indianapolis Speedway. Someone had suggested that this parking would present a problem for any emergency vehicles, however, Firefighter Ken reassured us that any obstructing vehicles would be "handled" in the event of an emergency. Solution: call St. Peters and ask they put up street signs for no parking on one side.

Other parking issues include not enough parking spaces available in some areas, causing some to have to park their cars in their garages. (I'll give you some time to absorb that one.) This is a particular problem for the woman who decided not to install an automatic garage door opener. You see, she has to open the garage manually, and there's no way to lock it from the outside.

Precious, no?


Major Issue #5
Too much dog poop and too many people leaving their garbage cans out on the lot after pick-up, so the BOT is looking for narc-- er, neighbors to report the offenders to the BOT. The newsletter is our only warning. Fines will be issued after that. One woman was nearly hyperventillating because she'd accidentally left it out one night, but was thankfully reassured before Firefighter Ken had to break into his paper bag stash.


Major Issue #6
The stoplight timing at the subdivision is not great - three cars at a time. Gold's Gym members hog the turn lane on their way home from work, causing residents to sometimes have to wait through two or three lights in order for Biff and Ashley to run a few miles on a treadmill.


Be it ever so new and shiny and poorly chosen, there's no place like home. I guess.

New Orleans Remembered

I saw this image by Suspect Device (used with permission) and was moved to remember New Orleans two years ago.

Two years ago on August 29, I was packing up the last of my home and preparing for a move to a new place. I was stressed out and on edge and physically and emotionally exhausted. But I learned later that I knew nothing of what exhausted and stressed and on edge meant after seeing the suffering of the people of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina.

I had every reason at that time to believe that New Orleans would be rebuilt long before now. I see two years later that my belief was misplaced.

At the State of the Union Address, the President didn't mention New Orleans once. At the convening of the 110th Congress, the new Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, failed to mention anything about New Orleans or its rebuilding. Pretty fucking sad. And shameful.

Harry Shearer (SNL, This Is Spinal Tap) has a wonderful report at Huffington Post about New Orleans, two years later. If you give a shit, it's worth the read.

Ah-Chooo! Dammit!

Ragweed.

'Nuff said.

The Saint Peters Horror

One of the alleged real events of the book The Amityville Horror included an alleged infestation of houseflies covering a window of this alleged haunted house.

Well, my condo isn't haunted, just overpriced. And apart from its close proximity to a state highway upon which overcompensating, post-adolescent males rev their thunderous, overly accessorized motorcycles or pick-up trucks, it is now infested with flies.

Flies... Dozens of them. In my house. *shudder*

I have no idea where they came from -- I assume there is some large animal carcass decomposing in my attic -- but after a frenzy of swatting, I purchased two no-pest strips from Home Depot and set them up in my living room and bedroom.

Not good enough.

Wigged out by the sheer number of flies, and not sure of the efficacy of those harmless looking, odor-free devices, I continued my swatting, squashing frenzy. Now, the vast majority of them are enjoying a mass grave in my vacuum cleaner. There are some stragglers I'm finding here and there, but it looks like the no-pest strips are doing the job. The little, gross f*ckers are dying a slow death.

Good.

Guest Blogger: Ellen

Bonjour! I am paying Marcia back for her kindness during the Democractic National Convention and providing a guest blog while she is too drunk to blog. In a related aside, marcia belches like a sailor when drunk. Then she screams EXCUSE ME. Because she is a LADY, you mothaf__s!

So okay.Here's what I have to say. Gary (my husband) has a co-worker, whom we will call V to the power of three. V cubed, if you will.

V³ has behaving inappro -- I'm sorry, Marcia is interruptin to saY:
1. She (.05) is less drunk than I. (.13) But I DIDN't Sit over her shoulder and correct her gawdaMN grammar.
2. "Capitalize my damn name if you're going to lie about me."
-- Back to me.
So, VVV comes to Gary at work and says

"Gary! I have the perfect woman for you!"

Yes. Yes. Yes She Did. Yes She Said That.
Gatry claims he responded, "But I'm already married" and didnt investigate the boob size of this perfect soulmate VVV had found for him. Then he wanted to be polite, and said he might consider the prospect of adopting polygamy as a lifestyle."

BUT.

W!T!F! WTFing F?

Who IS this woman?

Is this out of line?

I have an agreement with Gary that I will not post about this woman on my blog. However, this i s MARCIAs blog. So. She is a deer wearing a big "Shoot ME" sign on her back.

Seriously. WTF! Am I overreacting?

Tell Marcia. She'll let me know.

To Leave or Not to Leave

Still pondering breaking away from the online writing/discussion group(s) I belong to. Good writers, but I'm not sure I can take the dramas and the prima donnas. Granted, they're a minority, but when the drama becomes more frequent that any decent fiction being produced, I gotta wonder why I'm sticking around.

Argh.

My New Baby

Well, the fates were with me as I started down the road of buying a new car. (See I needed new tires.)

Anyway, less than three weeks from the time I put my SUV in AutoTrader.com , a nice middle-aged couple from Crestwood bought it. Which left me without a car.

So to the rescue are Hot Mom and Ellen. I'd made arrangements with Ellen to carpool together(actually more like chauffeur me) to work for the next couple of weeks until my new car came in. Not five days later, by happenstance, my dealer calls me at 4:30 pm and says, "Hey, I gotta car for you. It's the color you want, but it's a package 5. My new car manager says he'll knock $500 off if you can come in tonight."

"Well... well, oh my God. Um... I'm so unprepared. My dog needs to be let out - he's old and defecates indiscriminately. Oy... Okay!" Hang up. "Ellen? I know you're trying to get the Project From Hell™ done, but can you give me a ride??"

So after more than 3 hours at the dealership (where I had a checkbook but no checks and left my auto insurance card at home), I was tooling down the highway in my new car. Of course, my dealer friend was following me closely to collect the check.

So I have a hybrid, and I'm learning how to be fuel efficient. And I'm back with the car payments again. Oy.

Still, a very cool car and I call him Shrek, cuz he's green and he's a little different, but he's beautiful. Funny, I feel really good about this car, better than I did driving off the lot with my last one. Now if only I can feel good about my house purchase. *sigh*

THIS was a Great Debate!

Don't know what the hell they said, but I should have a hangover and laughter-induced asthma to add to the boil thing.

Sadly, a broken down car, rain, a sick dog, and an irritable hubby, broke up our fun (and it was FUN!!)

BTW, when Ellen's really drunk, she snorts when she laughs. A lot.

That was a great night, Ellen. When's the next debate? :-D

Bikers and White Trash (or Bitching About My New Neighborhood)

I suppose it's that time of year again, when all motorcycle-riding, white trash of Eastern Missouri gather at the sports bar across the road from me and show off the size of their dicks by revving their engines. And on top of that, they come with their own sound system.

If only Al Qaeda would pick that strip mall to fly a plane into.

Like, right now.

Goddamned hoosiers.

Living Up to the Title of My Blog

Boils...

ARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so along with the Cipro I get ointment, and after four applications, I have like a quarter of the tube left. What's more frustrating, I don't know for how many days I'm supposed to apply this crap; the Rx doesn't say - it just says apply three times a day. I have to wait till Monday to find out if this is for a week, a month or for the rest of my freakin' life. In the meantime it looks like another trip to Walgreens tomorrow. *sigh*

Speaking of which... time to strip, apply ointment and stand around naked for 10 minutes while the stuff soaks in.

A Pox! A Pox Upon My Ass!

Okay, my epidermis isn't exactly of the peaches and cream variety, not since I was a child anyway. Rolls, stretchmarks since the 70s, cellulite, moles, infrequent bouts of acne -- you know, middle-aged women crap.

However, nothing prepared me for the vision in my bathroom mirror last night. Hoooooly shit. The gross-out factor went far beyond the normal, everyday revulsion.

I managed to rule out hives because of how they looked (Thank you for the Internet, Mr. Gore!) I also ruled out mosquitoes, considering the area of primary affect -- my ass and torso. So, I thought bedbugs? Scabies? Well, it's a good thing my new mattress is getting delivered tomorrow. But, no, not bedbugs or scabies. Leprosy? Nope, I haven't been near all those illegal immigrants Lou Dobbs has decided are introducing the Plague to the U.S.

Measles? Had 'em. Chicken pox? Had 'em. German Measles? Hmmm...

Well, I suspected what these welts were, and I didn't want them to be what I thought they were.

This morning I called the doctor's office and got an appointment. Yay! I arrived on time, was eventually taken back to a room, disrobed from the waist down and waited for the doctor to confirm that indeed I have been cursed with one of the 10 plagues of Egypt.

Boils. Lots and lots of boils. [insert obligatory view-at-you-own-risk-disclaimer here] Note: this is not my skin. This is a marked improvement over mine.

Doctor C: You been out in the woods lately?

Me: I live near woods and biker bars in West Jesus, Missouri.

Doctor C: Been in any tall grasses?

Me: No...

Doctor C: These are all at the hair follicle. It looks like folliculitis. I've seen this with hot tub usage.

Me: *gasp!* I was in my brother's hot tub Monday!

Doctor C: That's probably what did it. Is it a plastic or wood hot tub?

Me: Plastic. It's brand new. *pout*

Doctor C: The wood hot tubs are worse, but even with these new ones, if they don't have the chemicals just right, bacteria creep in.

Me: Crap. There goes my hot tub party. Grrrrrr....

Doctor C: I'm going to write you a scrip for Cipro -- that's good for anthrax [he says grinning]. Then I want to you use a topical ointment three times a day. You should strip down, apply it on each pustule (!!!!!) -- I know you'll want to rub it in like lotion, but don't. Let yourself air dry for about ten minutes before putting your clothes back on. If they itch, take an antihistamine. If they hurt, take ibuprofen.

Me: *sigh* Okay. At least it isn't something really bad.

Doctor C: Yeah, you're not Typhoid Mary.

Me: Or TB Andy.

Doctor C: *snort*

So I come home, strip nekkid, apply the ointment, pop a Cipro, eat an early dinner in the nude, then get in my jammies.

It's a good thing I have a brand, spanking new mattress that I can rub the staphylococcus bacteria into.

Oh, and I get to tell my brother I'm allergic to his hot tub.

An open letter to the late Jerry Falwell

Well, buh-bye, Jerry Falwell.

Thanks for tearing the country in two, you hate-mongering jackass.

Buh-bye to your intolerance.
Buh-bye to your fear-mongering.
Buh-bye to your judgmentalism.
Buh-bye to your divisiveness.
Buh-bye to your racism.
Buh-bye to your sanctimony.
Buh-bye to your sense of supremecy.

Jer, let's take a trip down Memory Lane with the good folks at The Carpetbagger Report :

March 1980: Falwell tells an Anchorage rally about a conversation with President Carter at the White House. Commenting on a January breakfast meeting, Falwell claimed to have asked Carter why he had “practicing homosexuals” on the senior staff at the White House. According to Falwell, Carter replied, “Well, I am president of all the American people, and I believe I should represent everyone.” When others who attended the White House event insisted that the exchange never happened, Falwell responded that his account “was not intended to be a verbatim report,” but rather an “honest portrayal” of Carter’s position.

My notes: Apparently, Jimmy Carter once said speaking as a Christian, "Falwell can go straight to hell."

August 1980: After Southern Baptist Convention President Bailey Smith tells a Dallas Religious Right gathering that “God Almighty does not hear the prayer of a Jew,” Falwell gives a similar view. “I do not believe,” he told reporters, “that God answers the prayer of any unredeemed Gentile or Jew.” After a meeting with an American Jewish Committee rabbi, he changed course, telling an interviewer on NBC’s “Meet the Press” that “God hears the prayers of all persons…. God hears everything.”

My notes: Perhaps someone reminded him Jesus was a Jew, and that perhaps God did answer the prayers of Jews.

July 1984: Falwell is forced to pay gay activist Jerry Sloan $5,000 after losing a court battle. During a TV debate in Sacramento, Falwell denied calling the gay-oriented Metropolitan Community Churches “brute beasts” and “a vile and Satanic system” that will “one day be utterly annihilated and there will be a celebration in heaven.” When Sloan insisted he had a tape, Falwell promised $5,000 if he could produce it. Sloan did so, Falwell refused to pay and Sloan successfully sued. Falwell appealed, with his attorney charging that the Jewish judge in the case was prejudiced. He lost again and was forced to pay an additional $2,875 in sanctions and court fees.

My notes: So reneging on a promise to pay a debt you owe is a totally forgivable offense to a Christian judge?

October 1987: The Federal Election Commission fines Falwell for transferring $6.7 million in funds intended for his ministry to political committees.

My notes: Jerry.... Naughty...

February 1988: The U.S. Supreme Court strikes down a $200,000 jury award to Falwell for “emotional distress” he suffered because of a Hustler magazine parody. Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, usually a Falwell favorite, wrote the unanimous opinion in Hustler v. Falwell, ruling that the First Amendment protects free speech.

My notes: *gasp* Rehnquist was a Jew, too???

February 1993: The Internal Revenue Service determines that funds from Falwell’s Old Time Gospel Hour program were illegally funneled to a political action committee. The IRS forced Falwell to pay $50,000 and retroactively revoked the Old Time Gospel Hour’s tax-exempt status for 1986-87.

My notes: Didn't learn your lesson the first time, Jer?

March 1993: Despite his promise to Jewish groups to stop referring to America as a “Christian nation,” Falwell gives a sermon saying, “We must never allow our children to forget that this is a Christian nation. We must take back what is rightfully ours.”

My notes: Oh, I have SOOOO much to say about this one. See below.

1994-1995: Falwell is criticized for using his “Old Time Gospel Hour” to hawk a scurrilous video called “The Clinton Chronicles” that makes a number of unsubstantiated charges against President Bill Clinton — among them that he is a drug addict and that he arranged the murders of political enemies in Arkansas. Despite claims he had no ties to the project, evidence surfaced that Falwell helped bankroll the venture with $200,000 paid to a group called Citizens for Honest Government (CHG). CHG’s Pat Matrisciana later admitted that Falwell and he staged an infomercial interview promoting the video in which a silhouetted reporter said his life was in danger for investigating Clinton. (Matrisciana himself posed as the reporter.) “That was Jerry’s idea to do that,” Matrisciana recalled. “He thought that would be dramatic.”

My notes: My old neighbors were sucked into this bearing-false-witness episode. They were so bamboozled by this one, I felt sorry for them. Well, they sell Amway -- maybe a little poetic justice at play here.

November 1997: Falwell accepts $3.5 million from a front group representing controversial Korean evangelist Sun Myung Moon to ease Liberty University’s financial woes.

My notes: That's Muliple Marriage Moon, owner of the Washington Times, and all-around nut-job.

April 1998: Confronted on national television with a controversial quote from America Can Be Saved!, a published collection of his sermons, Falwell denies having written the book or had anything to do with it. In the 1979 work, Falwell wrote, “I hope to live to see the day when, as in the early days of our country, we won’t have any public schools. The churches will have taken them over again and Christians will be running them. What a happy day that will be!” Despite Falwell’s denial, Sword of the Lord Publishing, which produced the book, confirms that Falwell wrote it.

My notes: A little white lie, Reverend?

January 1999: Falwell tells a pastors’ conference in Kingsport, Tenn., that the Antichrist prophesied in the Bible is alive today and “of course he’ll be Jewish.”

My notes: What do you mean "he"?

February 1999: Falwell becomes the object of nationwide ridicule after his National Liberty Journal newspaper issues a “parents alert” warning that Tinky Winky, a character on the popular PBS children’s show “Teletubbies,” might be gay.

My notes: This one still makes me laugh.

September 2001: Falwell blames Americans for the 9/11 terrorist attacks. “The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the Pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say, ‘You helped this happen.’”

My notes: Actually, all we have to do is point a finger in Bush 41's face, who left American troops and bases in Saudi Arabia after the first Persian Gulf war, pissing off Osama bin Laden and his pals.

November 2005: Falwell spearheads campaign to resist “war on Christmas.”

My notes: Poor, persecuted Christmas. Perhaps one day we'll all be able to celebrate Christmas openly and without fear of never finding a parking space at the mall.

February 2007: Falwell describes global warming as a conspiracy orchestrated by Satan, liberals, and The Weather Channel.

My notes: You said it with a straight face, too. I'm duly impressed!


Ah... facts are so... liberating.

For the record, Jerry, the Treaty of Tripoli signed by President John Adams in 1797 (rather recent to the time of our nation's founding and Adams being one of those founders) documents in actual words that the United States was not in any sense founded on the Christian religion. Any legitimate historian will tell you that Jefferson, Washington, Franklin, Adams, etc. were deists and adamant about this nation's government remaining secular.

In fact, here is a quote from John Adams: "I almost shudder at the thought of alluding to the most fatal example of the abuses of grief which the history of mankind has preserved -- the Cross. Consider what calamities that engine of grief has produced!"

Here's another one, Jerry -- a quote from Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence. In his Autobiography, referencing the Virginia Act for Religious Freedom: "Where the preamble declares, that coercion is a departure from the plan of the holy author of our religion, an amendment was proposed by inserting "Jesus Christ," so that it would read "A departure from the plan of Jesus Christ, the holy author of our religion;" the insertion was rejected by the great majority, in proof that they meant to comprehend, within the mantle of its protection, the Jew and the Gentile, the Christian and Mohammedan, the Hindoo and Infidel of every denomination."

Hmmm... looks like our Founding Fathers were *gasp* liberals.

Shoulda paid attention in history class, Jer. But then again, I guess revisionist history is (was) your thing. So many questionable characters like you enjoy using lies, half-truths and exaggerations to create fear, misunderstanding and hate, brainwashing too many good people into adopting a dogma of racial and religious supremecy and intolerance.

I'd say "Burn in hell, Jerry", but I don't believe in hell. What I do believe is God took one look at you, crooked His/Her/Its finger at you, directing you to follow, and has taken your sorry ass to that great Woodshed in the Sky to impress His/Her/Its true opinions on you. Hope He/She/It made you cut your own switch.

I also hope Barry Goldwater is standing by in the Afterlife to kick your ass like he wanted to do to you in life.

Interesting story about Mohandas Gandhi, and I always think of you, Jer, when I hear it. A missionary met with Gandhi, asking him, "Mr. Gandhi, though you quote the words of Christ often, why is that you appear to so adamantly reject becoming his follower?"

Ghandi replied, "Oh, I don't reject your Christ. I love your Christ. It's just that so many of you Christians are so unlike your Christ."

Pssst. I think he meant 'Christians' like you.

Rest in peace, Jerry. I hope you're a hell of a lot wiser now than you were here on this plane of existence.

At least I'm not an Eggo, I suppose

You're The Poisonwood Bible!

by Barbara Kingsolver

Deeply rooted in a religious background, you have since become both
isolated and schizophrenic. You were naively sure that your actions would help people,
but of course they were resistant to your message and ultimately disaster ensued. Since
you can see so many sides of the same issue, you are both wise beyond your years and
tied to worthless perspectives. If you were a type of waffle, it would be
Belgian.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Isolated and schizophrenic? Well, why not add manic, too?

Well, so much for snobbery...

I was really hoping the results would say: "You are 0% White Trash. Admit it, you only took this quiz on a bet from the ladies at the tennis club."

Alas...

I am 11% White
Trash.

I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

My Little Sweetheart's Upcoming Birthday

My brother and sister are like nitro and glycerine. You can figure out why close proximity would be an issue. She's clinically insane and on disability, and he's an angry, pathological control freak and has checked out of that relationship.

Her phone calls (because he never calls her) typically involve him insulting her and eventually hanging up. She is unfazed by this behavior. For this, I have to thank Abbott Labs and Roche Pharmaceuticals.

My sister is married to someone who is also on disability, and they live about 250 miles away in rural Missouri and cannot easily afford the gas to travel to/from St. Louis. They have one reliable vehicle, but that's not the problem. The problem is they seem to be surgically grafted to each other, as hubby is highly resistant to being apart from wifey for any length of time. The only way the two of them can come to St. Louis together is to stay in a hotel, cuz my brother doesn't want them in his house, and hubby is a little too creepy for me to be comfortable with him in my house.

So they must stay in a motel.

But they can't afford to.

But my sister can visit by herself and stay with me.

But they can't be apart.

But they can't afford a motel.

But they can't stay at my house together.

But she can by herself.

But they can't be apart.

Yadda...

Last summer, she was strapped financially and missed meeting our niece at the huge family get-together, which was for the expressed purpose of meeting our newest family member. So after several indecisive months later, and realizing the trip wouldn't work financially with the two of them, a decision was made: my sister and her dear hubby would be surgically separated and she would come to St. Louis around the holidays to meet her niece.

The efforts that I went to to make this happen so that she and my brother wouldn't have to meet was delicately and judiciously handled by yours truly. (Not that the holidays didn't suck royally in spite of all my machinations.)

Well, as it so happens, sis became ill. Some bout of flu, including fever and congestion. She had to be on an inhaler and antibiotics and had to regretfully postpone the trip. A couple of weeks later, she phoned my brother and informed him she would try again for our niece's first birthday in February. That hit a snag.

Why, you ask?

Hubby, who barely registers 5-feet-tall, has a lifelong dream to learn bullriding.

Yep. Bullriding.

There is some rodeo workshop that meets once a month in various cities and Kansas City is the closest destination. So that is where they will be the same weekend as our niece's first birthday. My sister and her mother-in-law simply MUST accompany this budding soon-to-be-stomped-into-a-bloody-pulp cowboy. If they don't, it will "crush his heart".

Personally, I'm betting the bull will take care of that.

Of course, this choice will further anger the angry enigma, wrapped in an angry riddle that is my brother. Actually, it won't anger him so much as add to his arsenal of anger and guilt-laden blow darts of death.

So... my sister is yet to meet her niece, who will soon be 11 months old. Maybe by the time the child graduates high school, my sister might manage to stop by and say "Howdy, little lady. Ahm yer aiynt!" Then again, if by the time President's Day rolls around, my sister is dubbed the Widder Jones, it might be sooner than that.

Stand bah yer may-annn, sis.

WTF?

Tonight, I'm brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed when I hear police or fire engine sirens start blaring outside my new, overpriced condo.

I peek out my curtains and gaze upon the state highway's intersection (a lovely selling point in full view of my undersized balcony), and mercy sake's alive, we got us a convoy. A convoy of police cruisers, cherries blazing, sirens wailing and stuttering. Two cruisers block access to the intersection, while a police Humvee proceeds through, followed by about a half dozen chartered buses.

Initially, I thought this was an escort of prisoners to/from some correctional facility. However, the buses were brightly colored and honking merrily as they rolled past the inconvenienced drivers now piling up at the stoplight.

As an addendum to the New Years Day After Parade, a police helicopter flies by just to make sure (I suppose) that traffic disbursed peacefully from their brush with whatever the hell that was.

????

To what circle of Missouri hell did I move?

My New Hero(ine)

This is probably the most hilarious article I've read in a while: http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2006/12/31/2006_sex/

Rebecca Traister is my new hero!

My English friend pointed me to this after purchasing an international subscription to Salon. Her elderly father has been in poor health and may not be long for this world, she herself has been stressed with her own health as well as her mother's. She read this little gem and proclaimed, "God bless America!"

I think my little English Rose is laughing at us, not with us.

Just guessing. God knows, we're giving the world a lot of fodder.

*sigh*