Sunday, December 30, 2012

Curing the Means

I went to Point Lookout state park today.  It was about 41 degrees but beautiful.

There was a giant osprey nest, but the vacancy sign was out
I wish I could remember that being outside keeps 'the crazy' from eating my brain.  I don't mean a ha ha I'M SO CRAZY, looka me! thing either.  Y'all know.  I get a horrible black cloud - a murderous rage.  I could cut a bitch - with a knife or with my words.  In these fugue states, I alternate between depressed and blue, to cranky with a capital CRANK. 

I walked and stuff bubbled up - I guess I'm still really mad at that girl who gave me the fucking plastic moose.  TW hit the nail on the head in the comments - I feel like I'm not heard.  My preferences have value, but people run roughshod over them.  It isn't THAT GIRL so much, that incident is just one example of a bigger thing that's bugging me.  But I'm going to stop taking that kind of behavior from people.  I'm learning.  I'm an old dog, but still learning.

I walked a long way.  Through a campground, but no pictures of that because it's just parking spaces.  I wished I had firewood with me, a daytime fire at a campground sounds like a good time.

I need to remember to get outside - both outside of my own head, and outside in nature.  Remind me next time I get cranky.  Altho if you tell me to go exercise I'm apt to give you this look:

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Military Spec Ops Helicoptering

Some poor 21-year old student got a restraining order against her parents.


"The dean's list student's complaints against her parents began when she realized they'd installed monitoring software on her computer and her phone."

MONITORING SOFTWARE on her computer and phone.   Without her knowledge.

She had to Skype with them to prove she was home, including leaving Skype running ALL NIGHT so her mother could watch her sleep. <-- (hello, idea for an episode of L&O SVU.)

"Her parents allegedly became so overbearing that they installed keylogging software on her computer and cell phone to keep track of her every move.

She told the court, "I was a dog with a collar on.”

According to the Cincinnati Enquirer, the school hired security guards to keep them out of their daughter's performances in school productions. When she cut off all contact with them, her parents responded by stopping payment on tuition checks.
Both the school and the court have sided with Aubrey. The University of Cincinnati gave her a full scholarship for her senior year, and the judge issued a civil stalking order against her parents, ordering them to stay at least 500 feet away from her and have no contact with her until September 2013."

The SCHOOL hired security guards.  AND gave her a scholarship for her senior year.  The school officials WERE DONE WITH THEM.

If this had been her boyfriend, people would have been all over it.  Her parents are telling everyone she is just spoiled.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Thirty-Seven Days

5 weeks.  I don't even really think about it anymore.

Las Vegas is going to cause me to take a mulligan out on that number tho.  Just being honest here - but I also know that Vegas is going to be quite different this time around.  I will probably be able to actually keep track of how many V&Ts I have the whole trip.  Before, I couldn't have told you how many in a day.  Or even before noon.  NOT LYING HERE.  The number wont be huge.  And I'll be hauling my adorable ass back up on the wagon on the last day.  Perhaps my feeling of being in control is an illusion.  I don't think so, but then, does anyone ever?  Too deep for me just yet.

I just - well, I feel better.  I look better.  I sleep.  I can play that tape all the way to the end and it sucks every time.  I'm not really tempted.  Why so easy?  I dunno.

But it's so fucking BORING.  Blah blah blah.  BORED.

My post about jesus didn't get much interest.  I was hoping for some discussion of jesus causing a riot!  damn.  wahhh.  OH I'm a pain in the ass.  I need attention.  I'M ON FIRE!  put ME out!!  blech.

I hope y'all had a PLEASANT Yule.  'Pleasant' is a great word.  It's a quiet word - there are never any FiReWoRkS in a pleasant day.  There WOULD, however, be a book.  Some good music.  The right kind of weather (sun!  snow!  wind!  whatever).  A scenic view.  Yeah, PLEASANT

My sentiments exactly.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Have a cool Yule, ya'll

First, from me and Mike and the wayback machine (circa 1994)
And next from Santa and the Krampus.
Because what says HAPPY HOLIDAYS better than a creepy pope and Satan? 
What a comedy PAIR these two are!
And here is how Mike ruined one holiday song for me (as a teenager he changed the words to most songs, I don't know where he got that behavior...)
♪ " we are as in olden days, happy golden days, UP YOURS" ♪
Nollaig Mhaith Chugat!

Friday, December 21, 2012

Going Postal, or The Day Jesus Cleaned the Temple

So, kids, what in the hell happened to Jesus that he got beat up, kicked and punched, sliced open to the bone in 5 PLACES, and was strung up like a common criminal to die an agonizing LONG death on a cross?  I mean, you'd have to piss someone off pretty badly for that kind of punishment - what the fuck went down?

Well, let's find out!  I will give you quotes that I found all over the webz and then my interpretation based on absolutely no knowledge of biblical history at all.  Just common sense. (Ganked from a religious site, not some radical christian hate group) unless otherwise noted.

(Curtain opens, Jesus is on the steps of Herod's Temple, the major temple in Jerusalem, a-preachin' and carryin' on.  I'm going out on a limb and say that adult Jesus went every year to at LEAST the Passover festival.  He HAD gone with his parents every year up until he was 12, when he disappeared different story stay focused)

"Jerusalem was a pilgrimage site, indeed the pilgrimage center for Jews in the land of Israel and in the Diaspora. Three times a year—at Passover, Weeks/Pentecost and Tabernacles—Jews came in large numbers to worship at the Temple in the Holy City. The pilgrimage trade was a major industry in Jerusalem. The restoration and expansion of the Temple begun as part of Herod the Great's ambitious building program was likewise a major industry.  The pilgrimages brought many people to Jerusalem, and the themes of the great festivals, especially Passover with its commemoration of Israel's liberation from slavery in Egypt, could incite nationalistic fervor and even rebellion." TRANSLATION:  Jerusalem was doing a huge business in festivals three times a year centering on this fab temple.  The temple was doing such a brisk business that extensive restoration and expansion projects were under way.  Picture the streets of this city: (I'm thinking Ye Olde Renaissance Faire) There were many food and trinket vendors, inns and the surrounding stables did a brisk business, business was conducted ("we're in town anyway, let's meet for coffee"), marriages arranged, trades conducted (wheat for flour, for example) and of course, money changing (from Jewish to Roman coin).  Doves were being sold to poor widows to sacrifice during ceremonies at a huge markup (The dove thing really pissed Jesus off) - the vendors were gouging the crap out of everyone, per usual at a FESTIVAL.   Maybe there was also an entrance fee to just get into the city (which had walls around it), used to fund the temple expansion and other civic projects like roads, etc.  There was money, power, and influence.   But these festivals brought the rowdies (like a buncha bikers at a hometown 4th of July parade) so there were more cops brought in as well.

Also, it was a TEMPLE but it was being used as a giant swap-meet.  Hey, it was mostly sheltered from the weather, who doesn't like an enclosed flea market?  So a religious temple being used for grubby trade.  Jesus was here in Jerusalem every year.  He was front and center to the building up of trade inside the temple.  He was against that, to put it lightly.

This place was HUGE, by the way.

(When Jesus came to Jerusalem, the Temple had just been majorly rebuilt by Herod the Great. The Temple area was now about thirty-five acres.  THIRTY FIVE ACRES.  That's a lot of oxen)

 And so it was natural that the Roman prefect, whose official residence was in Caesarea Maritima, would come to Jerusalem at Passover, and work with the local officials such as the chief priests and elders to keep things under control.  Moreover, talk about Jesus as "the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One" would surely have set off alarms not only among the Romans but also among the Jewish leaders. Both viewed Jesus as another religious-political messianic pretender who had to be dealt with quickly. The kind of language being used about Jesus in some circles alerted them to the danger that he might pose to their power and to the status quo."  <--I'd like to point out that the above states:  "...viewed Jesus as ANOTHER pretender."  So, there had been other pains in the ass, probably every festival, like clockwork.  The cops and guards were righteously sick and tired of chasing these radicals off the steps and out of the temple.  The temple that had been cleaned, aired out, made ready for people AND THEIR MONEY.  Imagine how irritated the cops were by this time.  You don't want to irritate the cops.  They dealt with him 'quickly'.  This guy was dangerous to the power structure - nobody at the top was going to allow some radical vagrant to upset the boat and change up the POWER and CONTROL of the peoples.
"It is safe to say that Jesus was not crucified because he taught love and forgiveness or because he set about debating legal points with the scribes of his day. Jesus was crucified because he was seen as a threat to the powers-that-be. His brand of non-violent resistance, his manner of stirring the people and empowering the poor, were correctly judged to be challenging the political power structures of his day." <-- he was a radical pain in the ass, carrying on and disturbing commerce, disturbing the peace, and upsetting the cops. They didn't like what he was teaching or how he was DEBATING WITH THE SCRIBES - but that wasn't what tipped the cops over the edge.  He was fucking up business in the temple area, blocking traffic with all his followers (he was getting a large following) and diverting attention away from vendors. He was causing scenes and getting the poor people all riled up - you know how we hate THAT to happen. They might start THINKING - uh oh.  He was going to be behind a lot of unrest, and that had to be stopped lickity split.  P.S. non violent resistance?  "help help!  I'm being repressed!" more like it.  He was yelling and shouting to be heard, getting people all frenzied up, it wouldn't have been fucking SILENT and PASSIVE he had an agenda and was passionate about it. 

Um, then he made a whip and caused a RIOT and drove the money changers from the temple.  *sound of needle across record* say WHAT?

Yeah.  Jesus, ye olde PEACEFUL guy, whipped people, overturned tables, threw money around, and went all postal on the place.  Shitballs.

(Money changers best get to steppin')
"Creating a whip from some cords, Jesus drove them all out of the temple, with the sheep and the oxen, and poured out the changers’ money and overturned the tables. But he said to those who sold doves, ‘Get these out of here! Do not make My Father’s house a house of trade!’  Jesus then put an embargo on people carrying any merchandise through the temple—a sanction that would have disrupted all commerce. (

Yeah.  He got pissed off and created a fucking RIOT.  HE WAS WHIPPING PEOPLE.  People were stampeding, oxen and sheep running amok, evidently babies being dropped on the floor (see below), yelling and screaming - BIG surprise that he was arrested, tried and executed.  Who was this Jesus dude that he had the power to place an embargo on the people?  I have no idea how the fuck that went down, but I'd bet he got his goons on it.  You KNOW Jesus had goons.  His fucking 'disciples' would be MY guess.  Glorified in the bible, they probably in reality were like The Godfather's Hand Of God (HAR I am funny).  He cleansed the temple TWICE.  Two different times.  You can't get a bunch of vendors out of a swap meet by ASKING NICELY.  He didn't say 'excuse me sir, might you please exit calmly with your oxen and bags-o-money?'  He went all postal TWICE.  Imagine the loss of income from this shiznit?  Find your animals, get set back up again, find your MONEY he was throwing people's MONEY AROUND so you know other people were scrabbling for it (I would have!) - Yeah, they wanted to kick his bony, scrawny ASS.  All of the high powered people, the shop owners, the vendors, the mucky-mucks wanted this guy GONE.

ALSO - "he made a whip from some cords".  This would have us believe he FOUND some uh, cords (?), and fashioned a whip right on the spot.  COMMON SENSE <--our good friend - would dictate that he brought that shit with him.  This was planned.  He probably had goons staged all around the temple, helping him drive people out - because some of those oxen sellers would be fairly brawny, and would prolly fight back.  One scrawny guy with a whip isn't going to scare everyone out of the temple.  So he planned this, with his peeps/disciples.  Which is how one of them could betray him (PETER).

(*There is some debate about which cleansing included the whip episode.  Common Sense <--our good true friend- would dictate that the whipping and resulting riot would be the LAST STRAW but I mention this because I am not a biblical scholar*)
(Another version - this time with boobies!  And bunnies.  Jesus whippin' the crap outta them temple-vendors and buyers.  And... WAIT.  Babies.  Babies forgotten on the floor?  WHAT THE FUCK.)
So the cops were after him.  They were looking all over the crowded city for his ass.  Jesus figured out that one of his Goons was a stool pigeon.  He wasn't sure which one, but he had it mostly figured out.  Someone was going to rat him out to the cops, that HE was the guy who did the damage to the Temple.  (I THINK that's what it's about, I'm getting bored) He told all of them at what would become the last supper (because HE DIED after that) (this was the Passover dinner that is tradition, it was already scheduled and was probably a standing invite every year)

*digression* (The Last Supper is commemorated by Christians especially on Maundy Thursday <--wouldn't that be a GREAT name for a restaurant?  Maundy Thursday - somebody take this idea)

Anywhoozle, he told them that one of them would betray him.  He must've been highly suspicious of these guys to have private detectives following them around.  He knew, again, like The Godfather knew, that people are human and weak and can be bought.  He threatened the group that the guilty party would wish they had never been born.  Sounds a little elementary school-yard to me, but whatever.  He set it up so his predictions would come true (Peter would deny him 3 times before sunrise).  Jesus was arrested after dinner, in an olive grove <--I have no idea.

So blah blah, the cops arrested him and he went to trial. "...there were two charges made against Jesus: He threatened to destroy the Temple and claimed to be "the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One"... For the Jewish leaders, merchants, and construction workers whose livelihood depended on the smooth running of the Jerusalem Temple, the slightest (even symbolic) threat [I don't think his threat was "symbolic" one bit, I think he meant to raze the place] against the Temple would have been taken very seriously.

He was tried and convicted.  Not only of disrupting all the business, but of claiming to be the Messiah - this would not stand in a place that made money from sacrifical lambs and doves and statues of gods and goddesses.  The story of Pontius Pilot comes in here.  Old Pontch wasn't what the stories say, OBVIOUSLY we know that by now, nobody IS.  He was Governor of Jerusalem.  This is getting too long already, so suffice to say Pontch was the judge and he threw the book at Jesus.  Along with a coupla other law breakers - they crucified 3 peeps on one day.

FIRST tho, OH HO HO!  There was old testament fun and games!  Let's torture this poor bastard FIRST.  This part is gory and disgusting and the stuff that 'Saw' movies are made of.  Skip this if you're squeamish.  I had to type it with my eyes shut.  Imma just copy and paste a bunch of it because it's that bad."The Romans always beat their prisoners in a very cruel way. The law of the Jews allowed them to beat men no more than 39 times. The Roman law had no limit. When their prisoners fell down, the Romans picked them up. Then they began to beat them again. Sometimes they killed their prisoners like this. The prisoners' backs became like a field that a farmer has ploughed. Pieces of skin hung from their backs. The Romans had decided that Jesus must die. Now they beat him, by Roman law.  The soldiers also made cruel jokes about Jesus. They made him a crown out of pieces of sharp branches. (It is unlikely that Jesus wore this to the cross. The Roman officer would never have allowed it.)

What must Jesus have looked like by this time? They had beaten him with hands and whips. They had pulled his beard. They had forced the sharp crown on his head.  Everyone was afraid of how he looked. He did not even look human. Nobody would recognise him as a man. 

Lets just parse this shit out.  They beat THE CRAP out of him.  They whipped him so badly he didn't even look human anymore.  His back had the skin FLAYED OFF OF IT.  They shoved sharp branches onto his face.  They yanked at his beard - you can bet they pulled it the fuck OUT.  And they kept picking him up and making him walk.  Carrying part of the heavy wooden structure they were going to nail him to.  They HATED this guy.  He had really pissed people off.  They made an example of him.  They didn't want any more trouble from any more crazy religious zealots.

(same website) "To crucify a man is terrible. The prisoner had painful injuries. The sun burned him and insects crawled over him. Most of all, the weight of the body was so heavy that the man had to struggle for every breath. All the time there were the shouts of the crowd."
I'm not going to go into internal injuries and the weight of your body vs. the gigantic nails which were pounded into HIS WRISTS, not palms.  People were watching this spectacle and catcalling at him.  This was one fucked up scene.  It took a human DAYS to die like that.  Holy fuck.  Once you were dead, the soldiers came along, broke the dead guys legs and hauled 'em off the crosses.

And THAT is the image that Christianity uses as it's logo.  A HUMAN SACRIFICE.  If any other religion used an image of a human sacrifice as their symbol, they would be drummed out of existence.  Imagine Wicca or Druidism using that type of thing?  That image is fucked up and people HAVE IT OVER THEIR BEDS, in their houses.  It's made HUGE for churches so you can see the blood.  I think it's disgusting and I wont have anything to do with it.

*ALSO i just realized this - Jesus wasn't a pacifist.  The scene in the temple sealed that deal.  He was a rebel, he stirred things up - THAT is what the crucifixion is all about.  They killed him because he was causing too much trouble.  This isn't some passive lamb, he was OUT THERE FIGHTING for what he believed in (the fairytale that he was the son of god, but no pressure Jesus).  So that symbol, the crucifixion, is a symbol of revolt and pushing boundaries.  His bowed head always seemed so submissive to me, but HEY HE'S DEAD, I get it now.

(The cross used as a symbol for a grave site doesn't bother me for some reason.  Just like you say 'Kleenex' for 'tissue' or 'Q-tip' rather than 'swab', some icons become more than the original.  No matter what religion you are, if you see a white cross on the side of the freeway, you know some poor bastard died right there.)

So, what did we learn today?  Well, here.

Jesus was a radical.  He was passionate about his beliefs.  He was a pretty smart guy.  He had amassed quite a following, and was intent on changing shit in his 'hood. He ran his followers like a business, like any gang lord would do.  He had hired spies to keep himself in the know.  He wasn't averse to using force and violence to make his point.  He pissed off the status quo so badly they tortured him in a fashion I don't even like to think about.  It was about religion, sure, but mostly about RESPECT for a house of worship.  There were lots of different pagan religions being practiced at the time.  He was a human being intent on making a change, a change he was ready to die for.  He had been fighting for the Temple for years.  He was (they say) 33 years old (which is linked to the 33 degrees of Masons OH DON'T GET ME STARTED ON CONSPIRACY THEORIES).

This was interesting to write.  If y'all are sick of this, let me know.  Possibilities for next research:  The Lost Years, from when he was 12 to 30.  Or maybe I'll research that 'water-into-wine' crap.  the lepers.  OH I KNOW David & Goliath!  oh hell, there is so much to pick from.  So much bullshit.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Holy Mary Mother of God she looks like a vagina...

More research into the bible fable:

"[there is] archaeological evidence that the average man of Jesus' day was about 5 feet 3 inches tall and a bantam-like 110 pounds. Given the harsh conditions, especially for working stiffs like the members of Jesus' family, combined with Jesus' ascetic lifestyle, which included walking everywhere, scholars agree that he was most likely a rather sinewy peasant, as tough as a root and about as appealing."

What Did Jesus Really Look Like?
Published: February 21, 2004
The man was middle eastern.  He was from a village in Israel.  He didn't look like a California surfer from 1965 - which is what all the pictures I have seen look like to me.

So, what did Miriam (Marian?) look like?  Dunno.  Can't find a picture, I didn't really look too hard.

BECAUSE.  I found this.
So, here is a typical rendering of the virgin Mary.
(whut the hell is that guy doing at the bottom?)

Here's a better one:

Which looks an awful lot like this.
Do you recolize what this is? 
Or this:
Yeah.  Now tell me that doesn't make A TON OF SENSE.  It's becoming clearer to me.

The whole misogynistic aspect of organized religion always struck me as fear of women - and here we find out that we have all been instructed to actually WORSHIP female genitalia. 
"Long before Jesus Christ entered history, it was the old Babylonian ritual to pray to idols of fertility. The Queen of Babylon, (Semiramis) claimed a virgin birth of her son Tamus on December 25th. (by our calendar) Hundreds of years later Babylon needed a way to compete with the new Christian faith and to continue all the fertility worship. "If you can't beat em' Join em!" The Babylonian religion merged with Christianity and produced the Universal Church. (Catholicism) With this church's bent on mother and fertility worship, it's no mistake that most depictions of the Virgin Mary look like a vagina that is primed and ready for consummation. No wonder she's always BLEEDING!" <-- (pretty stupid website, unless you're a fanatic)
I'm both fascinated and repelled by the research I've been doing.  It all started because of Santa Claus and the surrounding mythology, that fat bastard.
Tomorrow the world ends, so what difference does it make anyway?  Imma go eat carbs and salt and fat, tomorrow we get blown to bits!

P.S. - here we see Mary finding out she was preggers. 
 "Oh shit. I'm fucked. These sticks are 99% accurate. Wish I knew what 99 meant. Or percent."

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

If you believe in Jesus, skip this one.

(If you believe in God and Jesus, I am going to offend you.  I DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT YOU BELIEVE.  I get to pick.)

So, let me get this straight.

A 13-year old girl living in the Middle-East in a fairly remote village becomes pregnant out of wedlock.  Convinces not only her middle-aged (some sources say he was 90-YEARS OLD) betrothed but the entire village that not only was she NOT boinking some young stud behind the house, she was visited by GOD and it's GOD'S fault, HE got her knocked up.  (teenage hormones are the same in ANY era, don't tell me about how she was marriageable.  She WAS 13 YEARS OLD.  Some sources say 12-years old.  Probably had barely started her period since that was the cut-off for marrying CHILDREN)

They have to travel ~7 miles to Bethlehem, to go to the Census Party - their presence was requested by Caesar Agustus who had decreed that ALL THE WORLD would be taxed.  They were late to this party, even though they only had to go 7 MILES.  SO LATE, in fact, that there was no rooms available to sleep in for love or money, and some enterprising livestock owners started renting out their filthy horse/cow stables for sleeping.  You think those people knew to associate germs with crap?  She gives birth in this filthy stable.

She then has NO TROUBLE convincing all of Bethlehem (and then Egypt, where pretty smart people are doing pretty smart things) that her illegitimate child is THE SAVIOR.  This is a chick I would like to talk to.  Talk about 'mesmerising'.

And THIS is more believable than an elf in sleigh pulled by flying reindeer.  <--THAT is the fairytale.  hmmm.

Anywhoozle - all that Virgin Birth stuff didn't even happen in December.  The census would have taken place after the harvest, so it was more likely September.  So the whole celebration of this magical story at December 25th is crap.

Which leads me to this wonderful picture that was posted by someone I vaguely know on their Facebook wall:
(God?  or Jesus?  who is this??)
THAT is a completely disgusting, gory, photograph of a human sacrifice.  I would NEVER, in all my ha ha I'm so funny ignorance, EVER post a picture of a dead bloody body to Facebook.  WHAT THE FUCK.  (I hid their post from my wall).

The above human sacrifice story (fairytale) doesn't even have anything to do with the fairytale of the "Virgin Birth" anyway.  The Bloody Human Sacrifice story has to do with Easter.  So why post that picture in December?

AND, tell me how snow, Santa the Elf, magical flying reindeer, the yule log, holly, and a decorated fir tree tie in with the Middle East, Camels, a manger in the desert.  ?? Those first items are symbols of a very ancient pagan religious celebration ('pagan' from Latin paganus, meaning "country dweller" or "rustic" - a blanket term typically used to refer to religious traditions which are polytheistic or indigenous) - a religion that has much more in common with the American Indian beliefs than some devil's agenda.

Then tell me how symbols of fertility (bunnies, a May pole [hello, phallic symbol], eggs) tie into the bloody human sacrifice above.  Answer?  They don't.

I'm sick sick SICK of the lies covering up all the stories in the bible.  NOT that the bible is a lie, but the mythology around it that we've been spoon fed since birth is CRAP.  I want to know the real stories.

I would like to read about the truth.  THE TRUTH.  How did Miriam (Mary, but Mary is not so much an ancient Middle Eastern name, it's more a 1940's name, she was Miriam or something close to that) how did she do it?  The census is real, King Herod is real, but the burning bush and David & Goliath is crap.  Don't you ever wonder why the original stories, the factual historical stuff, was so covered up?  Those plain stories seem interesting enough to ME, without giants and zombies and magik.

I get it - the higher powers in those days (the religious men, that's where the power always is) told these tales to fascinate and scare the great unwashed masses.  You can't amaze people with mathmatics when they think the number '40' means A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT - as in, it rained for 40 days and 40 nights AND FLOODED THE WHOLE EARTH in just over a month.  And Joseph was 90 years old at a time when people rarely lived past 40.  Math wasn't an exact science for the peoples, you know?)  How does anyone BELIEVE in this crap??

And keep the photos of bloody human sacrifices off your facebook.  You just look stupid.

Here' another holiday tradition from Spain.  A traditional Caganer.  A kid taking a shit under your tree.  You're welcome.

Monday, December 17, 2012


Well, it took almost a year exactly.  I think I've pissed off one of our new friends to the point she - well, is pissed off.  Two of them, actually.

Here's the thing.  These people we met are fabulous, funny, and just our type.  We have more friends HERE in this new weird place than we EVER did in Southern California where we had both lived forever.  I thought it was like, serendipity or fate or something like that, meaningful!  And honestly, it's still great.

But after a year, the cracks start to show.  We don't see these people THAT often.  Jeff sees the two women and one of the guys once a week at least because of work meetings.  We see one boyfriend because he is the manager of the Buffalo Wild Wings (the only social game in town, no shit.  We go there and play the tv trivia or poker game.  *sigh*).  But we get together for Sunday football or a happy hour or like they all came to a happy hour for my birthday, stuff like that.  (Still not drinking.  It's been 4 weeks).  But by now we've heard THEIR back stories, lived through a breakup/get back together issue, seen a guy get stalked by his soon-to-be ex wife, etc.  Those "party shields" are starting to break down.

Mine included.  A year is a LONG time for me to pretend I'm not crazy, even around crazy people.

So one day a couple of weeks ago all the women were clacking in one corner and we PINKY SWORE we would do NO xmas presents.  NONE.  I led the charge because this is near and dear to my soul.  The others professed as much disdain for the process as i did.  I told them, in NO uncertain terms, "don't get me a calendar.  Do NOT get me cute xmas socks.  I want nothing from you, no kidding."  See, I wasn't winking, or being ambiguous - I feel so strongly about this in fact that I thought maybe I was being too harsh.  Turns out, no.

The very next time we see these people, one of the women pushes a small fucking wrapped box at Jeff and I.  I lost my mind.  I got really mad.  No hyperbole here, I got that 'look' on my face and I was just pissed.  She immediately says "NO no!  it's just funny!  It's just silly!".  Here's what it was.
A plastic moose that shits candy.  ha.  ha.  oh so funny.  I mean, YOU look at the picture, and you possibly say to yourself "self, that is humorous!  that tickles my funny bone" and then you move along.  Not ONCE (I hope) did your mouse hover over that picture, with you thinking 'I know JUST who would love that!'. 

Also, she wrapped it.  Paper and tape.  I looked at her (swear to god) and said 'what am I supposed to do with this NOW.  Now I have to give this to goodwill.'  Aaaand, there you have it.  I pissed her off.

I also pissed off the other woman by saying "whatever you think you are bringing us for a gift, WE DON'T WANT IT".  Yeah, I'm not so good at tact when I'm mad.  She said it wasn't for ME anyway, it was for Jeff.  Fucking god.

See, I'm of the opinion that I get to fucking  PICK if I exchange gifts with you.  And I unequivocally DO. NOT. WANT. TO.  I like you fine.  I am NOT buying gifts.  Not even a bottle of wine.  It's all CRAP to me, I want to see you and have fun stop bringing gifts, they are then OBLIGATIONS and these people all make about a hundred grand a year, we can all buy our own fucking wine.  Shit balls.

I sound scroogy and ungrateful but I really don't care.  This same woman bought me THIS for my birthday:
Not mine, ganked the picture off the webz but it's the same thing.
Sooo, what am I sposed to do with that.  Get a Dolly Parton wig and stage it?  Why the fuck to people buy all this CRAP and pass it around??
And it triggered my considerable TEMPER and I have been having very harsh pretend conversations with her like, when I'm in the shower (tell me you do this too) and all - really yelling (pretending she is there) because this just makes me so angry and I couldn't figure out why, until I started writing and *pow* it just came to me, thank you blog.
You don't really KNOW me.  You don't know anything about me.  Nobody does.  I am not hard to figure out, but people don't ever like the things I like, so they don't like to buy them for me.  They try and lead me in another direction with their gifts or they think THIS is cuter than YOUR stuff, and it's almost the same thing!  (The glass head vs. all of the ceramic faces I have from the 40's).  No.  No it isn't. People think I'm weird, and my stuff is weird, and they don't GET it, so they *bleep* past it and buy me a kitten calendar or some fucking backscratcher or a KNITTING BOOK (seriously) that I then have to give away.
It exemplifies to me that I live all alone inside my head.  NOBODY, ever, EVER, has actually gotten me.  My kid and my niece come the closest.  But 'soul mate'?  shit.
Jeff knows that he doesn't KNOW.  He likes my stuff, he lives with it.  He sort of gets why I like it.  But he would never go out on a limb and buy clothes or knick-knacks for me.  The jewelry he has bought me, including my engagement ring, he took me with him to pick it out. (did you know jewelry stores have CLEARANCE RACKS?? oh yeah, got my ring on supah sale, that's how I roll).  And he understands my aversion to stuff.  He is VERY encouraging of my 'donation pile'.  Why are people fascinated with crap?
Oh hell, this post is lost.  I'm calling it done.  I have no idea what my point was.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Sketch of shooter emerges. Mother was a whore faced bitch. (oops, I added that last part)*edited*

**ETA*  Isn't 5 about the age where kids start to get autonomous?  Haven't I read a gabillion times that narcissistic abuse from parents REALLY manifests when a child reaches an age where they start to have likes and dislikes apart from what mommy and daddy have?  I do not think it is a coincidence that she stopped talking about him when he was 5.  He was a pretty smart kid, I bet he started 1st grade early.  It's not a coincidence either that he killed first graders.**

Inside the front page of The Washington Post today is an article by Peter Hermann and Michael S. Rosenwald, titled "Sketch of shooter emerges: Smart loner familiar with firearms".

I am of the (probably ill-formed) opinion that with these types of massacres, one must immediately look to the family of the killer.  IMMEDIATELY.

According to the story, Nancy Lanza (Adam Lanza's mother) owned a lot of guns.  "..she liked the single mindedness of shooting."  She was a participant in a "neighborhood dice game' (HELLO, BUNCO, my old nemesis).  She played this traveling dice game for 15 YEARS.  "Rhonda Collens, a frequent player in the game, said that while the group's weekly get-togethers moved from house to house, Nancy Lanza's house was always skipped.  She [Collens] never met Adam Lanza, and Nancy never spoke of her children." 

OK, I'd like to repeat that last, emphesis now MINE:  NANCY NEVER SPOKE OF HER CHILDREN.  In 15 fucking years, nobody in that WEEKLY (devil's) game EVER heard this fucking bitch ever talk about her kids.  Adam was 20 at the time of the massacre, and so from the age OF FIVE FUCKING YEARS OLD she didn't talk about her kids?


She never let anyone inside the house.  She paid the landscaper outside.  She brought antique guns outside if she wanted to show them off.

People described Adam as "a loner, shy, brilliant, interested in gaming and computers...  He carried a briefcase instead of a backpack..."  Sounds like he was completely socially retarded, from probably the AGE OF 5 - how old were the children he killed??  When did the abuse start??  FUCK ME.

"Acquantinces recall that Nancy Lanza was a regular presence at My Place, the town watering hole and eatery.  She liked craft beers"  I just looked this place up.  It is "FAMILY FRIENDLY".  She could have taken her kids out for pizza any time in the last 15 years.  WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Look.  I'm glad he's dead.  MY version of justice would make you sick to your stomach so I wont say what I would have done to this guy if that had been MY baby killed.  I'm a vigilante at heart.  I also am not going to go into the whole gun control issue, and honestly people, I don't want comments about fucking gun control as THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF MY POST.  Go discuss politics on your blog.

The real info is going to be all about his mother.  HIS FUCKING NARCISSISTIC CRUEL TORTURING MOTHER.  Sure, there are probably sociopaths born to completely nice, harmless people, but I am willing to bet both of my dogs that the more likely scenario is that sociopaths are either 1: born to people who pass on the mental defect through DNA, and are then subjected to sociopathy and learn it better and better or 2: are normal babies born to narcissists or other personality disordered people and are FORMED into mentally-malformed beasts through this uneasy aliance.  ANY of us could have turned out like this.

Because if my kid had been that weird, the wierd that YOU WOULD NOTICE, I would've gotten him help.  Therapy.  NORMAL people wouldn't just let it go, lock them inside, not speak of them.  Normal parents would worry and get help.

His mother deserves MY kind of justice.  My hate for this disgusting bag of human entrails knows no bounds.  And now she gets to be remembered as one of the victims.  I am out of words.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Gypsy Rose Lee

As in the act of the title character, what you DON'T see can be more important that what you DO see. In the interest of full disclosure (NO, not full dis CLOTHESure Q,)
Gypsy Rose Lee
I present:

My dining room - if you click you can see the labels.  Notice the lovely case of toilet paper hiding demurly under the table.  I might have less stuff, but that doesn't mean any of it gets put away... (yes there is liquor on the bottom shelf.  It doesn't interest me.  We're having an Xmas party, then it gets tossed)

Our bedroom.  It looks like burglars tossed the joint.  But I can't disturb my doggie to make the bed.

With minimalist decor, LESS IS MORE.  Less being NONE, in this case.

Here is the downside to the PREACHING i do about not having 'stuff'.  I know what I DON'T like, but I have no idea what I DO like.  So, I haven't figured out what to put on my blank walls.  It's a little, uh, ECHOEY in here (in here... in here...)

I did manage to hang photos.  The frame on the left with 4 openings?  still has the fake pictures
that came with the frame.  I'm a little SLOW. **OOH!  LOOK!  The roses Jeff got
me for my birthday.  They are dead and falling over.  It was on the 3rd.  9 days ago.**

It's been a year since we moved - I threw out so much stuff that I kinda can't afford to buy it ALL back yet.  you MIGHT want to consider that part before you fill the dumpster, is all I'm saying...Also, put your toilet paper away.

I got to looking at the pictures I had posted and it made me laugh.  Pshyeah, right.  My house looks like that.  I DON'T WORK and my toilet paper hasn't gotten put away.  I'm a BALL OF MOTIVATED FIRE.
What're YOU lookin' at?

Monday, December 10, 2012

Aversion to Stuff

Want to know what I REALLY want for Xmas?  (not from you, I mean from my friends that live OUTSIDE the shiny box on my desk).

I want NOTHING.  not one thing.  Not a calendar, not a pair of holiday socks, not a basket of lotions.  NO.

And what will I be giving YOU?  NOTHING.  Unless you are related to me AND have not yet graduated from high school, in which case you get a $40 gift card with my love.  Jeff and I don't exchange gifts, that would just be stupid.  We give each other stuff all the time anyway.

I have not stepped FOOT inside a mall or Target or whatever this year, except to buy MYSELF a few new tops and Jeff some new shirts for work.  Here.  I will show you the extent of my xmas decor so far:  (please remember I don't have kids, this would be different if I had littles running amok I would have a tree etc).

That's my 'fireplace', over 50% of the books I still have (these are the vintage ones), and two sad little fake xmas topiaries.  The only reason I have ANY decorations out this year is because we are hosting a Misfit Toys party, a gathering for all the other folks here that we know who have no real plans.  (We plan on shooting Mike's Red Ryder BB gun.  We will NOT shoot our eyes out.)

It isn't xmas that I don't like, it's the STUFF.  I hate stuff.  When we moved here I got rid of at least half, probably more, of the stuff I had in my condo in San Diego.  I emptied my bookcases and under-bed storage of HUNDREDS of books.  I am a voracious reader.  But I didn't want the books anymore, and here's why:

These aren't your parent's books.  The stuff WE buy at Barnes & Nobel or wherever aren't made with leather bindings and good paper and good ink.  The books you buy for $25 (or for $4 if you are me and buy from the clearance table) are made with the absolute cheapest glue.  Cheapest paper.  Those publishing companies don't use fine linen paper.  If you have ever worked around a copier/printer you know the difference between cheap paper and good paper, and they don't use the good stuff at Penguin Press.  Yes, the books smell good NOW.  But I had books I had been 'collecting' for over 30 years - like old Stephen King novels (that weren't 1st editions, like I have ANY first editions, har).  They were completely full of dust, the covers were falling apart, the glue was DRY and cracking, and sorry.  I know you love books.  But, they stink.  They make your house smell.  THEY SMELL.  I know it's sort of sacreligious to get rid of books, but I decided if I want a particular novel (like Jane Eyre, I MUST have a copy of that again!) I am going to get a really good copy of it.  I couldn't afford it when Mike was little, but I can NOW.  I convinced Mike to do the same thing.
Mike's books.  He rescued some of my King and STOLE my Salinger and Steinbeck,
I am keeping his books for him until he is out of the Corps

We threw into the recycling bin almost every paperback book that we had, I am talking BOXES.  They went into recycling because, contrary to what you may be thinking, thrift stores and VA hospitals and used book stores DON'T WANT YOUR PAPBERBACK BOOKS.  I called and asked.  Not paperbacks, not so much.  Don't even THINK of taking your parent's huge collection of National Geographics to a thrift store.  They will chase you away with two sticks.  NOBODY WANTS THEM.  I also refuse to contribute to some other narcissist's hoard.  I recycled them to be made into new books.

The gabillion hard cover books we had between us DID go to an independant thrift store.  We snuck over in the dead of night and left the boxes at their loading dock.

I bought myself and Mike a Nook for xmas last year, in exchange for his help and his getting rid of his books.  I LOVE my Nook.  No, it isn't like turning the pages of a real book.  However, I have maybe 50 books on the thing already and it isn't even 1/4 full.  I can carry my library with me everywhere.

I got rid of every single sheet or towel that was stained, bleached, torn, too thin, etc.  ALL of them.  I got rid of every plate and serving dish that hadn't seen the light of day in two years.  Any clothes that I kept thinking I was going to do something with that one day, I would fit into that again some day...  All old craft projects, unused makeup and lotions and face creams (trash).  Old coats and boots that were 'still good."  I got rid of SO MUCH CRAP.  And my house wasn't all hoarded and piled up.  It was all in bookcases, cupboards, closets, under the sinks.  It was horrifying.

I also got rid of SO many vintage ceramic faces that I collected over the years, starting from when I was 14-years old.  These are from the 20's and 30's and 40's and 50's - and I think they are wonderful!  But some of my collection was there only because it went with the other stuff.  I weeded it all out and ended up with the stuff I really love.  The rest I GAVE to an antique store for ~$100.00 <--probably 1/10th of the price I actually threw into that collection for the last 30 years.  But it was crap, and not worth a damn in this economy, and I didn't want to move it clear across the country.
from this in SD (not all of it, oh HO, no way):
to this.
From this:
To this:
Yes, it's ME!  in my pajamas!

People don't understand not having stuff.  They collect and keep and store and yes, hoard.  I still have a lot of stuff.  The thought of Jeff possibly getting a new job and us moving BACK to San Diego fills me with dread when I think of all the boxes again.  And I have infinitely less stuff than I did, even after we moved in HERE I have been pitching crap out to a thrift store.

Hoarders are ALWAYS narcissists.  They are absolute assholes who choose things over people.  STUFF over relationships, and children who need a place to sit and do homework or need clean clothes or any attention at all are DAMNED for being so needy.  When I started researching narcs I found these 'children of hoarders' blogs.  It is disgusting and dreadful what these poor kids have to go through.  Like, if one of you, after all these years of horrifying abuse, inherited the abusers home and it was hoarded, and YOU had to go through every single thing and keep/sale/toss.  The impulse would be to bulldoze it, but there is CASH in the hoard, and stuff worth selling, and worst of all, photos and mementos from the GOOD people in your life are in there.  Photos from YOUR childhood.  All buried.  Under piles of dust and used tissues.  And, don't even THINK of trying to tackle the hoard while the narc is still alive.  You will need the police, a court order, and a couple of Army Rangers to remove the dragon from its hoard.

I don't know how old age is going to manifest itself in me.  But I'm not leaving a pile of garbage for Mike to sort through.  It will be traumatic enough for him to deal with me dying (or possibly a relief?  I KID).  Here is a hard truth:

Nobody wants your crap.  NOBODY.

Here.  Here is the (sort of) point to this post.  I found THIS blog at least a year ago.  These two girls/women grew up with a narcissistic asshole parent who wouldn't fix the water heater EVER, wouldn't fix a washing machine, wouldn't fix a damn thing.  But he was a mechanic and worked on cars.  He collected them, he hoarded them, he hoarded all things related to mechanics.  Here is the punchline:  These two women have removed over 20 TONS OF SCRAP METAL from this property.  Twenty. Tons.  That is since they started taking it to a place that pays you for scrap, before that they were driving it to the dump. 

Here's pictures:  and this

Narcs and hoarding go hand in hand.  I have a real aversion to stuff.  It creeps me out.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Templeton The Rat

My version of being The Scapegoat in my family is so very different from everyone else's story.  SO. VERY.

While I was a child, I guess, the typical scapegoat crap happened, but I wasn't ever called on to FIX anything.  Nobody ever said "if you LOVE me, you would..."  I was consistently in BIG TROUBLE for not doing chores, or failing a test, or anything really - but I wasn't ever told to take care of anyone (including myself).  I lived on the edges - Like Templeton the rat in Charlotte's Web.  Always shadow boxing, afraid of what was to come, happy to be mostly forgotten.

I was the asshole that made dad mad, who ruined vacations and dinners by making him upset.  If I would JUST STAY DOWN everything would be fine.  For some reason I kept raising my head.

Once I left the house for good, I was just sort of off their radar.  They owned a 4-plex and all of us girls rented (paid full fucking rent to them) an apartment for a while at different times, so it was as if I was home - right next door anyway.  Enough so that they didn't have too WONDER or anything.  If my lights were on I was home.  Still being the dancing monkey after I moved away in my 20's, I would come home for Xmas or Thanksgiving and dread it and hate it and be glad to leave but I would DO it (whyohwhyohwhy).  But once I really moved on, it isn't like they called and called...

When I called my dad about the IRS debacle he had to get my address from me and find it in a Thomas Guide map book.  They had no idea where I lived, if I struggled, if I ate, whatever.  I was just - gone.

Nobody sent flying monkeys.  The sisters tried to keep in touch but I (as I have said) tossed the baby out with the bathwater essentially, and I abandoned everyone to save myself.

I hear you guys talking about all of this abuse you suffered after you were adults, and I think sometimes I don't belong here (I KNOW SHUT UP let me get it out).  I'm SO LUCKY. 

Can being abandoned and feeling lucky be combined in one life? 

Gratitude for being abandoned.

There's something the assholes don't expect.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Average Joe

Eleven days so far of the oh-nay inking-dray.  I made it through a weekend that included my birthday without getting ammered-hay.

 I don't feel icky.  I don't have any cravings or urges.  I ALSO don't feel all riled up LET'S DO THIS COUNT ALL THE DAYS!!

It's more the feeling after you have had a cold and then realize you feel ok and normal/regular again.  But the feeling normal?  Feels really good.  I'm not all high on the thought of quitting - you know how you get when you start a new diet?  Planning, counting, get a new notebook or excel spreadsheet to calculate every calorie in, every ounce out?  Yeah, not like that.  I actually had to look at a calendar to count how many days.

I HAVE experienced severe pressure from nice meaning folks who also drink OOOPS ink-dray.  When I say there is nothing to do around here but drink, I aint just whistling Dixie.  And these people are OUR kind of people.  All super smart (Government contractors in a field that specializes in ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ *snort* I always fall asleep during that part, I don't know what they do blah blah gubmint work) and broken and fun.  I've never had girlfriends before I moved here - they are fun and funny and we all don't get together very often because we are all loners, ha, my kind of friends.


We meet for happy hour and I'm more than fine with a diet coke or sometimes a tonic with cranberry.  I'm not tempted or triggered - I don't feel all pious or anything, I've just played that tape to the end and it doesn't work for me anymore.  But they get sort of - I dunno - offended?  They joke, but they pressure.  I finally had to say 'stop it' in a very firm voice.  They apologized. 

Eleven days in and I feel more um - awake?  Like my synapses are firing again.  Not all fast and hot, just like, I can remember to get olive oil at the grocery store now.  I've been sleeping well.  Of course, I've also been remembering to take my magnesium (if you can't sleep try magnesium it rocks the hizouse.)

I've been reading and researching narcissism for about a year now.  I only JUST started writing this blog.  And all of this was like (close your eyes this is a gross metaphor) squeezing a zit.  I feel like I'm getting the poison out.  Letting the steam out.  Pick your anology (anything but zit, what was I thinking).  But I don't feel like I need the noise anymore.

When I had it-quay inking-dray the last time, it was just before we moved here last January.  I had 6-months at that time.  But the thing is, I had quit because of finding out that I wasn't alone, I think - because of all y'alls blogs.  I didn't just suffer child abuse - there was a whole THING around what my parents were.  I didn't have to explain it to any of YOU - we all lived it (in varying degrees).  Which had made my poisoning myself rather passé.  (then I moved here and *glug*)

It's a weird place to be.  To be sort of healed.  Well, as I commented on Q's post, my cracks seem to be glued but not FIXED.  But it's closer than I've ever gotten before.  Just the knowing WHAT the mental aberation is sort of helped.  I don't have the same burden.  I'm not explaining this very well.

I don't feel the need to drink.  That is weird.  My baggage, while still there, feels lighter.  That is weird.  I'm not mentally berating myself for being different.  That is weird.  I'm throwing away all 87 pairs of jeans that don't fit me.  Wait - that's another blog topic.

I'm not making any promises, as they say in AA - one fucking day at a time.  But I'm also not counting days.  I don't want to feel anything but just average anymore.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Break your father's back

This is bizarre.  I just remembered this.

Walking home from elementary school - I was in 1st to 3rd grade?  I would step on EVERY. SINGLE. LINE. AND CRACK. in the sidewalks.

"Step on a crack, break your father's back.  Step on a line, break your mother's spine"

I used to step-hop from line to crack and repeat, over and over and over, the rhyme above and also - "please let them die in a car crash.  Please let them die in a car crash."  I remember the sidewalks had stampings from the dates they were poured (1930's or there abouts) and I remember the walnut trees and how the crows used to drop the walnuts onto the cement streets (CEMENT STREETS) to crack them open.  I remember the orange groves (that's why they called my little city 'Orange' I guess) I remember I used to try and go as slooowly as I could walking home.

I was 8 (ish) years old.

Life at Dysfunction Junction (1 in a series)

Attention class!!  This is Narc Coping Skills 101 - please get out your #2 pencils, etc.

At dinner, we were not allowed to have ANYTHING to drink.  No water, no milk, nothing.  We could, however, have a small glass of cabernet sauvignon if we wished.  (food, as we all know, is a great way to have power and control over your minions.)
Notice glasses of wine in front of children


If he ate dinner with us, it was because HE cooked (he wouldn't eat anything so pedestrian as MEATLOAF, for chrissakes) but that meant he had also been drinking wine for hours.  We would sit down to dinner (all 8 of us) and he would start pontificating about something, droning on-and-on-and-on about politics or something - Georgia sat to his right and more than once during these lectures she would sneak gulping drinks out of his glass of wine.  We thought it was hilarious - she was around 10 and would get a buzz.


For my high school graduation, they allowed me to GO to various parties (rather than have one of my own).  My mother went out and bought me a couple bottles of Boone's Farm wine *shudder* to take with me.  I puked HARD that night.


One of my sisters got me drunk for the first time - I was 15?  She took me to a party with her, I was drinking tequila sunrises *shudder*.  I puked HARD that night.  (One sister also got me stoned the first time.  One sister snorted lines of coke with me the first time.  It was the 70's.  Drugs were de rigueur at the time.  Have you SEEN Scarface??)


All they drank (usually) at home was wine.  Dad got CASES of some goddamned cab sauv labled "Bottled exclusively for the Alexander Kravitzes" - who knows how much that cost him.  We never had any of their friends over, so he must've taken it with him to parties.  Imagine talking to HIM at a party.  What a pretentious ass. 

If they stayed home they would stay up in the 'grown up' living room, listening to jazz and smoking cigars (BOTH OF THEM SMOKING HUGE CIGARS) and drink drank drunk.

They would go out FANCY sometimes, to LA - suits and organza dresses from Saks Fifth Avenue (<--quite posh in the day) and come home SMASHED.  She was his Dancing Monkey on those nights, a barbie meant to be shown off and be quiet.

The fights were EPIC.  Wine bottles thrown, screaming, crying (her) hiding in various places (us), pots and pans *bang* and *smash* (him).  I have no idea if they were ever hungover, I was NEVER around them in the morning.  Or anytime I could escape, really.

I would say ALL of us ended up with addiction problems.  Some solved it by only EVER having one glass of wine, maybe once a year.  Some of us are (WERE) still bathing our livers in vodka.  A couple toned it down and can have a drink or two before dinner and stop there <--wtf?  And our kids - shit balls.  They ALL (the older ones, the ones high-school and up I am guessing) have drinking issues.  THAT didn't make it out of the filter.  Behaviour modeled is behaviour  copied - hey!  Shouldn't that be a bumper sticker or tee shirt??  Shyeah...  drinking problems.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

You're fat because you eat too much*. Period.

I'm working on a post about dieting and it has me SO wound up.

The gist of it is - the diet industry is telling you that (on average) eating 1,200 calories a day is appropriate for a woman to lose weight.  What I have discovered is that it is a LIE - 1,200 calories a day is TOO MANY CALORIES if you want to lose weight.

Well, maybe if you ate 1,200 calories worth of bananas or oranges or zuchinni.  But 1,200 calories of frozen diet food has kept me FAT for over a year, even with biking 12 miles every-other day ALL SUMMER.  On the off days I would go to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls.  All. Summer. Long.  And I lost, what?  NOTHING.

I'll be back with a full post on this and it is SO off topic from our usual discussions, but srsly.  My narcs are dead/ish and this is what's on my mind (and MY ASS).

*Title of this post unabashedly ganked from this blog which I found by actually googling 'what did women eat in the 50's' because I have gotten so frustrated.  It's a pretty neato blog.

Power and control: 1

I've just realized that 'The Clean Plate Club' was all about power and control - as was everything in my childhood.

When one of my nephews was little, he would throw up if he ate peas.  His mother NEVER made him eat peas.  He would happily eat corn or green beans or whatever, but something about peas just grossed him the fuck out.  She respected that.

My parents, on the other hand, would have served peas at every meal. 

OH, but since meatloaf made my father sick to his stomach, he never ate dinner at home on meatloaf night.  I've talked before about how once he found out we would happily eat scrambled eggs, he decreed that FRIED eggs were the way we would now have to eat them.  Which grossed me the fuck out.

Sure kids will engage in a war of wills over food - simply BECAUSE they have the power.  Just, take the food away, no arguing, and NOTHING ELSE until the next meal THEY WILL NOT STARVE jeebus.  But if the issue is one of being grossed out, simply offering an alternative is NOT GIVING IN.  It is being respectful of someone else's preferences.

(I am not advocating catering to every whim a child has - just, if peas make him throw up, how about green beans?)

But narcs don't think like this.  First, they will sit on you to force the peas down you.  THEN, once they find out you hate peas, they will then make them an integral part of every single meal from that point out.  THEY WANT TO WIN - and they love that you have given them an issue to fight about.

The other side to this coin is - never tell a narc what you LIKE.  You'll never see it again.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Left behind - another in the series

But, this one was different.  This one paints my father in an ALMOST nice way and since the truth is what we're after, I'm shoving it in here.

There is LOTS to pick apart in this story about bad parenting, but he does show he is human.

SO - For whatever reason, Georgia and I went to a PTA meeting at the elementary school one night.  We had no reason to be there that I can remember.  I certainly didn't. - we weren't passing out cookies or helping...  I have no clue why we got to go. 

--> My parents would NEVER GO TO A PTA MEETING.  Oh holy jeebus on a crutch, that wouldn't happen.<--

Georgia and I got a ride with her friend's family, I'm thinking.  We get there and I, of course, take off and run wild like a 3rd grade banshee with the rest of whatever kids were there.  Georgia was in um...  5th, 6th grade by this time? So maybe SHE was helping her teacher with something.  ANYWHOOZLE.

All of the sudden I am one of the last people milling about and I realize I hadn't seen my sister anywhere in quite a while.  Neither was her friend and family still there.  I thought about walking home but it was beyond dark.  I don't know what calm posessed me (as even then I was a bit high strung *ahem*) and I asked to use the phone in the office.  I called home and dad came and got me.

HE TOOK ME TO DAIRY QUEEN (or equivelant) FOR AN ICE CREAM.  Because I had the good sense to call home calmly and have someone come and get me.

Georgia got in trouble for that one.  BUT - you know, honestly.  The very MINUTE we had pulled up to the school I had disappeared into the abyss.  She got busy with her friend and 3rd grade vs. 6th grade friends/thoughts/preocupation...  it wasn't like we had gone together on some hours-long adventure (like on the weekends) and she left me in a freaking cave, she just forgot. 

We weren't raised to take care of each other.  Or to watch out for each other.  To help with homework or hair brushing or anything.  I described it to Jeff like this.  Dad would get into a tirade and we would all scatter.  The thought each of us had was more along the lines of "I don't want it to be YOU, particularly, I just don't want it to be ME tonight".  Save yourself!  We were taught to stay out of anyone's business, don't get linked up.  I'm sure it saved him time - he didn't have to separate the herd when he wanted to hit. 

It made me have no relationship with my sisters till I was in my 30's.

Anyway, I didn't really WANT that ice cream, as it meant sitting there eating it with absolutely NOTHING to say to him the whole time.  He looked out the window and I ate the dish of ice cream and then we went home.  Fascinating.

But I'm here to tell the truth.  He did do some human things.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Camping Story - being punished for being afraid

August, 1967

I was 6 years old.  I had been living with THIS family for a year at this point I guess.  I had just finished first grade.  I was still a newcomer, having been *yoinked* away from my weird-ass mother in Florida (and the baby brother everyone pretended didn't exist) and *plunked* down in the middle of a shit-ton of sisters I never knew I had, a father I never knew I had, a step-mother...  I guess I was probably still reeling a bit but who knows - I was already weird, I was already outside the middle.  I NEVER cried for my mother, I was honestly (surprisingly) very sanguine about the whole thing. 

So dad had decided to rent a motor home and take the 4 youngest, with NM, on a camping trip up to Banff, Canada, near Lake Louise.  I guess they must have discussed it, I remember going to the Army/Navy store in Orange and getting two footlockers we girls would share for suitcases.  I remember the day the thing was parked outside waiting for us to pack it up.  But, being very little and outside the middle I blocked out or just didn't know any more than that.

So, here is a picture of me and my sister Leslie, headed to the bathroom.  Groovy motor home.  (we were not allowed to use the bathroom inside the motor home.  I think dad didn't know how to drain the tanks or didn't want to spend the money it would cost or whatever)
We were carrying our towels.  It was early morning.  I had ALREADY gotten in huge trouble at the beginning of the trip, for not packing the necessary clothes for myself.  I don't know if I got spanked, but I got WAY yelled at and then talked about in loud voices.  So by this point, I was already triggered and gut-sick.  In the above picture, I was wearing a raincoat and summery cotton jammers with shorts - Leslie has on a sweatshirt over her PJ top and pajama pants.  I hadn't brought the right PJs or the correct bathrobe.  Let me show you a close-up:
(Even back then my hair was completely fucked up all the time.)

I was 6 fucking years old.  Look how little I was.  I DIDN'T PACK THE RIGHT CLOTHES.  What mother, in her right mind, (or father for that matter, but this was the 60's) does that.  I wouldn't let my kid go to his dad's for the fucking weekend without checking what was in his backpack, up to the time he was like 12.  I was FREEZING in this picture.  Um, even though it was August, it was Canada.  I didn't know what the word 'Canada' was any more than I knew what a 'transmission' was.  I probably packed a book and a barbie and obviously a raincoat...  It had been 80 or 90 degrees back in Orange, CA.

So there I was.  Little.  In a NEW family with parents who palpably hated me.  <--I have asked my NM wtf about the hate, she admited dad hated me on sight.  ON SIGHT.  SO - new family, 6-yrs old.  Already sidelined, already outside.  Just another weird place for my body to be, in the already long journey of my weird ass life.  Not connecting with the sisters, they are busy being older sisters and getting to know each other anyway - step-family dynamics not yet ironed out and they were new to dad also - it was an emotional cluster-fuck.

One night, probably like the other nights before, (new campsite every night or two) dad gave one of us a flashlight and we all 4 trooped to the bathroom to brush our teeth and get ready for bed.  I found a picture of a Banff campground, but this is not the specific place:
It was dark, and woodsy and naturey, the way that only a campground in 1967 can be dark.  Back home, we live in the city, on a busy street next to train tracks.  We don't know nature.  We have one flashlight between us.  And of course, one of the older sisters had control of it (even in a normal family, siblings are shits :) la la on a dirt path, probably not far, really, from the camper.  We are probably having fun, shining the light into the trees and being creeped out.  We get to the restroom, I think it probably looked a lot like this:
Generic campground cinderblock restroom.  Steel door (keeps out bears and closes on its own).  Absolutely no lights inside, so it is even darker in there than outside.  We are fucking around, flashlight beam waving around, going pee, brushing teeth, trying to see, arguing, nudging each other out from in front of the sink - normal sister crap.  I am taking too long.  Of course, I couldn't get to the sink until they let me, and then I was probably being a pain in the ass little sister (and I probably didn't want to really go back to the camper yet).  I had to juggle toothbrush and towel and underpants and I just took too long.  They thought it would be funny and they - they left.

[I AM NOT MAD AT THEM - they had no idea how to be sisters, we had all just met.  We were strangers thrown together the prior summer - Leslie and Georgia had been living with their mom and then with Dad and more girls and jesus.  What a fucking disaster.  They weren't MAD at me, they were huffy and irritated and all OLDER and they were thoughtless in the way that kids can be and they didn't really KNOW me and if you aren't taught to be kind, how do you know??  All they knew was that I was a fuck-up and dad hated me and sidelined me, so they sidelined me too.]

That door.  THAT DOOR.  It slammed with the loudest *BANG*.  A big steel door, in a steel frame, on a cinder block building with a cement floor.  It was the biggest noise.  And then, it was dark.  so fucking dark and freezing cold the cement was ice cold i couldn't see it was black and my eyes were huge and i have never.  ever.  been so terrified again in my life.  My hands were wet and I dropped my stuff and since it was a doorknob (not like the handles we have now) I couldn't turn it and I couldn't have pulled that heavy thing open anyway and I was calling out and yelling "WAIT" and then I just SCREAMED.  It was a HOWL (this is horrible to remember) and I just kept SCREAMING I was on the ground I couldn't see my hand in front of my face I wasn't screaming for attention or to get anyone to come to me, I was screaming my terror I couldn't STOP screaming oh my god you guys. I was so little and I was so fucking scared.  And the sound of my scream echoed in the bathroom and that scream was so loud (I cannot imagine how loud it was across the campground - you know how sound carries on a cold night in the open)

I think they thought I COULD open the door, that I would be left behind but trailing. It must have been pretty close to the campsite, and they took off running (probably giggling) and by the time they got back to the campsite I was already in hysterics.

THEN.  The door slammed back open and I was grabbed by the arm and yanked and my legs were SLAPPED and SLAPPED AGAIN and the hissing whisper *be quiet you little shit stop screaming shut up* and his hands were YANKING me and dragging me back to the campsite and...  scene.

I don't remember the rest of the night.  My mind kind of shut off at that point I think.  I'm sure I was shoved into the motorhome and yelled at and it was quell horrible, the end.  I'm ALSO sure that the other sisters were traumatized too.  They caused it, sure, but they didn't mean for me to get BEATEN and they certainly didn't anticipate my screaming.  I do NOT know for sure, but I wonder if they got lectured about leaving me behind.  I don't think their behavior was condoned in any way.  And I know they were probably horrified at the results.

I think, honestly, that I thought they wouldn't come back.  That they wouldn't notice I was gone (distinct possibility in my little brain).  I was SO outside the middle by this time already that I knew I was invisible and meaningless ("we can get a donkey to do what you do around here!" [direct quote from many lectures over the years]) I just knew they weren't coming back and I would be in that place forever.  It was just such a NORMAL thing, to be forgotten.

I'm sure he and NM were sitting by the campfire, enjoying a martini or 12 and enjoying the 10 minutes of silence with no kids and I'm sure I startled him and probably embarassed him.  Hateful fucking bastard.  I am SO glad you're dead.  I hope that last heart attack HURT like a mother fucker.