……I come back with a purely political rant……go away now if you are an easily offended fan of Mr. Obama.
….you’ve been warned…
When Pres. Obama first ran for office, I listened to his campaign speeches and realized there was zero substance. It was too bad, because he was the most magnificent orator I’d ever heard. He spoke of “hope” and “change” and had nothing to offer. Still, I waited and listened and researched. I found a man who spent more than 20 years listening to his pastor damn America from the pulpit. He followed Saul Alinsky, and firmly believed in the man’s socialistic ideas. For me, these were the first red flags.
Then, “Joe the Plumber” happened, and I watched then-candidate Mr. Obama tell Joe that while it was great he was doing well, wouldn’t it be even better to “spread the wealth” around? There’s a word for that, friends, and that word is socialism.
I realized we were about to elect a socialist to the office of President. I didn’t think the American public would be that stupid. But they were.
Shortly after taking office, Pres. Obama spoke out on a local police matter involving a black professor at Cambridge, calling the local police “stupid”. I was shocked to hear a sitting President criticizing a local law enforcement officer’s actions. This is simply not done and is the height of idiocy and arrogance for a President to give voice to his personal feelings over something that’s none of his business. I began to really worry what he might do next.
Well, it wasn’t what he did, it was what he didn’t do. He didn’t have that ‘open’ and ‘honest’ Presidency he boasted about. He didn’t post legislation for review, and he didn’t apologize for it.
In 2010, he said “Let me say this as plainly as I can: By August 31, 2010, our combat mission in Iraq will end.” I couldn’t believe my ears. A Commander-in-Chief just announced our withdrawal date to the enemy forces. I began to wonder if he was naïve or just plain stupid. Turns out, I believe, he’s a little of both. And that is a dangerous combination in the leader of the free world.
During his tenure, our national debt has increased by $7 trillion dollars. That’s more than every president before him combined. Despite his spending like a drunken sailor, more people are permanently out of the work force (some 11+ million), more people are on assistance (20% of Americans are now receiving food stamps as of 2013), and nearly 11 million Americans are on disability. And our economic growth is pitiful, if not downright stagnant. These numbers do not lie, and point to massive problems. One of which is our President’s inability to understand and accept how a free market society operates.
Then, the ACA – or Obamacare. Get to keep your doctor? Riiiiiiiiiiight. Costs will go down? Riiiiiiiiiiiight. Yet, Pres. Obama said both were true. He either lied or is so naïve as to believe that insurance companies would simply absorb the costs associated with his massive plans. Not to mention the fact that the ACA forces the average American to buy something he/she may not want. Smacks, again, of socialism.
Pres. Obama’s attorney general, Eric Holder, is the first AG ever…ever..to be held in contempt of Congress. How bad does one have to behave to earn that distinction? And how poor is the judgement of the man who appointed him? Frighteningly bad.
His administration gave guns to Mexican cartels that were used to murder hundreds of Mexicans and border agent Brian Terry. Now, the Obama Administration has refused to cooperate with the investigation or hold anyone accountable for that illegal behavior. More recently, his administration gave cash to the Iranian government in return for…nothing. We got nothing in return for giving money to terrorists hell-bent on destroying the United States.
For 8 years, Pres. Obama has attempted to thwart Israel’s every move to secure their sovereignty in the Middle East. Our most staunch ally in the region and he has insulted, harassed, and personally stopped the shipment of necessary arms to the Israeli military. It’s a wonder Netanyahu doesn’t tell him to go fuck himself. I can only think he’s just biding his time, knowing this clown will be gone soon.
So, my dear readers, these are just a few of the reasons (sweet jeebus, as I think about it I believe I could write a novel on all the reasons) I feared an Obama presidency. And just a few of the things I saw happen. It got to the point where I wasn’t even surprised by his stupidity anymore, and I, too, was just biding my time knowing it would end eventually. Thanking God for term limits as the end of this particularly horrid chapter in our history came ever closer.
Does President-Elect Trump have the answers? I don’t know. I only know he loves this country, loves the ideals it was built on, loves capitalism, and believes in the American dream. How far can that take us? Again, I don’t know, but I’m willing to go along for the ride and find out. I think we should check back here in a couple of years to see where we might be.
So, a few weeks ago we bought a farm.
Sweet clothespin jeebus, what were we thinking? Not only did we double the square footage of house we will now occupy, but we like bazillioned the amount of outdoor space we will now occupy. Thankfully, most of the outdoors looks like a forest and that’s exactly how it will remain.
Oh, and hubby doubled, yes fecking doubled, his commute. Mine will remain about the same, because traffic.
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. are we doing???
We’ve also listed some other property we own for sale, put my mother’s property on the market – and it sold in three days, but now we wait for probate and try to figure out the drunken monkeys who wrote the damned mortgage on the property’s thought patterns – and hope/pray/cry/scream in frustration over the whole fecking mess which boils down to will I really be able to sell it at all or must I back out of these deals because when I do sell the property the mortgage company will come after me for the entire mortgage when I’m only responsible for half? Jeebus, I hyperventilate just thinking about it all.
Then, this past weekend we spent 745 hours cleaning, packing, and de-feckifying the current house so the listing agent can come take pictures of it tonight and put it on the market. Let me just say it’s been a while since I dusted anything properly. Apparently. Trust me on this.
We told the kids, they got weepy, the grandkids cried, and everyone decided we had to have a farewell potluck in the old house in a couple of weeks before we actually move – which will happen on Halloween, as you do…or at least as we have done the last two moves.
So, I’m a wee bit distracted and a wee bit exhausted, and a wee-wee-wee all the way home aching from head to foot.
Oh, and this morning my tire alarm went off in the car so I stopped to put air in the tire and was harassed by a homeless guy on a bicycle.
We all have them, the things that you see or do or see others doing that freak you right. the hell. out.
Here’s a partial list of mine:
1.Getting a text from my dentist’s office about how excited they are to see me on such and such date. Really? You look forward to inflicting pain? Dentists are freakishly weird.
2. Having the vet’s office ask me which of my “kids” or “babies” I’m calling about, AND when I’m there and go into an exam room, they announce that so-and-so’s “mommy” is waiting in such-and-such room. I’m pretty sure mating with animals is illegal…wait, it’s still illegal to mate with critters, right? Tell me I’m right. PLEASE. Because, if it’s not then I’ve crossed over from freaked to full-on fecked up.
4. I skipped 3.
5. You just went back to look.
6. Drones. I actually swatted at my hair the other night, thinking the drone overhead was a swarm of bees trying to kill me. In my defense, it was my first droney-bee encounter, and it was high enough above me that I missed. Dammit.
7. My frat-boy neighbors, a/k/a The Dronemasters. They NEVER sleep. Never. Go to bed at midnight? They’re up. Get up at 2:00 a.m.? They’re up. 4:00 a.m.? They’re up! They do this every night, then all their vehicles leave during the day. I think they’re vampires…and now I’m really freaked out. And lest you think I’m that neighbor peering out my windows at the frat boys, may I remind you that I can’t see their house from the only window I have that faces them. I have to go outside to verify this. I’m just looking out for you. You’re welcome.
So, what freaks you right-the-hell-out?
Did you ever just have so much going on in your life, some good, some not so good, that you felt like you should build a blanket-fort, get inside with some cookies, milk, and a stack of books and threaten anyone who dared peek in with maiming?
Yeah, me either.
I was just checking.
…why I love my husband. so. very. much.
Picture a blender, filled to the brim with:
- Greek yogurt
- protein powder
And by “filled” I mean 8 cups full. The above is what goes into my blender every morning to make the smoothies we drink/eat for breakfast every day.
This morning was no different, at least not until the moment when I pushed the button and the bottom of the glass jar separated from the plastic fluglebinder what screws onto the bottom and fits over the pin that makes the whirly-whoosh go ’round.
It’s very technical, so try to keep up.
Suddenly it looked like some unfortunate soul had blown chunks all over my stove, the counter, the tiny space between the two, the blender and me.
“Feckity, feckity, feckity, FUCK!” I screamed.
Hubby, from the bedroom said, “What happened?”
To which I replied, “The blender came apart and there’s blender-puke everywhere!”
He came out of the room, obviously not able to grasp the concept of “blender-puke” and upon surveying the carnage said, “But, what happened? I mean how?”
“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing paper towels to try and stem the river before it hit the floor. “but, it looks like it separated.”
“How?” He asked, his voice registering agitation.
“Look,” I began, getting pissed, “I don’t have time to argue with you about how it happened right now.”
“What? You can’t multi-task?” He said, his face a deadpan.
I started to giggle, and then he started to giggle, and then we cleaned up the barf.
And that is why I love him. He makes me laugh, even when I don’t want to.
And you thought I was going to relay some sappy story about hearts and flowers and shit like that, didn’t you? It’s like you don’t even know me.
One of my granddaughters is 4, and this is what happens when she gets a hold of her Daddy’s cell phone.
First, she figures out how to get to the text message screen, then she figures out how to find me in the Contact list, and then she starts sending me texts. This kid is brilliant, I tell you, just brilliant.
But, I may be prejudiced. Below is a screenshot of the actual conversation.
You be the judge.
I don’t know, I think it’s rather poetic. Don’t you? Look at how she cleverly inserted an actual word – derided – into the message, and then left me wondering…am I being derided? Did I do something that deserved such an outburst? Or is she simply pondering the condition of man, and his inhumanity to his fellows? Or is it just ‘Ed’? And who is this Ed person anyway?
The kid is a genius.
I made it through a nearly 2-hr shopping trip, at my favorite grocery store without:
- Singing very loudly, and off key, in the produce section – or any other section for that matter.
- Responding to a phone call/text with a blue streak of profanity that looked like I was berating myself
I did dance a little jig when I realized my accomplishments, though. And, no I didn’t do that in the store. I did that in the parking lot to some wide-berth stares.
But, that doesn’t count, right? Right?
….before the store management asks me to leave
The conversation will go like this:
ME: *engaged in some utterly inappropriate activity in public, oblivious to my surroundings*
MGR: While the staff and I appreciate your level of comfort here, and understand your need to ___________________(insert whatever stupid thing I happen to be doing/saying at the time here) we’d like you to leave.
ME: How soon?
Why do I think this will happen?
Well, ever since that happened, every time I see the manager of the store he gives me the side eye and a wide berth.
Yesterday, I was quietly shopping again, headphones on and listening to Kevin Hearne’s “Shattered”. It’s part of his Iron Druid series, and I totally recommend it…mostly for Oberon, but I digress.
Anyway, I was minding my own fecking business, that’s what I was doing, when I got a text from my son. The one to whom we are (probably) going to gift the mini-van I inherited from my mother.
He’d had it ONE day after I spent over $500 getting some repairs done to it, and he’d slammed a curb, blowing both passenger-side tires, and bending the rims.
I knew he had the kids with him, so my first concern was them. They were fine, so I called him…and…well…
ME: ARE YOU SHITTING ME??????????????????????????? WHAT. THE. FUCK????????????????
(I am screaming this into my phone’s headset – it’s one of those bluetooth things that looks like a collar and the buds come off it and go into your ears, but it’s not readily noticeable, so anyone standing nearby might think I’ve suddenly lost my mind and am screaming at the air..or myself.)
SON: *mumbles something about “sorry” and “can’t believe this happened*
SON: The person in front of me slammed on their brakes, so in order to keep from hitting them I had to brake hard and I rode up on the curb. I was only a mile from my apartment, so I limped it home.
ME: WHY WERE YOU SO CLOSE TO SOMEONE YOU HAD TO DO THAT????????? ESPECIALLY SINCE WE’VE BEEN HAVING ALL THIS RAIN? JEEZUS-CHRIST-ON-A-CRACKER, SON!!!
SON: I know, I know…I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry.
Did I mention I was in the middle of a store? Did I also mention by “middle” I meant checkout lane?
Ever see someone actually “skitter” away from you? I did, three employees as a matter of fact, all color draining from their faces. I didn’t care, then, I was so beyond furious.
ME: I CAN-NOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT!! I JUST SPENT HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS ON THAT THING, AND NOW YOU DO THIS!!!
SON: *soft whimpering*
ME: STOP IT. Everyone is fine, here’s what you do, get me pricing on repairs from Discount Tire, and a turnaround time. We have to get this thing fixed right away. Call me back.
It was about here that I noticed the store manager and a couple assistants sort of hovering a few feet away, and realized they didn’t know what this crazy woman was up to or might do next.
Well, I didn’t do anything. I just quietly paid for my groceries, one brave bagger having stepped back into the ring of my fury to bag my stuff, and then I left.
The whole time, though, the manager just stayed there by the register. He never said a word, but he watched me.
Sigh, I’m just one more outburst away from being banned, aren’t I?
p.s. the repairs are going to cost me another $400
p.p.s. one of the things broken on the van (not by son’s stupidity, it was already broken) is covered under a manufacturer’s recall so yay!
It was only four times yesterday I thought to myself that I needed to call and check on Mom.
That’s down from five times last Monday.
It’s been a month. Holy shit.
I can’t bring myself to even open the big pouch from the funeral home. It has all the acknowledgement cards, the guest book, and all that shit I need to send thank yous to the people who came or sent flowers, or baked pound cake (which I may, or may not, have eaten every last morsel of).
For now, it sits on the floor of my room…my she-cave…the one room in my house filled with just me stuff. It’s judging me for being so damned intimidated by a friggin’ leather pouch, and probably fake leather at that, isn’t it?
This will get easier, right?
….my mother died and then I had a head-on collision a couple of days later?
Yeah, so that happened.
I think y’all have heard me gripe about our frat boy neighbors across the street a time or two, amiright?
Well, one of them got up close and personal with me the day we were traveling to my mother’s funeral a couple of weeks ago.
And I don’t mean that in a good way. He hit me, head on, on our street as I was taking the critters in for boarding. They are fine, by the way. Me, not so much, but I digress.
He was turning onto our street at a “T” intersection, and I was coming up to the intersection to turn off the street. When he turned, he cut the corner really sharp and accelerated – as you do, when you’re 19 and too cool for school – when he looked up, and remembered this isn’t England a millisecond before his Beemer hit my Impala smack in the nose. One inch to the right and my airbags would have deployed, likely totaling my car, but the gods of mechanical shit were with me and instead of totaled, the car sustained about $5K in damage. He bent the frame when his little car went under mine or else it wouldn’t have been so much.
Amazing what an impact at 20 mph will do to a car and the bodies inside.
So, after he hits me I just sat there staring at him through the windshield and after a minute this big boy, covered in tattoos, gets out of his car..and he’s crying.
Crying. There’s no crying in car crashes. But there he was, crying like a baby about having just had a crash “and it’s my fault” he kept saying.
Damn right it was, and I was pissed…and this is what happened next as I sat in the driver seat dialing 9-1-1 as he approached me.
ME: What the fuck? HOW did YOU not see ME??
CRYBABY: I don’t know. I just….*sobs*
ME: Stop being a pussy, will you? Are you hurt?
CRYBABY: *hic* No.
ME: Well, I am..my chest hurts and I’ve got the cops and fire department coming.
ME: Geez…you live across the street from me, right?
CRYBABY: *sniffle* Yes
ME: First, why the fuck do you think I want to hear your music all hours of the day and night?? TURN THAT SHIT DOWN!!
CRYBABY: *sniff* Okay.
ME: And that has nothing to do with this. I just saw an opportunity. Now, the police are coming, everyone’s fine, you just stay where you are.
*an aside, I’ve had dipshits try to run on me before – this is accident #7 and twice that’s happened*
CRYBABY: I’m not fucking going anywhere.
ME: Don’t you talk to me that way, young man!
CRYBABY: (stares at the profane old lady in the car)
So, the police and hunky firemen came (seriously, why are all firemen so damned cute?) and checked me out. My chest was bruised, and I had a goose egg on my knee from hitting the dash.
I rode to my mother’s house with an ice pack strapped to my knee. And every breath hurt.
I thought I was fine.
I’m cute when I’m in denial.
Last weekend, two weeks after this incident, I noticed a GIANT lump in my chest. Looks like I’m growing a third tit, and it hurts a whole helluva lot.
What. The. Fuck.
My doctor took x-rays and said I fractured the xiphoid bone, and have a large hematoma (third tit) in my chest.
No worries, none of that is as bad as it sounds. It’ll heal on its own and the hematoma isn’t in a vein or anything. It’s on the bone and surrounding cartilage. It’ll just take time. Time and ice. Really, ice seems to help a lot. But, I can’t go around with an ice pack in my bra at work. Stupid social rules and shit like “propriety” get in the way.
Since the day of the crash, I’ve been trying to get Crybaby’s insurance to accept liability. First, they had no copy of the police report. Then, no copy of the report AND Crybaby was not responding to calls or letters. Then Crybaby said it was MY fault, and they were investigating.
THEN, this morning I went all bitcharoni on their asses in a pain-induced fit of rage. Lo and behold, they have their reports, they got his statement, and they are 100% sure they are accepting liability.
Hallelujah, holy shit, where’s the Tylenol?