tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89659923964638112832024-03-12T16:42:10.840-07:00Heads nor TailsMusings, rantings, memories . . . and probably at least a little dreck.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger329125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965992396463811283.post-75508336966959397952015-04-07T16:32:00.002-07:002015-04-07T16:32:40.324-07:00Religious Freedom and Baby Killing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Came across a story today in the Washington Post--a <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2015/04/07/why-doctors-let-a-jehovahs-witness-and-her-unborn-baby-die/?tid=sm_fb">sad tale of a woman with a highly treatable form of leukemia refusing transfusions</a> and dying, taking her almost 8 months-gestation fetus with her. The reason?<br />
<br />
Can you guess?<br />
<br />
That's right--Jehovah's Witness. <br />
<br />
She was offered the opportunity to save this fetus via c-section, which would have made chemo possible for her. For pregnant women who follow this course of treatment, there is an 83% remission rate.<br />
<br />
She refused. Because c-sections for women in her position also necessitate blood transfusions.<br />
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Think on this. This woman was so deluded, so completely enthralled by mythology that she allowed herself and her child to die. Her whole hoped-for future gone because she couldn't see past the ridiculous fairy tale she'd been hammered down with. <br />
<br />
That's "freedom of religion" for you. But the end result?<br />
<br />
Dead baby-to-be.<br />
<br />
Where is the screaming? This happened in 2009, but it's just now getting attention. Where is the outrage? Where is the freaky "right-to-life" crowd? I'll tell you where they are--they're hiding, because they have no answer here. Because they believe their right to religious freedom entitles them to crawl into people's lives, their faces, and bully, insult, and threaten. If they challenge HER religious right to kill that baby, they also challenge their own religious right to be overbearing douchebags who do all they can to legislate their ridiculous mythology.<br />
<br />
And while we're at it, where is the "sentence the junkie whore to life in prison because she used drugs while pregnant" crowd? Often the same crowd, yes, but sometimes not. Where are they? The folks so quick to hate and condemn and threaten women in the throes of addiction? Why aren't they shouting? I see a whole bunch of "Oh, what a sad thing" and "Gosh, what a terrible situation for her to be trapped in." But I'm seeing a serious dearth of "crazy, stupid woman killed herself and and her baby" shouting.<br />
<br />
So is it about LIFE, or is it about people toeing a particular line, regardless of whether or not that fetal form is preserved and brought to fruition? My money is on the latter. Because if "a life is a life," that applies to ALL, even the convicted killers, even the rapists, even the drug dealers, and even the hungry children of the aforementioned "junkie whores".<br />
<br />
And yes--even the fetuses at eight months gestation who could easily have survived a c-section, had the woman carrying it not been a religious nutbag.<br />
<br />
<i>And before anyone gets wadded up, I am absolutely pro-choice. My issue here is the sick hold religion has on people and the hypocritical way the "lifer" crowd is looking the other way rather than using their formidable collective whinging to decry the "murder" of this "baby" by its mother.</i><br />
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I'm writing this here because no one reads this blog. No one reads it, and therefore I can throw this out into the world, feel like I've expressed myself, yet remained safely anonymous.</div>
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My son is well into his teen years. All his life, I've been fat. All his life, I've beaten myself up, struggling to NOT be fat, to lose enough weight to keep my appearance from negatively affecting his social life. You see, I had a grammar school friend with a super-fat mom. She wore shapeless, brightly-colored muu-muus and yelled a lot. Woman hated me, but that's a different story. I didn't care about her weight, except that I deeply pitied my friend because of the endless abuse she took from other kids about her mom. Any argument, any fight she found herself in could be ended with one sharp "at least my mom's not a whale!"</div>
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Kids love their moms. Usually, anyway. And I told myself I would do whatever it took to NOT land my son in that same place. I was not going to put him in a spot where he had to choose between his peer group and his fat mother. I have agonized, starved, obsessed, and self-hated. I have crawled deeper and deeper into a hole that keeps me well-separated from the world. And I have taken to hiding upstairs when his friends are here so I don't embarrass him. I've only met two of them, and one seemed completely put off by my size. Kid wouldn't even look at me. Eyes kept darting away as though I were something dangerous looking to leap at his face. </div>
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I've always been very conscious of my size. I was a "normal-sized" kid until around second grade, at which time my weight ballooned in a scary fashion. I went from 48 lbs to 98 in one year. My parents, rather than take me to, say, an endocrinologist, decided on ridicule and loathing as tools to reverse my expansion. My mother wasn't so bad--she mostly just groused about my size when it came to clothes shopping (an endeavor I quickly learned to hate). She'd hold up pretty, NORMAL girl clothes and lament my size. My father, on the other hand, went nuts with the out-and-out attacks. While my sister and I were not permitted to choose our serving sizes (food was doled out by mom), and we were admonished to finish everything on our plates (not finishing meant no dessert, and possibly a shouting at, a grounding, or a smacking), we were held accountable for our sizes at a very early age. I remember being eight years old and my dad shouting "How about we stick a fork in that piggy paw and drop you off at the city dump?" Followed by pig snorts. I sometimes agonize over the thought that maybe I have, at some point, said something hurtful enough to my son that he will remember it always. I hope not.</div>
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By the time I hit 10th grade, I was weighing in at 235 lbs. I know, you're so horrified! I weigh SO much more than that now! The social pressure was devastating--boys either laughed or ignored, while girls either pitied or pointed. Sure, I had some friends--some thin, some about my size, a couple heavier. I think of the popularity hit my thinner friends took, hanging out with me, and I am forever grateful. </div>
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Middle of tenth grade, it happened. That triggering event, the catalyst. My friend had gotten a beautiful black '69 Camaro. Being, as it was, the coolest car on campus, some of that cool attached itself to me, and I found myself being treated pretty well by kids who normally would have blown me off or openly ridiculed me. Then came the day. It was first lunch, which meant the classes in the English wing adjacent to the back parking lot were still in session. My friend and I were standing next to her car. Beside it was another car; a black '68 Mustang belonging to one of the football stars, a young man named Jeff. My friend and I were laughing, talking, and, as she lounged on her own car's hood, I leaned back against the fender of Jeff's Mustang. It was only a minute or less before he exploded out the back doors of the English wing, shouting at me to get my "fat, ugly ass" off his car.</div>
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The laughter around me was uproarious. And I was devastated.</div>
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I left school a few minutes later, walked home. Sat on my mom's bed for a few hours, her .38 in my hand. And I made a deal with myself. I had six months to stop being fat. If I failed, I would kill myself. </div>
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I succeeded. I began exercising obsessively--quitting school so I could dedicate hours a day. I stopped eating. Period, just stopped (and my periods? They just stopped, too). One day a week, I was allowed solid food (and two nights a week I was allowed four "lite" beers). I started smoking in earnest, jumping from a smoke or two, not inhaled, each afternoon to almost two packs a day. And the weight fell off me. Never mind the bleeding gums, the thinning hair, the constant headache, dizziness, and trembling. I lost 100 lbs in six months, and kept losing. By the next Christmas, I weighed 103 lbs and my size 1 jeans were too loose. I remember victory turning to disappointment when I realized that getting my pants in the kids' section meant pants with snaps instead of buttons.</div>
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Can you guess what happened when I went back to school? The girls who'd despised me wanted to buddy up and the boys who'd cracked mean "sex with fat chicks" jokes were suddenly asking me out. Many of them, I suspect, having no idea I was the same girl. One of those boys?</div>
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Mustang Jeff. I was hanging in the parking lot, dressed so fine, spiked heels and silk shirt, and here he came. He leaned on my car, got in real close, and smiled. And me? I smiled right back, and said . . . </div>
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"Get your fat, ugly ass off my car."</div>
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No, it wasn't my car, technically, but who cares? At first he was hurt, and then realization hit. And that was the best, let me tell you.</div>
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I continued to be wildly unhealthy for a couple of years, with no periods, a bout with Toxic Shock Syndrome, and a scary first marriage to an abusive ass that began when I was 18 and ended in blood and tears at 19. My shot self-esteem set me up for that marriage. Because I may have looked fabulous, but I never stopped feeling like it was an act. Something I was putting over on folks. That under the pretty clothes I was a bit jiggly and stretch-marked didn't help.</div>
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I actually kept myself under 130 for almost 8 years. But then the weight started piling back on at a breathtaking rate (think 20+ lbs a month after starting new birth control pills), and the family doctor couldn't/wouldn't do any more than ridicule me for my tight pants and jury-rigged button/zipper. Thanks, Russ. You were a gem. A couple of years later, he pretended to not feel a lump in my breast because he thought I was my sister. Told me he knew I was lying, just to cause my family grief. Told me he wished I DID have a lump because the world would be a better place without me. And then he figured out I was ME and not my sister. THEN he wanted to "have another look at that lump." </div>
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Anyway, back on topic: the weight came back, and it's been a devastating battle since. 25 years I've been battling this. I got all the way back down to 135 lbs in 1993. Just in time to meet my husband. Does he love me at more than twice that? Yes. Would he have been at all interested in me at that weight in the beginning? I can't answer that. </div>
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So, how do we get from there to the fat, sociophobic mommy who hides in her room?</div>
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A bunch of reasons, but I think I can best illustrate with following three events. I'll put them down in order.</div>
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1) Walking through Target's garden section. Must have been around 1999. My infant son in the cart in front of me, and I'm shopping for a rosebush for my mother-in-law for Mother's Day. Two teenage boys, about the age of my son and his friends today, start tailing me. Snickering. Whispering. And then it starts--the loud pig snorting and "soooouuuueeee!" I stopped, steeled myself, and turned around to look at them. They burst into laughter and scurried away. And I stood there, struggling not to cry. Promising myself I would stop being fat, I would stop being ugly, I would stop being ME before my son was old enough to understand.</div>
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2) Walking through Walmart. A couple of years later. By now, I've learned to avoid teenage boys. Men are bad enough, but their eyes just tend to slide sideways and avoid me entirely, and I guess a refusal to engage or acknowledge is better than flat-out abuse. As I'm limping along, pushing my cart, my four year old on board, three teenage girls breeze by. The brand of laughter is unmistakable, And then one casts me a disdainful look and says to her friends, "If I ever look like that, fucking shoot me. Promise!" And then all three collapse into giggle fits. And I'm left standing there, once again pleading with myself to find some way to stop being what I am before my boy is old enough to remember it.</div>
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3) The final straw, really. The one where I cracked and completely lost my grip. I was walking through the grocery store (you'd think I'd learn to avoid such places) when two men came my way. I saw the look pass between them and knew, instantly. At 25 feet out I understood what was coming, but there was nowhere for me to go. They got within a few feet of me and the games began. </div>
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"Oooh, there's one for you, Mike!"</div>
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"Dude, she'd crush me in my sleep!"</div>
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"You'd have to chew your arm off to get away from porky there!"</div>
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And I lost all cohesion. Perhaps telling, I didn't have my son with me this time. This was around 2003 or so, and my boy was off in another part of the store with his daddy. And so, with tears springing from my eyes, fists clenched and body trembling, I went completely bonkers. Asked them where on earth they got the idea that they were, in any way, prizes? Did they OWN mirrors? Food slopped down the front of this one's wife beater, tweaker complexion and rotting teeth, who the fuck was HE to start on ME? At least my clothes were clean and I didn't STINK of meth and armpits. And what about the other one? With his beer belly and retreating hairline, with those protuberances above that belly that most would call <i>bitch tits</i>, how DARE he? At least I HAD a family, I HAD a partner, I HAD a beautiful child still young enough to not see me through their lens. I didn't have to hang about in grocery stores with my tweaker pal, abusing women who'd done nothing at all to earn it. And I didn't stop. One of them muttered "Sorry" and I exploded even further. Sorry?</div>
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SORRY? Oh, gosh, fuck your sorry, I give zero shits about you and your half-assed apology borne of embarrassment rather than remorse. </div>
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I stalked these guys through the store, shouting, crying, never letting up. I trailed them to the checkout where, rather than wait in line, they left their goods and fled the store. And I stood there, gasping and sobbing, while people I didn't know came up and patted me on the shoulder, squeezed my hand, told me I'd done a fine thing. </div>
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But it didn't feel fine. And I didn't feel strengthened, vindicated, or in any other way improved by the experience. I felt devastated. Empty. Utterly broken.</div>
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And I still do.</div>
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I lost a gaggle of weight again a couple of years ago. Of course, each time I lose, I gain back even more, so the 180 pound loss still had me over 200. And I'm now back over 300. I don't know how much over because I just can't take it any more. I've weaned myself off my heart meds (I have an arrhythmia, unrelated to my weight) because I can't take the shaming I get at the doctor's office. I finally wrote to her, explained why I haven't been in and what's going on, and she told me I don't have to weigh. So I have an appointment in two days. And I'm so pitched about it, I fear I might keel over before I ever get in. Because she's going to ride me about my weight, even if she doesn't weigh me. Because there's this idea that fat people are, by nature, stupid, lazy, dull, and gluttonous. I'm not lazy. I'm not stupid. Clearly, I eat more than my body will accept, but I don't eat more than my not-fat husband or my not-fat son. To be talked down to and treated like I don't understand I'm fat? Is devastating to me. Believe me, I am aware of my size every day. Not a day, not an HOUR goes by when I don't find myself nearly in tears (or just flat-out sobbing). </div>
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And the title of this blog entry? That's easy. Those boys in Target, those girls in Walmart? They'd tell you they're nice people. They're kind people. They almost certainly have no memory of me whatsoever. The tweaker pals might remember me solely because I went on the offensive. Same with Jeff of the Mustang. But I don't want to be on the offensive, because that just tears me apart and leaves others feeling I deserve the abuse because look at what a rude, loud creature I am. Because the only thing the world hates more than a fat woman is a fat woman who sticks up for herself. </div>
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<i>A little note for the "how can you give those people such power over you" crowd. It's easy--I'm broken. If you don't understand that about me, you don't know me at all. They didn't just hurt me, they shattered me. And it wasn't just them, it was my family suddenly inviting me to parties and showing me off to their friends once I was thin. It was my mom expressing her disappointment when I regained. It was my dad and his horrified intake of breath after, during a telephone argument over whether or not heavy folks should have to pay "fatty fares" on airlines, I told him how much I weigh. It was my nephew finding an old wedding picture and saying, with such longing, "You used to be so beautiful. What happened?"</i></div>
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<i>I'm broken. And I'm afraid that, at nearly 50, there is no fixing me.</i></div>
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So, straight up, a bit of coming clean: I don't like Bill Maher. Not since "Religulous," and the pissy way he he baits and misleads and sets folks up to be comedic foils. The way he misrepresents doctrine in order to make it as ridiculous as possible. There's no reason to do that--it's already ridiculous, there is no reason to twist it about for comedic effect. I try to remind myself that he is, after all, just a comedian, so of course he's going to do that. But for me?<br />
<br />
It's personal. Because *I* am also an atheist, and when this guy's sneering mouth utters that snarky anti-Arab (anti-GMO/anti-vaccine/anti-Muslim/anti-Palestinian/pro-Zionism/anti-woman/anti-breastfeeding) bullshit, and does so as a perceived representative of atheists, I get pissed. <br />
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I do have to give Bill credit. Until I found myself in his sights, I thought he was funny. I thought he was mean, sure, but in a GOOD way because his nastiness was dovetailing nicely with my ideas. So thank you, Bill, for teaching me how it feels to have some half-informed stand-up comedian use snarkiness and condescension in the place of knowledge to tear at my ideas.<br />
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It was a lesson I likely needed.<br />
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As for Sam Harris, what a disappointing fount of prejudiced urp. Thankfully, I don't do atheist heroes, so I wasn't so disappointed. Hubby was pretty bummed, though.<br />
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Here, let me quote Sam, give you a taste:<br />
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"<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">It is time we recognized—and obliged the Muslim world to recognize—that “Muslim extremism” is not extreme among Muslims. Mainstream Islam itself represents an extremist rejection of intellectual honesty, gender equality, secular politics and genuine pluralism. The truth about Islam is as politically incorrect as it is terrifying: Islam is all fringe and no center. In Islam, we confront a civilization with an arrested history."</span><br />
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Because, it would seem, Muslims are fair game. Like overweight women and atheists, they're one of the last "hey, have at" targets out there. It was nice to see Ben Affleck go a bit nutty on Bill and Sam, taking them to task for their sweeping generalizations. See, I'm particularly sensitive to that whole "big, broad brush" thing because, all too often, people look at Bill Maher, then judge ME as part of that broad atheist group.<br />
<br />
All atheists are not Bill Maher (or Sam Harris, or Hitch, or Dawkins), and all Muslims are not ISIS. Thank you, Ben, for championing that simple, obvious point.<br />
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Now, on to the "fangirls" I mention in the title. This would be the atheists who are so enamored of whichever "atheist heroes" that they embrace their positions without really examining them with an objective eye. Not all atheists are like this, but there are some, and they are loud. Loud, and ravening. They leap like a pack and tear dissenters apart. Logic and reason fly out the window in favor of a competitive race to outdo each other with snarky nicknames, personal attacks, unrestrained ridicule, and off-topic nitpicking. You know, like Sam and Bill repeatedly arguing that "Islam isn't a race, and therefor we're not racists." <br />
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What? That's your defense? You can't deny the charges, so you'll do the semantics dance instead?<br />
<br />
How intellectually dishonest of you.<br />
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Again, I don't do "atheist heroes." Many atheists don't. But I understand why those who do, do. Because there are SO many out there who condemn atheists. Who say we're un-American, evil, awful, worse that rapists and child molesters. And there are so few of us who are prominent and willing to "come out," to risk ourselves in the spotlight. So when someone relatively intelligent and unafraid to be open and loud shows up, it's natural that some atheists would rally around him (I say him, because so many prominent atheists are also, unfortunately, misogynistic). And sadly?<br />
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That makes for some crappy heroes sometimes. Some are brilliant (and some, like Maher, are just comedians), but even the brilliant ones tend to have fatal flaws, be it Islamophobia (which includes an inability to differentiate between Islam and being Middle Eastern), Zionism (I know, right?), misogyny, or a cold, Ayn Rand-style social Darwinism (this is where some smug heathen will leap in and argue that Rand's dance was "objectivism," not social Darwinism).. <br />
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Now, I'm not arguing that atheist "stars" are any MORE messed up than the general public. No, not at all--in fact, by virtue of their disbelief, I'd say they have one less flaw than the average person. What I'm saying is that they're just folks. Sometimes incredibly intelligent folks, but not infallible by any stretch. And yet, so often, crowds of adoring fans gather 'round to lend support for statements that maybe don't, on objective consideration, merit that sort of cheerleading. And that cheerleading?<br />
<br />
Is often of the mean, nit-picky, ugly variety I spoke of above. <br />
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So Mr. Affleck? I know you don't remember me from the first Project Greenlight, but I remember you. And boy, what a man you've grown to be. I applaud your bravery here, and bravery is what it is, because it takes a lot of guts to go up against Maher's caustic sarcasm and Harris' plodding anti-Islam narrative. So thank you. I hope we hear more from you. I hope they didn't scare you off.<br />
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And now, for those who might be thinking it: I have zero use for Islam. No more (or less) than for other religions. I am by no means a champion of Islam--it's theism, I think it, like other theistic faiths, is inherently harmful. I think it, like other theistic faiths, lends itself to oppression and intolerance. My problem is when people hold it up as somehow MORE damaging or MORE scary than any other. That's just not true. What makes Islam SEEM more violent or more awful is simply Western intervention. The Middle East was not a roiling puddle of violence and extremism before Western colonialism. What makes for extreme Islamic groups is outside interference, military interventions, oppression, occupation, and invasion. You'd think we'd have learned this by now--devastation, destitution, and oppression are what makes for fanatical responses. If we would sink money, no strings, into their infrastructure, economy, and education instead of into invasion, devastation, occupation (by us and by our "special" allies), and overthrow, there'd be no "need" for religious zealotry and violent resistance. </div>
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I know, I know--what if it didn't work?</div>
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That's easy--what we're doing now clearly isn't working; it's creating ever bigger and badder violent groups. Worst thing that could happen is that being nice for a change wouldn't work, either. </div>
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You know, doing what I do, I traffic in obituaries. Between Find A Grave and handling the "who died" archive for my high school, I find myself looking at a lot of death notices and memorials each day. Today, I came across a curious and distasteful phenomenon. Something I've come across before.<br />
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Dueling obituaries.<br />
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It's more common that you'd think (hope), and I find it awful. What are dueling obits?<br />
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Oh, that's when one part of the family hates the other part, and so they excise them from the obituary. The excises part of the family publishes their own obituary, often (but not always) excising the other family members. <br />
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For example, today A.B.'s family (likely his children) posted a long obituary for their deceased loved one. A lot of information about his dead wife, his loving children, his amazing grandkids. All by name. What they left out was "the love of his life," his long-term, live-in significant other, who, apparently, they dislike enough to omit all mention of her many happy years with him. <br />
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And A.B.'s significant other? Well, she published her own obit for A.B., one that mentions her, her daughter, and all of his grandchildren by name. And his kids? Mentioned, but not by name. <br />
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Of these two, clearly the children are the worse offenders, as they completely cut her out of his life. But hers was a bit petty, too, only mentioning "sons and daughters" instead of by name. Who started it? Probably the kids, but that's not my point. My point is, what a crappy tribute to someone you loved. Clearly, you caused him astounding grief with your childish behavior before he died, must you carry it over to his obituary so it's now glaringly obvious to the world?<br />
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This isn't the first--or even the 30th--time I've seen this. Sometimes it's been family vs friends, often it's new wife vs kids from first marriage. I know one woman (known her since I was a child) who, when her husband died, listed herself (she was the second wife), his siblings, her family, their PETS, and then, as a last, tag-on scrap, "he was also survived by children from a previous marriage." <br />
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BAM! WHOA! And worse? She didn't even call those kids to let them know their father had died. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "What a trashy, low-rent creature." Actually, she's a wealthy woman, a prominent attorney. And she carried a grudge over into her husband's obituary, leaving his children with that last, final jab as a lifetime reminder that she never could manage to get along with her step-children.<br />
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Do yourself a favor. Do your family a favor. Do your dead loved one's memory/legacy a favor and check your bickering and grudges at the door when it comes to writing up that obituary. Unless your deceased family member was Josef Mengele in a housecoat (if that's the case, absolutely be honest if that's what works for you), the obit is the place for memorializing, not carrying on family feuds. You may think you're getting in that final, grand smack, but what you're really doing is making yourself look like a creep of the first order. And if you're doing it because you know THEY'RE going to do it?<br />
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Don't. Be the better person. What better revenge than coming across looking like the good guy?<br />
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Remember, Christmas is coming up and it doesn't cost anything extra to shop through me. Even if you're not shopping now, please consider bookmarking the link for when you're looking to shop!<br />
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Because sloppy, self-aggrandizing, entitled misogynists. Use the googles if you're curious.<br />
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That's all.<br />
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So, we made the move. It was rough. The puffed up pile of "used car sales wouldn't have him" real estate agent said we'll get our entire deposit back. Said we left the place better than we found it. Which we did.<br />
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It's been 48 days, still no deposit. This is the guy who, at the first "landlord is selling" get-together, insisted that state law requires a deposit be returned within TEN days. Luckily, we knew he was lying even as it rolled off his tongue, so we're not too panicked yet. Yeah, he said that to keep us from making any "we won't leave" noises.<br />
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What an asshole.<br />
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While the law seems to say we should have had the deposit back within 45 days, the renter protection laws here only speak to landlords with more than a certain number of properties (I believe it's five). We emailed the landlord last week, and he has--can you guess? That's right, not answered. Because that's what Scott does. He doesn't answer. For weeks. My money is on this--he didn't keep the $1950 deposit set aside for refund. He threw it in with his cash and is now near-bankrupt and doesn't have it. The old place STILL hasn't sold. Remember how they told us we couldn't stay until it sold because "houses in this neighborhood don't last a week in this market?" Yeah, my ass. I knew that was a lie then. Not only is our old place still on the market (it went on the market July 1st--you do the math), but remember how they tried to palm it off on us? For "low 300s?" <br />
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The price has been reduced a number of times now. They're now asking 249K. In other words, they tried to rip us off for over fifty grand.<br />
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Next step is, I guess, to send a demand for our deposit via certified mail. And then, I guess, small claims. Which is incredibly scary because there is the chance that, even though we have the pristine walk-through in writing, even though the time period allowable for submitting deductions from the deposit is well gone by, we could wind up with a judge who decided he likes landlords more than he likes tenants. We could wind up with a judge who is an old golfing buddy of Scott's. He has a lot of them around here.<br />
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It is so unfair that he would do this to us. By his own reckoning, we were "the best tenants ever." By his agent's reckoning, we "left the place in better shape than it was at move-in." <br />
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Way to reinforce the "scuzzbucket slumlord/all landlords are thieves" stereotype, Scott.<br />
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So, other things have changed. Pretty big changes. Our boy, who has been homeschooled since day one, announced that he wanted to go to school. Understand, this is an abrupt about-face--every time I've suggested it, even as recently as last spring, he's shut me down with pleas to not make him. He sprung this on me a mere two weeks before the start of school, and made it clear how important it was to him. At first, I demurred, and he became very despondent, saying he understood, it was a stupid idea. Broke my heart. Understand, I have NO experience with the public school system, other than my own 30+ years ago. I scrambled, I hoop-jumped, and I got it done.</div>
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We decided on part-time, just a couple of classes. That way, if it turns out it's horrid and he hates it, it's not a huge deal. So it's a sort of "getting his feet wet" thing. He's got Guitar Ensemble and French. He seems to be enjoying it, and he's making friends. He joined the Gamer's Club, Drama Club, and the Planning Committee. Has get-togethers at a local burger joint and a sleep-over this weekend. He gets to have his picture in the yearbook, and was even issued a laptop.</div>
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He's excited. So are we. I hope it turns out to be all that he wants. </div>
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Silly as it will sound, the lack of yearbooks has always troubled me. Hubby and I both have all our yearbooks, and I've always been sad that our boy wouldn't have that. Now he will.</div>
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Haven't been to a doctor since January. I'm having a terrible time with my weight, and I just can't bring myself to deal with the constant, devastating disapproval from doctors. It's hit the point where I am just so humiliated and so completely overwhelmed with anxiety that not going is the only option I see. I know how stupid that is, I do. But I just can't. Walk in, first thing they do is throw you on the scale and an eyebrow cocks just a little. Stress so bad by the time they take the blood pressure that it feels like a full-blown anxiety attack is in the offing. Doctor finally comes in, and the disapproval is palpable. Is that disdain in her exotic eyes? Doesn't matter, because it feels like it. I'm almost in tears just typing this. So I don't go. </div>
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The new place, btw. You know all those horrendous, petty, obstructionist, self-righteous nightmare stories you've ever heard about home owners associations?</div>
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Yeah. First thing, first day, we ask the real estate agent if we can put in a gate so our dog doesn't run away. Yeah, fenced yard, no gate. He says we can't, HOA won't allow it. Yet we've driven around and some folks have gates. Some are nice matching gates, some are cheap, fake wrought iron that don't match at all, some are plastic baby gates, and some, like our next-door-neighbor's, are crappy white latticework leaned against the gate posts. So we took two solid boards, put them together, painted them to match the fence, and attached magnets to lightly keep the thing in place without it actually being attached. It took ONE day for a note to be taped to it, telling us that it's not approved, and giving us an application to the design board. Problem is, the design board application requires permission of all neighbors/OWNERS whose properties adjoin OR who can SEE the "addition." Yeah, not likely; these are all rentals, none of the OWNERS actually live here. Plus, plans, photos, proposed paint colors, and cost/construction proposals must be submitted in advance. </div>
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For a damned barrier to keep the dog in.</div>
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So we figured maybe it was too tall. So we disassembled it, removed the magnets, and just leaned it like the folks next door with the cheap, ugly latticework. We were taking it up when the dog came back in, but one evening we forgot. By 7 am the next morning, another note, nastier, telling us that the "partial barrier is unapproved." Again telling us we must submit an application. And then another nasty note, telling us that we cannot have bird feeders in any form. Which means I'm stuck for at least two years with no birds. Bastards. I cried while taking them down.</div>
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I was very upset, made my way to the website to read the HOA guidelines and there was no mention of bird feeders (though there was mention of bird baths, which was scary). But then I dug deeper, and discovered we're not in that particular HOA--we're in a SUB-HOA specifically for Condos. And it doesn't allow gates AT ALL. Because our front yards are considered part of the "open area." That's right--our front lawn is actually part of their open space. No wonder they MOW it. </div>
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So, in other words, their nosy-assed neighborhood narc is handing out design applications that will not be approved because we're in the Condo area.</div>
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Thanks, folks.</div>
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Here are some pics of the new place--it's not as nice as the old, but it's also not awful. The carpet is a cheap Berber, which concerns me on the vacuuming front, and the master bedroom is a giant (19x19) loft-type set-up with no door. The stairs are murder on my knees (four flights of 8 stairs a pop to get to the bedroom), and the kitchen is minuscule (we had to leave most of our cooking stuff packed because there's just no room). But the blinds are nice, and the front yard is nice (even if we can't have a damned gate), and the stove is gas. The tubs are slightly larger, and being two floors up keeps the TV from driving me nutty at night. We don't know much about the neighbors (other than the chain-smokers across the way who throw loud parties and beat each other up), but those awful rat-children are no longer our neighbors, and that is everything. I can let our boy walk to school or Hapkido without worrying that those kids are going to ambush him. <br />
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So, all in all, it works out slightly to the better. And I will take that any day.<br />
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And finally? If you're reading this and you see an Amazon.com shopping spree for Christmas in your future, please consider using my Amazon link, which is the search widget below. This public school thing, with yearbooks, ensemble uniforms, daily lunches, etc., is pretty pricey. Christmas is coming, and every bit helps, especially with the landlord tugging us about on the deposit.</div>
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Today, some puddle of garbage came sliding across my Facebook feed. It was from (get this) "RIGHT WING NEWS."<br />
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Oh, yeah, there's a source you can trust. </div>
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It was being forwarded by one of the stupider people on my list. She's got a kind soul and an empty head. The phrase "bless her heart" leaps to mind whenever she posts anything political.</div>
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Today, it was this:</div>
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It was all I could do to resist going point-by-point. I DID resist, because people like this aren't looking for information, they're looking for inflammation. Specifically, inflammation that allows them to continue hating the black guy. </div>
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Yes, that is what it boils down to. If that's not YOUR problem with him, understand that you're being manipulated and lied to by groups who DO feel that way. </div>
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Move mostly set up. Got the utilities arranged, the truck reserved, and (hopefully) the ID and car registration handled so we can get our parking decals. We're cutting it super-close on that one. Cross your fingers. Because if the licenses and registration doesn't show up in time, the HOA will have our car towed. <br />
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Moving used to be easier.<br />
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Found this, thought it was interesting:
<iframe frameborder="0" height="535" scrolling="no" src="http://www.climatecentral.org/wgts/CityFutureTemps/index.html?utm_source=ext&utm_medium=embed&utm_campaign=CityFutureTemps" style="border-color: #000000" width="550"></iframe>
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, thanks to the generosity of hubby's old school pal, we're good to go. The gift (and it is a gift, not a loan) came out of the blue. Old friend said it was for "gas money for all those rides back in high school, plus interest." <br />
<br />
Whew. After the devastating screwing we took from my half-sister Cory, I wasn't sure we were going to make it. Eternal gratitude, you know?<br />
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Gotta say, though, that moving out here is a markedly different affair. In Utah, a grand and some friends with a truck was enough to get you into a nicer place. No deposits for utilities, no hassling with HOAs. You just moved. Out here?<br />
<br />
Holy COW! We're moving FIVE miles from our current place, and it's ALL new utility companies. All new utility companies and each one has a hefty deposit. That was an unforeseen expense. Plus, the landlord won't sign the new lease until the utilities are turned on. But the utilities refuse to turn on unless we can provide a copy of the signed lease. Which we can't until the utilities are turned on. Yes, Laurel and Hardy would be proud.<br />
<br />
Add to that the parking situation there. Unlike in Utah (or our current place, to be fair), it was simple--here's your spot. New place? Two spots, BUT we must have two CARS in order to have them. One car? Only one decal, which means our guests can't use our spare spot. They WILL tow. Plus, we can't park there until we have the decal (fifty bucks!), and we can't have the decal until we can show our car's registration and our driver's licenses with THAT address. No, a change of address card won't do--they want a photocopy of the new licenses. That's forty bucks for the two of us.<br />
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Or eighty, if hubby messes up and they send new licenses with the OLD address. Which is exactly what happened.<br />
<br />
The landlord has gone silent again. So has the real estate agent. The fear, of course, is that they're looking to make the move-out a mess so they can hang onto the deposit. Called the landlord and asked if the cleaning (doesn't need it, carpet was stained and dog-pill smelling when we moved in) and deflea/detick treatment (doesn't need it, we don't have fleas and ticks) company we chose was okay. No answer. Called (and emailed) to let them know our move-out date. No answer. Zero help.<br />
<br />
And speaking of zero help, I don't think I'll be able to resist letting the real estate agent representing the landlord know what a dead-beat, lazy, uncaring, shmoozy, glad-handing, insincere creep he is. See, when the landlord announced that we were out, he promised his agent would definitely find us a new place. But when Skeezo (who insists his name is FRENCH, not MEXICAN!) came over, he made it very clear that he wouldn't. Told us, in no uncertain terms, that there was NO way ANY real estate agent would EVER represent us because of our credit, that we needed to "try Craigslist" because nothing with an MLS# would ever be open to us. He was VERY clear about this. Of course, he became very clear about this once we made it clear we weren't shopping for a mortgage. Conveniently, his wife is a mortgage broker. I'm sure that had nothing to do with it. <br />
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So we went into this disaster scared to death--not only did we not have the cash, but a guy who should have provided us with accurate information, a guy whose words should have been reliable, told us we didn't have a hope in hell of getting a nice place unless we stumbled across a private landlord on Craigslist. <br />
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Thing is, he lied. Flat out. First MLS listed property we viewed, the real estate agent practically begged to represent us. Even knowing what our credit is like. And the first property we applied for?<br />
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We got.<br />
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So, yeah. I won't go out of my way to slam the bastard, but when we're in the market to buy? We won't be buying from him. And should anyone ask for a recommend? The woman who got us into our new place gets the recommend. And Mr. "French, not Mexican?" I won't refrain from telling folks just what crap treatment we got from him. Just how lazy, uncaring, uninterested, and disingenuous he was. <br />
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No doubt.<br />
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Gonna try something now, see if it works:<br />
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You know, I don't begrudge rich folks their riches. I don't. I am a bit put off by the gratuitous extravagance I see, but hey, I'm sure someone could look at me today and find something wrong with my spending habits. However, when the following story came across my news feed, I admit, the bitterness rose up in a big way.<br />
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<a href="http://www.express.co.uk/news/royal/483942/Kate-Middleton-Buckingham-Palace-defend-4m-spend-on-flat">Buckingham Palace defend spending £4m on refurbishing Kate and Wills' flat</a></h1>
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Why bitter? Because this isn't some busted up, broken down, run-into-the-ground hovel requiring a from-the-floorboards-up renovation. The place isn't in tatters. And that Wills and Kate paid for their own curtains? Doesn't really appease my sour heart. </div>
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We are in SUCH a bad way here, and we're about to drop an application fee and deposit on a place we almost certainly won't get. The hundred bucks is a throw-away--we'll never see that again, either way. And the deposit? If we don't get the place, we won't see that money refunded for weeks. That's weeks we don't have. And if we DO get it?</div>
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Well, we don't have the rent and truck money. We're operating on pure hope here. Hope that folks will come through for us. Because the alternative is us being utterly toast.</div>
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So hey, Prince William? Princess Kate? Do you think you could spare .001 % of your remodeling budget? That would be all we need and more. It would be enough so we could have someone help us with the heavier furniture, AND we could keep our boy's dog! So how 'bout it? Please? Pretty please? Just .001% would totally SAVE us, and you might be out one fancy brass spittoon. </div>
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So, I signed up for my first Twitter account yesterday. Figured it was time, there is now ZERO chance of anyone thinking I joined up just to be cool (wink). I signed up, chose my moniker, followed a couple of friends, and made one small, silly little tweet (said "guess this would be #myfirsthashtag."). Probably not too original, but also not offensive by any stretch. I sign on this morning to find THIS dangling over my now-SUSPENDED account:<br />
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<div class="greeting emphasize" style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Gotham Narrow SSm', sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 30px; margin-top: 30px;">
<i>Hey <strong>Krista XXXXXXX</strong>,</i></div>
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<i>Twitter has automated systems that find and remove multiple automated spam accounts in bulk. Unfortunately, it looks like this account, @XXXXXXX, got caught up in one of these spam groups by mistake.</i></div>
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<i>We apologize for this inconvenience. It’s possible your account posted an update that appeared to be spam, so please be careful what you tweet or retweet. You might also want to review our help page for hacked or compromised accounts:<a href="https://support.twitter.com/entries/68916" style="background: transparent; color: #0084b4; outline: 0px;">//support.twitter.com/entries/68916</a>. You will need to change your behavior to continue using Twitter. Repeat violations of the Twitter Rules may result in the permanent suspension of your account.</i></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And that's that. No more Twitter for me, I guess, because I have done the idiot "CAPTCHA" thing a dozen times to "recover" my account, but each time my page comes back up with the "been suspended" banner and I still cannot use the account. So blow up, Twitter. You're mean.</span></span></div>
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Feeling bitter. Been seeing all the uproar about the handsome, wildly tattooed felon, Jeremy Meeks? The one up on weapons and gang charges? The scary guy with the Esquire face? Well, thus far, women across the country have donated over 100,000 bucks to spring him (his bail is a million). </div>
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ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to spring a member of the Crips gang. A guy with a rap sheet replete with charges from gun offenses to identity theft, grand theft of a person (that's a step down from robbery) to drug charges. $100,000 dollars raised to spring a dangerous felon because he's easy on the eyes (and he is), but here we are, scared to death we're going to wind up homeless. Yes, a little bitter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQNe7WELOf-s0cjxDmAlhxUfg2tPZHzvzf5Dmtvp2Ndrqbwro74o4XVTxgJ2VszC-xkDUymw_KjJS_wQip3OIB0_BfeFUahqAg91WeKPpun0ClQmtNiqufb0ncBF8hF5PwWpb0lScjVF5/s1600/jeremy+meeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQNe7WELOf-s0cjxDmAlhxUfg2tPZHzvzf5Dmtvp2Ndrqbwro74o4XVTxgJ2VszC-xkDUymw_KjJS_wQip3OIB0_BfeFUahqAg91WeKPpun0ClQmtNiqufb0ncBF8hF5PwWpb0lScjVF5/s1600/jeremy+meeks.jpg" height="320" width="312" /></a></div>
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Because that somehow inspires charity and giving more than this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadze6SEdHZ9v61TxuH94mbaNJeT3Z8HOw8080Sj6roSdxUwITkGaOwYeHxMnna-84c33XULc2Blf2wizKlVqBNS-ArTwwn4uiYTK8I-yIcxFESMksxDs2MTqiqYPFVwNdnD6AuFuQZvy8/s1600/charlie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadze6SEdHZ9v61TxuH94mbaNJeT3Z8HOw8080Sj6roSdxUwITkGaOwYeHxMnna-84c33XULc2Blf2wizKlVqBNS-ArTwwn4uiYTK8I-yIcxFESMksxDs2MTqiqYPFVwNdnD6AuFuQZvy8/s1600/charlie.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I don't understand. All I know is this--the guy up there stole, lied, and poses a clear threat to people. And Charlie? None of those things, but if we can't find a place, we may lose him. Which would break my heart, break hubby's, too. And it would shatter our boy. </div>
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We have found another place. It's smaller than this, and the neighborhood's a bit dodgier, but it's certainly good enough. No yard, and I'll miss my gardening, but we really can't be picky right now. Fact is, it's a roof, and it's not a terrible one. The rent is only 100 a month more than here, and, while 1600 a month is steep, it's not steep for the DC area. In fact, it's practically low-budget. </div>
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The scary part? 100 dollar non-refundable application fee, and having to tender the deposit in advance. If they turn us down (which they might, our credit is in the solidly "fair" category, despite no delinquencies, no late payments, no judgments, and a pristine rental history), that's weeks with that money tied up and inaccessible, plus the hit to the credit score for the inquiry, and we're out the 100 bucks permanently. We are NOT where we can afford this, so the risk is terrifying. <br />
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Sadly, we're almost certainly going to lose it unless we throw caution to the wind and post the deposit and application fee without having the money to move in. We'll lose it like the little house in Old Town; this is going to get snapped up by someone else before we have the money in hand. Right now, we have the money for the deposit. In a week, we hope to have enough for the pet deposit and the truck. Which still leaves us down 1850. So here I go again--please. Please, anything you can spare. If you've ever said to yourself "I wish there was something I could do," you CAN. Ten bucks would be something. It would help us. If every person who reads my blog in a month gave a few bucks, we'd be that much closer. If every person who reads my blog SHARED our link?</div>
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You'd be saving us. Quite literally.</div>
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So please. Please help, please share. </div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="338" title="Click Here to donate!" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="258"><param name="movie" value="//funds.gofundme.com/Widgetflex.swf" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="flashvars" value="page=roof-over-our-heads&template=0" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><embed allowScriptAccess="always" src="//funds.gofundme.com/Widgetflex.swf" quality="high" flashVars="page=roof-over-our-heads&template=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="258" height="338"></embed></object></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Just a note--we made our goal, the donation campaign has ended!</span></span></div>
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So, the move we can't afford and don't know where we're going is screaming headlong toward us. I'm packing, even though I don't know where we're going and I don't know how we'll pay for it. Our dear friends J & C lent us a grand, and oh, I can't tell you how amazing that is or how grateful we are. We thought we were good, because a relative stepped up and offered three thousand.<br />
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You read that correctly. Three grand. She offered, she wasn't asked. She understood that it would take us a while to pay back. She said that if you can't help family, what's the point? I cried my eyes out in gratitude, felt part of this crushing weight lift. It was the most amazing thing. <br />
<br />
That was May 28th. She said she'd have it to us the following Monday or Tuesday. I last heard from her June 4th, and she was still very upbeat and reassuring. Multiple Facebook messages, a post, plus text messages, and nothing. Fifteen days of silence. She's stopped even signing onto Facebook, and has not read even one of my messages since the 4th. I don't want to believe that she's left us hanging, but I'm not sure what else to think. In the meantime, the clock is ticking, and we're watching the few places we can get go to other people because we don't have the money to put down the deposit and rent.<br />
<br />
And what if she does come through? What if this is just a hiccup, and, because she knows we don't absolutely have to be out until the end of next month, she figures there's no huge rush? What if she IS going to come through? I want to believe that. I love her, and I don't want to think that anything has gone wrong. But the lack of communication is scary and I don't know what to think. But what I DO know is this: we are running out of time, and every day that passes is another apartment or house that rents to someone else.<br />
<br />
Plus my Mom offered up 800. Again, that was weeks ago, and no show. But my mom turns 80 next month, and sometimes she makes offers when she can't follow through because she really WANTS to be able to. I love her, and I understand that. My Mom is almost 80. Which makes me almost 50, and this is where I am.<br />
<br />
At this point, my stomach is so bad that I am actually worried that the ulcer is going to go totally south. I can't sleep more than a couple of hours, and I find myself gasping and sighing every time my mind goes there. Which is often. And our boy? Oh, he is beyond panic-stricken. He knows we may wind up far away from his friends at class. He knows we may wind up in a place so tiny and so scary that our stuff all goes into storage and we wind up not being able to go outside for walks. And he knows there's the very real risk of losing our dog. Charlie. Oh, man, just typing that has me crying.<br />
<br />
And so, the crowd-funding page I set up back in May but never went live with? Well, here it is. I didn't go live with it because it looked like we were covered--between J&C and my relatives, plus what we can save, we'd have it. But now we clearly don't have it, and we're not sure what to do other than this. I mean, we are stuck, we have to be out. <br />
<br />
So here's the page. Anything helps. Five bucks. If every friend on facebook gave five bucks, we'd be okay. We're not looking to get rich here, we're not looking to take advantage. We're looking to survive, to have a place to land when this is over. Anything helps.<br />
<br />
We made our goal! Donations disabled!<br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="338" title="Click Here to donate!" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="258"><param name="movie" value="//funds.gofundme.com/Widgetflex.swf" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="flashvars" value="page=roof-over-our-heads&template=0" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><embed allowScriptAccess="always" src="//funds.gofundme.com/Widgetflex.swf" quality="high" flashVars="page=roof-over-our-heads&template=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="258" height="338"></embed></object><br />
<br />
We made our goal! Donations disabled!<br />
<br />
This is embarrassing beyond words. And the terror that my relative DOES mean to come through, but will see this on Facebook and withdraw the offer? Indescribable. But if we keep waiting, what if she can't come through? What if something has happened and she's unable? And we let all this time pass? That's where I can't stop going--what if we just keep waiting and it turns out something's happened and she can't help? Every day is a day closer to the deadline, and every day we wait is a day lost. <br />
<br />
We didn't see this coming. It's not an eviction, the landlord is giving us a glowing reference. Says we're the "best" tenants he's ever had. But he has to sell, and that means we have to go. Being great tenants who always pay on time doesn't really count for anything in this situation. Please help. Please share. And please, no mention on my Facebook wall. Not yet, anyway.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, the landlord never did call, even though the real estate agent told him to. Hubby finally emailed (email is better, we then have a written record), and the landlord's response was "y'all can call me." And then he left the wrong phone number.<br />
<br />
Not promising.<br />
<br />
Luckily, hubby had the landlord's number in his phone, so he called. And left a message. Because the landlord wasn't picking up. And then, a few hours later, he called again. Left another message.<br />
<br />
The landlord finally called back around 9 p.m. <br />
<br />
Says we must be out by August 31st. Says we're "the best tenants" he's ever had. Says we've taken great care of the place. Says he really likes what we've done with it. Says that, if he can't get the place sold by next summer, he'll let them foreclose.<br />
<br />
He'll let them foreclose, but he won't let us stay. Because we're the best tenants he's ever had.<br />
<br />
Okay.<br />
<br />
We still don't have the money to move. Thought maybe we did, but it looks like it's fallen through. The person who made the offer has gone silent, and isn't answering messages. We had one pair of friends come through in a pretty big way, but we'll still be drastically short. So it may be back to the "crowdfunding" idea. As much it shames me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
-------------------------------</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On a brighter note, SEVEN people have ordered through my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=ur2&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Amazon affiliate link</a>! In just a few days! That's almost eight bucks. I know, that doesn't sound like much, but I'm really excited! So if you're looking to order from Amazon anyway, please use my link! Here it is again (family and folks I've had dinner with? That's a no-go, Amazon doesn't want "personal" orders through my links): <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=ur2&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Kris's Amazon Link</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<br />
Speaking of Amazon, they have a promotion right now--a thirty day free trial of Amazon Prime. Amazon Prime doesn't just give you free 2-day shipping on most things, it also opens up a whole slew of movies and TV series for free streaming. If you've been wishing you'd caught Deadwood, The Wire, or the latest Star Trek Movie, it's on Prime. And yes, I get two dollars per sign-up. But here's the thing--that's per FREE TRIAL sign-up. You don't have to order Prime, you don't even have to stick with it for the entire 30 days (though you may as well--free stuff, right?). All you need to do is sign up through the following link. It's a heck of a deal, and you know what? Amazon Prime might just be something you want to stick with!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/video/primesignup/ref=assoc_tag_ph_1400193438110?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=pf4&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpihHnDPDaJYEbt7X4OsT0DTidFiovTdMzEa8jve5C2QGVId2d5c1GRepr5gnyjw5tkj58zMyS-of8GS_fRbJl90q5_zrcSMJU20x4VsL7nN-JYkjHd3VrKlpWiziYkZy90Mw3OO2jYFK/s1600/deadwood.jpg" height="208" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/video/primesignup/ref=assoc_tag_ph_1400193438110?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=pf4&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Join Amazon Prime - Star Trek Into Darkness Available on Amazon Prime Instant Video</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=neiheanortai-20&l=pf4&o=1" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/video/primesignup/ref=assoc_tag_ph_1400280485563?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=pf4&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Join Amazon Prime - The Wire The Complete Series - Available on Amazon Prime Instant Video</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=neiheanortai-20&l=pf4&o=1" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And that's all of that. I actually hate doing this, I've never been good at self-promotion of this sort, but we are in dire circumstances. Anything helps. Anything.<br />
<br />
(Donation link removed--we made our goal!)<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's this--it's a WIDGET! Not asking you to order, but if you're going to order anyway, why not through this fancy widget?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No, no, we haven't found a new place. We don't have the money to move. We ARE expected to be out in two months and have no prospects. But still, I have two bits of exciting news!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Number one? SOMEONE ORDERED FROM MY AMAZON AFFILIATE LINK! They read my <a href="http://veryhelpful.net/">VeryHelpful.net</a> review of my fancy<a href="http://www.veryhelpful.net/2014/03/argan-hair-care-collection-not-a-complete-pita/" target="_blank"> Argon Oil Shampoo and Conditioner</a>, and then followed the link and ORDERED! They didn't order the product I reviewed, but that's okay! They ordered under my affiliate link! And yeah, I get PAID! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=ur2&tag=neiheanortai-20&linkId=3B7KN2LMTBEZGBE6" target="_blank">Kris's Amazon Link<img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=neiheanortai-20&l=ur2&o=1" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /></a></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the second exciting news? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've already forgotten. In the frenzy of linking and writing above, I've totally spaced. Have I mentioned how stressed and sleepless I've been? Packing without knowing where or when or how we're going is scary. What to pack? How long do we have? Two weeks? Two months? No more than two-and-a-half, we know that. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh! Oh! I remember!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you remember <a href="http://neitherheadsnortails.blogspot.com/2013/04/tucker-utah-and-infamous-thistle.html" target="_blank">THIS</a> blog post? Where I talk about the cemetery in Old Frisco, Utah and the nameless little boy whose grave has stuck with me since 1994? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I FOUND HIS NAME!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">His name was Johnny Staples. I've known the Staples part for years, but I finally found an old document online that showed the grave in slightly better days (the stone was still legible) with a caption from the State of Utah. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From his stone:</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">"Tis a little grave, </i></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">but oh, have care, </i></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">for world wide hopes are buried here. </i></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">How much of light, how much of joy, </i></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">is buried with my darling boy." </i></div>
<div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;"><br /></i></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">And if that doesn't hit you in the belly, I don't know what will. Rest in peace, Johnny. I'm glad I finally figured out your name. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">----------------------------------</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">I want to take a minute to talk about a ring. Remember the locket? The <a href="http://neitherheadsnortails.blogspot.com/2010/07/because-fruitless-is-my-middle-name.html" target="_blank">mourning locket I'll never find, but I keep looking</a>? Well, there's another piece of jewelry I keep turning about in my mind. But this one I have. I have, but I don't know as much about it as I want to know.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;">Here are some pictures:</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.91499900817871px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6u9dHc5zXIGAd8Y1WmOpKqj8XYlOLfjfAAIwP1GC1kLJHNaJ4aWSbPiLBiXnyZTQRN6jYs0PI9yF9eHEviMX91nzsFqZSZsaAJM3CmZPnoMF5l2BwfQv5ECkKn_BxUqSh0UVK6RMRAWi/s1600/IMG_9864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6u9dHc5zXIGAd8Y1WmOpKqj8XYlOLfjfAAIwP1GC1kLJHNaJ4aWSbPiLBiXnyZTQRN6jYs0PI9yF9eHEviMX91nzsFqZSZsaAJM3CmZPnoMF5l2BwfQv5ECkKn_BxUqSh0UVK6RMRAWi/s1600/IMG_9864.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The inscription appears to read "Ms. M. Hanna, March 14, '83." It may say "M.M. Hanna" or some other variation. The year is clearly 1883, and the stone is garnet, with multiple seed pearls embedded around the setting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This ring was given to my now-80-year-old Mother who wore it every day from the time I was born until 1983, when the stone fell out. I remember the day--I was moving into an apartment in Midvale, Utah, when she realized the stone was gone. We turned the apartment upside down and actually managed to find the stone. She took the ring and stone to Zales, but they said they couldn't fix it. Here it is, 30 years later, and it's still in that little Zales envelope, and it's still in two pieces, setting and stone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Back then, my Mom told me that the ring had belonged to wife or fiance of a famous poet. But I can't remember who it was, and, at 80 years, my Mom can't remember, either. I'm not looking to sell it, but man, I would love to know more about it and who it belonged to. We think it was given to my Mom by a Mrs. Payson (Jesse? Florence? The wife of Horace). I'm hoping to learn more, but not too optimistic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Speaking of optimism, we are so in need of help. We need a place to live. Someplace close enough to Manassas that we don't have to pull our boy out of his martial arts class. It's the only place he has friends, and it would be heartbreaking for him. Someplace big enough for our stuff, someplace cheap enough we can afford (think around 1,500 bucks a month). Someplace that will recognize that our years of spotless rental history and income is worth something. SomeONE who will understand that our credit issues are not lethal, and that, had we had the 15+ months to work with we thought we did, we'd have had those issues fixed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you know anyone, please, please let me know. I've never been in a position like this, and it's terrifying.</span></div>
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Spent the day doing parental maintenance. My mom will be 80 this summer. EIGHTY. Damn. She needs a new physician in a big way--her current doctor is a peer, and it's showing. She was complaining about her hearing a few weeks ago (it's hit the point that her TV is cranked beyond gun-range decibels), and he said "Well, old lady, you're going deaf--you are getting up there!" However, a trip to the local clinic showed that, rather than going deaf, she had a TON of wax impacting her ears. Clinic blasted the wax out with water, and suddenly she can hear like a twenty year old again. Unfortunately, she's also staggering around a puking like a twenty year old at a frat party. Happens sometimes, and her balance is now completely shot. Yes, she lives alone. 2,200 miles from here. Thankfully, my sister does see her most days, takes her to the store and spends time. Without that, can you imagine?<br />
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Damn.<br />
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Came across the concept of "Micronations" here in the States, and our boy was absolutely entranced by the ridiculousness of the idea. In particular, we read about "The Republic of Molossia." We were researching something else entirely when we came across a photo. Just a patch of land, but I looked at him and said "That's got to be Utah or Nevada--no where else looks like that." But the picture was labeled as some National Park in "Molossia." Which, of course, I'd never heard of. I was right--it's in Nevada. And it is terribly silly.</div>
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Yeah, silly. Its own post office (which serves Molossia), its own currency, an ongoing war with East Germany (LOL!), and the requiring of passports for those not citizens of allied nations. Cute, but also very silly. My boy, however, thought it was terrifically cool. So thank you "President" Kevin Baugh of Molossia for capturing my boy's imagination. </div>
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<a href="http://www.molossia.org/countryeng.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIblmiQPJxU7FFQxp4tq3H63pVp0wGxueuKQtHaYjrKmnPVDkirRdwP7UY1E4g3FMEPlz_CnijVJ7rC0LmYmMwq5BHbCna2A7bwUcwOa3Ujvj8q1ja9OhXtjteUF7EJ12mC90qUnV3nkmR/s1600/molossia.jpg" height="116" width="320" /></a></div>
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The above image is a link to Molossia's website</div>
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Heading up to Shenandoah tonight, it looks like. If I can stay awake that long. There's a brand-spanking-new meteor shower in town called "Camelopardalids," and they're promising from 200 to 1000 meteors an hour. The meteors will appear to radiate from near the North Star, and we're in a prime viewing area. </div>
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Meteor showers have been a family tradition since our boy was very small. We used to haul sleeping bags up to Pineview Reservoir in Huntsville, Utah and lie flat on our backs, looking up. Heck, hubby and I used to do it even before there was a boy. Since we have an annual pass to Shenandoah, the only thing this is going to cost us is the gas. And that's more than we should be tossing out, but this is something new--a brand new meteor shower! But the money aspect does bring me to my scary news . . .</div>
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The landlord. I feel like I should type that in all caps, you know? Like so:</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">THE LANDLORD</span></div>
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<ominous chord=""></ominous></div>
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emailed last Thursday. In his usual way, his greeting was . . . hang on. I need to start from the beginning.</div>
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You may remember that last September, our lease expired. Reading over the lease in advance, I found a clause stating that, if either party intended to not renew the lease, at least 60 days notice would be required. Well, I gave almost 90 days notice that we DID intend to renew, and he gave no notice whatsoever. Which was scary, but when the lease expiration date came and passed, we figured we were okay. Then, a few weeks ago, a flurry of snail-mails showed up, addressed to him, from various mortgage companies. That was scary. We bundled them up and mailed them to him. And then he emailed.</div>
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Now, back to where I was. The landlord emailed, with a jovial "Hey, there!" greeting in the subject line. The kind we've learned to fear, because this guy is only jovial when there's something he wants us to do to his benefit. He's otherwise either silent or somewhat unfriendly. So the very title shook me just a bit. I opened the email, and oh. Hell.</div>
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He announced he's looking to sell the place. Wants to know if we want it. There are a few problems with that:</div>
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<li>We don't want it. We're looking to move in 16 months, when the lease is up.</li>
<li>We can't get the financing. Not without a down payment, and we do not have a down--in fact, we have no savings whatsoever. </li>
<li>Our credit is still a disaster from the move out here--no delinquencies, and our rental history is pristine, but our "available credit to debt" is a mess--not enough available credit.</li>
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That third one (along with the no savings) is what's possibly going to land us homeless. Literally. See, we have no money for a deposit on a new place. We have two grand of deposit in THIS place, but even if he did give that back to us, that's months after we leave here, which doesn't help at ALL. This place is in as good a shape as when we moved in, but he's requiring we have the chimney professionally swept (even though it wasn't when we moved in), the carpets professionally cleaned (even though they weren't when we moved in), and the place sprayed for fleas (even though there are no fleas--the dog is on meds to make sure of that). In other words, he wants us to drop 500+ dollars we don't have to get back our two grand. So we have credit that'll get us turned down by potential landlords (never mind the pristine rental history), and no money. </div>
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I don't have to tell you just how terrifying this is. And once I told him we didn't want to buy, he fell silent. Utterly silent. It's what he does when you don't give him what he wants. </div>
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I know, right about now, you're probably saying to yourself "But you have a lease! No worries! You're protected from this sort of thing!"</div>
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Well, it turns out not really. Because, you see, hidden deep in that lease is another clause. One that reads something like this:</div>
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"Should this lease be renewed, either party can end it by giving the other 60 days notice."</div>
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Yeah. I didn't spot that one. I'm not a lawyer. What I am is an idiot. So fact is, he only has to give us 60 days notice. Plus, he can send real estate agents and potential buyers through here at any time. </div>
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You're probably thinking we're stupid for not having the money to move. What can I say? We expected to have 16 more months to save up for a move. And in 16 months, we'd have had the money. What we really need is a consolidation loan for our bills, which would take our payments down from almost 900 a month to about 300. That extra 600 a month would enable us to save money hand over fist. Of course, no one will lend us that money, so it's pure fantasy. </div>
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So, here's where we stand: No money for first and last plus deposit and rental truck (between four and five grand). Possibly as little as two months to find that money (and no way to do so--we don't even have four grand worth of stuff to sell). No one to float us a loan or act as guarantor on a new rental (if we COULD come up with the first and last plus deposit and truck). </div>
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Our boy is scared to death. What if we can't find a place that will allow our dog? No exaggeration, I fear for him if we lost our dog. Hell, I fear for me. For my husband. What if we cannot find a place to live? What happens to people who can't find a place to live? I'm almost fifty years old, this is not how life is supposed to be. I am terrified. </div>
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I'm considering crowd-funding. Yes, that's begging. I am horrified. I am so ashamed and embarrassed. But we're caught. I'm trying not to completely down myself because we DID think we had 16 more months to have this saved up. But ultimately, I feel totally responsible. And I don't know if we have any option other than crowd-funding. </div>
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I need to call my Mom. Tell her I didn't mean it when I said I was considering taking a dive off a rooftop. </div>
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Even if I did.</div>
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I've been struggling with bursitis in my right knee for a few weeks--it's improved markedly, thanks to this amazing product:<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0009HAZDG/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0009HAZDG&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20&linkId=MUMCV7BQ4BLORAUU" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaztG5Y8VXF7pP_vOP4xrG3a_az0Fwkr2oOTIPlwE9HKzEMkBkATRXZQEzD7GNnbjgwoeGIigxp8p1ZrugoSUchLu_gNpcdYTFeGjbib_Zu6fEMJswrMW-9_bsP3V3G6SXEaVol1w3wADY/s1600/023eb2f8f320bceaf87cd485b1c71a11.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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That's a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0009HAZDG/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0009HAZDG&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20&linkId=MUMCV7BQ4BLORAUU" target="_blank">Smart Temp Reusable Hot/Cold Pack</a>, and holy cow! I asked hubby to pick up some Icy Hot or something on that order, but he came home with this, and I couldn't be more glad. I use it as an ice pack--it straps in place, it molds to the knee (or whatever body part), and it works like a dream. If you've got joint problems, a sore back, arthritis, bursitis, or any injury that requires heat, cold, or alternating, this is the thing! Seriously, and it's CHEAP, too. Check out my review here: <br />
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<a href="http://www.veryhelpful.net/2014/05/smart-temp-hotcold-pad-smarter-than-smarty-mcsmartpants/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>SMART TEMP HOT/COLD PAD: TOOK THE SMARTS RIGHT OUT OF MY KNEE!</i></span></a></h1>
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I can't recommend this hot/cold pack highly enough. For a measly 12 bucks, it's done more for my pain than steroids, NSAIDs, and PT combined. Give it a shot, you won't be sorry. Use my link to do so, make us both happy!</div>
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I'm "working" for a new writing site--Veryhelpful.net. Basically moderating, doing spam control, etc. No pay yet, but I'm hopeful. It's a terrific site, the gentleman who put it together is marvelous. <br />
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And that's about all. Hoping to visit a few cemeteries out west of here next weekend. Supposed to be over 80 degrees, so I'm not sure how much fun it's going to be, but we'll see.<br />
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Oh, did I tell y'all about the goats at the last cemetery? One of them fell utterly in love with our boy--followed him everywhere, it was beautiful. Here's the goat (a girl) who loved our boy:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKd2cVQJCmjKO-oB_8R_i-hu8rKTfvMs1OgVFwIjiBeov_Kbj6xtfs3i6WXUDrsuaFK1KQfD5X91rQLYby7AUHzy7E8Hh2iGSzKGQQTU0jKH0X-oN1WVZN24tIDiv2tV3Q3p-HXh-HX9Yr/s1600/goatlove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKd2cVQJCmjKO-oB_8R_i-hu8rKTfvMs1OgVFwIjiBeov_Kbj6xtfs3i6WXUDrsuaFK1KQfD5X91rQLYby7AUHzy7E8Hh2iGSzKGQQTU0jKH0X-oN1WVZN24tIDiv2tV3Q3p-HXh-HX9Yr/s1600/goatlove.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here's her pal, Ben, who was jealous of anyone who paid her attention:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDp3Hae5WoGTa3aw4eIuHQFd9rlNIuEn4_LeWMeYGcmU6XjGxIhElULsSVdydfzsWlZe7LjWxtp9P34jmDR8Hj8CcTKgsD1lx55M8PPX0y0Xcq2BPHxp7rvNEAWjEBV4RjLX5zzJWVGkv/s1600/goatpose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDp3Hae5WoGTa3aw4eIuHQFd9rlNIuEn4_LeWMeYGcmU6XjGxIhElULsSVdydfzsWlZe7LjWxtp9P34jmDR8Hj8CcTKgsD1lx55M8PPX0y0Xcq2BPHxp7rvNEAWjEBV4RjLX5zzJWVGkv/s1600/goatpose.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please. <br />
<br />
Please.<br />
<br />
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I want to tell you a story about someone. Someone I was once very close to.<br />
<br />
Sean was a friend once. Hell, he was more than that. We met on campus in 1992. He approached me to tell me that my pro-choice button on my lapel sucked . . . but that he admired the guts it took to wear in Mormonville. It wasn't long before Sean was giving my then-husband guitar lessons in return for tutoring in algebra. My husband never did master the guitar, though Sean did teach me the following fancy Allegro (no, that's not Sean playing):<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="305" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/kFMdXsDIfz4" width="400"></iframe><br />
<br />
My ex did manage to drag Sean through Algebra--a good thing, as Sean had already failed it twice and had no hope of finishing his degree without it. <br />
<br />
When my husband and I separated in 1993, Sean and I embarked on what we affectionately called our "three month stand." So called because there was no way we could have ever maintained a long-term relationship, so we went into it knowing it was only for a while. Our politics, our world-views, and especially our relationship with intoxicating substances--none were compatible. But Sean was fun, smart, impossibly tall, and had long, bleached-blond hair halfway to his ass. Hey, it was the very early 90s. Hair was still in.<br />
<br />
Before you get any ideas about me, Sean was my THIRD partner. The other two had been HUSBANDS. He was my first AND last "fling."<br />
<br />
For three months, Sean and I were together almost every moment. I often blame my car accident, which really did do a number on my "impulse control" and ability to make rational decisions. No doubt, that was part of it. Sean had an ex-girlfriend, a toddler, and was only paying 25 bucks a month in child support while his ex (later his wife, even later his ex-wife) was living with (and being supported by) her hyper-disapproving Mormon parents. We tangled often about that--about his being able to afford smokes and beer but not child support. <br />
<br />
I remember one day, the ex showed up at Sean's (he was in a roommate situation with four other college students at a condo owned by the father of one of the students). She was always nice to me, but always looked utterly wounded by my existence. She considered me gravely, then said wistfully, "I wish I could be you--then he'd love me forever." <br />
<br />
That poor girl. Sean really did put off a shine that drew you, a warmth that made you feel you needed to be close. I doubt it ended that way, but for a long time I think she was helpless to resist the draw. <br />
<br />
For a few months, I hung out with the band Sean played with, learned how to run their sound board. I don't say "Sean's Band" because it wasn't--they'd lost their guitarist and he was a hired gun. They were called "Genghis Khan," and holy cow, they were derivative. They practiced at an old farmhouse in the country. Place was crawling with hundreds of ferel cats and kittens. The vocalist was a Tom Keifer wannabe (vocally--looks-wise he was more a Sam Kinison clone), the other guitarist was so wasted most of the time it was impossible to get much out of him, the bassist . . . wasn't (they had no bass player), and the drummer . . . was sober and so much better than the rest of them. He and Sean should have started a band, left those losers behind. <br />
<br />
Instead, he slogged along and fell deeper and deeper into the booze and drugs.<br />
<br />
One day, Sean said he was really wishing he was back together with his ex, the mother of his lovely little boy. I said he should go for it. And he did. Sadly, Sean had some serious impulse control issues. He went back to his ex, I hooked up with my now-husband, yet Sean kept trying to get back with me. Not for a long-term thing, but a "friends with benefits" arrangement. He really just never could stop himself. Something that haunted him all his life.<br />
<br />
Finally, his advances became so enraging that I cut off all contact for years.<br />
<br />
When we reconnected, it was via Facebook. He'd gone through years of addiction, had flipped hot and cold hard-core religious (you know how the addiction thing can do that), but his politics had taken a hard swing left. He admitted to barely remembering me--turns out, he'd been utterly addicted even then. Most of that time was a blur for him. We palled around on Facebook for a couple of years, but then he and his latest wife (not sure how many there were, at least two) fell apart. It started with him taking responsibility, admitting it was his temper, his sarcasm, his drug use, but, as he always said, one of his greatest talents was turning things around on folks, and it went from being his fault to her being a faithless whore in record time. It was all played out very publicly on his wall, and it was horrible to see. Like a train wreck of meanness and deceit. <br />
<br />
And then, because (he later admitted) this is what he did when things got rough, he turned on me. And, to be fair, his other friends, too. There was nothing special about me. Because addiction circles so often fall into the "higher power" trap, Sean, seemingly out of the blue, went nutty on me over my atheism. It was insulting, immature, unreasonable, and really quite shocking. Like I said, "out of the blue." My response?<br />
<br />
I smacked him down so hard my hand is still stinging.<br />
<br />
His reaction?<br />
<br />
Shock. He was stunned that I had come back on him. Said that people usually just took it from him because that's how he was. That was, in fact, the backbone of his apology: <i>this is how I am when things aren't going right in my life, and I am helpless to stop myself. </i>No promise to never do it again, just a <i>wow, sorry I did that, I was out of line, but this is how I am. Get used to it, because it's sure to happen again.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
No. No, I refused to "get used to it." And I told him so. Told him that I was sorry, but that, at my age, I didn't have a place in my world for someone prone to spontaneously erupting on me like that. I didn't have what it took to tolerate abusiveness or drama. I didn't NEED to tolerate it. If he couldn't assure me that this was never, ever, EVER going to happen again, I was going to have to walk away.<br />
<br />
He couldn't, and I did.<br />
<br />
That was a couple of years ago. Today, I opened the paper to come across Sean's obituary. <br />
<br />
I gasped when I saw it.<br />
<br />
Says he died of a perforated ulcer, and I'm sure that's true. But what he really died of was a life of alcohol and drug abuse and an inability to get his act together in any meaningful way for any real length of time. Apparently he'd just gotten a new job, was very happy, very optimistic. But that was Sean--the same scenario played out again and again. Like he was trapped, doomed to repeat that pattern until . . .<br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
Poor Sean. <br />
<br />
And my son? Well, he still plays that old white Ibanez (gone cream-colored with the years) I bought from Sean all those years ago. Sean had two of them--he kept one, and the other wound up being my son's. Is there some meaning there?<br />
<br />
Probably not.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the
landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the
best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he
can do that. Which leaves us utterly
screwed and possibly facing homelessness.
Truly. So please.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
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So, a post comes across my wall today, someone decrying the hit-and-run of her family's pet black cat. Apparently, the cat was<i> in the middle of the road</i> and the driver who hit him didn't stop. The driver BEHIND did stop. This angry post went on and on about Karma and what a bitch it is, how hitting a BLACK CAT and then not stopping is a guarantee of deserved bad luck coming back.<br />
<br />
Clearly, this <u>is</u> the case. Karma obviously works because <i>look what happens to people who let their cats wander on city streets</i>. <br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
This is the same person who, just last year, was positively cheering about the killing of stray/feral cats in her neighborhood because they might transmit diseases to her loose pets. <br />
<br />
Are you serious? You're worried about your pets, keep them INDOORS where pets BELONG rather than letting them wander. As it stands, I'm seeing you as the responsible party. Hey, I GET having a cat that won't stay in the house--we had a big, black poof-ball named LOG who would dart past, pry open screens, and otherwise find his way out. And, had he been hit by a car? It would have been OUR fault. No one else's.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to the black cat in the middle of the road. I know it's so easy to assign nefarious motives to folks who've caused you hurt, but did it ever occur that maybe the person didn't know they'd hit your cat? Or maybe they were afraid to stop for fear of a potentially scary confrontation with you? <br />
<br />
The solution to your pets being hit by cars (or picking up diseases from strays) is to keep your pets in the house where they belong. Let them out only in your yard, and only when you're there to keep them from wandering. And stop passing the buck--responsibility for your pets is YOURS, not anyone else's.<br />
<br />
And in case anyone is concerned, the black cat is fine. 45 minutes at the vet and all is well. He clearly thumped the undercarriage rather than taking a direct hit.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
____________________________________</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the
landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the
best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he
can do that. Which leaves us utterly
screwed and possibly facing homelessness.
Truly. So please.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So, I came across a bit of incredibly self-serving, biased fluff in defense of steeplechases yesterday. In case you're not familiar with the sport of steeplechasing, let me post this for you:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="250" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/SzHZOHnmNG0" width="400"></iframe><br />
<br />
The argument that it's "tradition" is specious. Slavery, child marriage, and genital mutilation of children are all "traditions," too, but that doesn't make them good or right. Barbarism is barbarism, regardless of cultural swing. <br />
<br />
The most common "defense" I've seen of steeplechasing/race jumping? <br />
<br />
"The horses love it, too--they must, ever try to make a horse do something he doesn't want to?"<br />
<br />
Oh, stop. Hush. Do you REALLY believe that's meaningful? Horses are animals, and animals can be (and often are) trained to do dangerous things ALL the time. Through the basics of conditioning, not only can they be trained to do dangerous things, they can be trained to WANT to do them. They don't perceive the danger the way we do, they don't understand the risks. They don't GET that they're being abused and endangered. Hell, you can train a dolphin to be happy about carrying a BOMB on its back. Doesn't make it a good thing. <br />
<br />
I'm no PETA member. I occasionally eat meat. I occasionally wear leather (from non-endangered creatures). I see the difference between chicken sandwiches and cock fighting. One is food, and the other is the willful torture of animals for the sole purpose of entertainment. I put jump racing in the same category as pit bull fighting. Arguing that you "love them" rings disingenuous when you're putting them in danger every time they're on the track. Serious, immediate, potentially life-ending danger. Love?<br />
<br />
I don't think so. I think you're having fun, the casualties be damned.<br />
<br />
And yes, I feel the same way about horse racing in general. This is like that, plus awful.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
__________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hoping to hit a new cemetery or two this weekend while the boy is playing paintball. We got him a marker and barrel for his birthday, but he's been sick for a couple of weeks now, hasn't had a chance to play. We didn't get him anything fancy (we can't afford that), but he says these products are good and will do the job. I hope so. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here they are, in case you're curious:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001DEU7A0/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B001DEU7A0&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNOJZ59LCHCRkhgO24xwPXncVchweuThqjRP_JyEF1aI2pvyl-g6ykSQki23qORc6wk9Cpk7eOVIEdQCRbRniJ7_8ntZt_1ZcywpECcXYXfzfte3KhBbGqUrD5iJOQ-M8vGb4OOxyrFiz/s1600/71djXHdnttL._SL1500_.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a link to Amazon, where we bought it.<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000H8YCPE/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B000H8YCPE&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-MXKE770OaNtv3-cJpZRjZ2P02IKByOh8OVjGwbiZqIj324YgARADy4r_BNlAKaMvD276g2lP10nQZHQq6Awthi4jnZmgSiAjOiTvllIfWQ6VmACbSGU09-Ozd18eN3yh5UbWibVkrL5/s1600/512X58hFVgL._SL1500_.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another link, also to Amazon, where we purchased.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm hoping this turns out okay. There is, of course, the fear that it's crap, that it won't work, that it'll break, etc. I sometimes fantasize about what it would be like to just not worry about that stuff because you have the cash to replace things that break. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't fantasize for long because I've never been there. I don't have a frame of reference.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, one of the cemeteries is an old pre-Civil War to 1900 jobber. Used to be a church cemetery until the church blew away to Oz. Looks like it might be tick-heavy and poison ivied, but it's only 40% photographed, and I'd like to make a difference.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hopefully my back and knees will be kind. Hopefully there won't be any bear traps. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or banjo players.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
___________________________________</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the
landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the
best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he
can do that. Which leaves us utterly
screwed and possibly facing homelessness.
Truly. So please.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Seems to be something of a theme lately.<br />
<br />
I've been archiving cemeteries lately, with a lot of work in Congressional Cemetery in DC. One of the things I've been poring over for information? Wills. It's not the first time I've run across this, but I've finally seen it so many times I wound up shouting about it last night. <br />
<br />
What could piss me off in a 100-200-year-old will?<br />
<br />
"And to my beloved wife, I leave all property (home, land) for the term of her natural life, provided she does not remarry. At the time of her death (or in the case of her marriage), all property shall be distributed as follows . . . "<br />
<br />
In other words, you own NOTHING, woman. You may, because I am so kind, USE what is MINE, so long as you don't move forward with your life. <br />
<br />
Sickening. And yet it ties in so well with that whole "women belong to their fathers until they marry, and then they belong to their husbands" thing that has so long held us down.<br />
<br />
It goes beyond that. Oft-times, fathers would will to the<u> husbands</u> of their daughters rather than to the daughters themselves! Think about that: your father dies, leaving your HUSBAND your family's farm. Your husband dies when you're 23, and he wills the whole mess to his cousin or brother, with you being allowed to LIVE there, so long as you, at 23 years, never marry again.<br />
<br />
Yeah. Let that one sink in. Your husband's cousin gets your father's farm because you're <i>just</i> a woman.<br />
<br />
To quote Louis C.K.:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Women didn't get the vote until 1920, That means American democracy is 94 years old. There are three people in my building older than American democracy"</i></span></span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
When I was born, women had only been voting for 45 years. My grandmother was born into a culture that didn't allow women representation (though it merrily taxed them). <br />
<br />
We're complacent. We watch the wingnuts chip away at us, and we assume that things can never go back. I'll bet that's exactly what the women of Iran and Afghanistan thought, too. You do know they used to wear their jeans, their short skirts, their t-shirts to university classes, driving their own cars and working pursuing their own careers, with their own apartments, bank accounts, and autonomy, right? You did know that?<br />
<br />
Here:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpB6_HQApfOI58OXZowYvZ8PwI7bmm0KpAl-YX8hCr_8ng0B4iV6Cj1Cwib-ei6fbTT00yHPXprTINwy0B8w2i_j99jyDmWXod8dP-Q4uGz4ObNnj3E8-X9cjXqjdkh0cOXcEspEzhikuU/s1600/taliban.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpB6_HQApfOI58OXZowYvZ8PwI7bmm0KpAl-YX8hCr_8ng0B4iV6Cj1Cwib-ei6fbTT00yHPXprTINwy0B8w2i_j99jyDmWXod8dP-Q4uGz4ObNnj3E8-X9cjXqjdkh0cOXcEspEzhikuU/s1600/taliban.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afghanistan, 1970s and today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Don't think they won't do this to us. Complacency is the enemy of freedom, and our freedom is still so young that it could easily be quenched. Roe v Wade was only 40 and a smidge years ago. And states like Texas are effectively overturning it by making access impossible. And our silence is emboldening them. And it's not just women--take a good look at what the right is doing to poor neighborhoods, to traditionally African-American neighborhoods--disenfranchisement via "redistricting" and doing away with early voting and absentee voting. They've got women, the poor, and "minorities" in their sights, and they WILL silence us if we let them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
------------------------------------------------</div>
<br />
On a (closely) related note, this came across my wall today:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdOylPFPIPiDEYAfhdKwh3Xz8mi2hMbGhlvxRBqYjZ7u5U9mybotTP1ShbAqpSD26a7WAzNF4zQHR5uuMZORoPjCkPY1yzkiewhuMbQgHoySH59q24KjaWvAUU1MHsitu07Kx4w7KIvav/s1600/xq3uIU8h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdOylPFPIPiDEYAfhdKwh3Xz8mi2hMbGhlvxRBqYjZ7u5U9mybotTP1ShbAqpSD26a7WAzNF4zQHR5uuMZORoPjCkPY1yzkiewhuMbQgHoySH59q24KjaWvAUU1MHsitu07Kx4w7KIvav/s1600/xq3uIU8h.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I used to have a friend named Aziz. Abdulaziz, in fact. He was the (married) live-in boyfriend of a friend of mine. His wife and kids were back in Saudi while he studied engineering (and American women) in the States. One week, his brother and sister-in-law came for a visit. Speaking to the sister-in-law was . . . enlightening. She strenuously defended the horrid circumstance of women in Saudi. Used words like "honor" and "revere" and "protect." Told me how women have a divine duty to keep men from being beasts by covering themselves from head to toe and not ever being anywhere a man might be even slightly tempted. That MEN should be responsible for their OWN behavior was a concept so foreign she couldn't begin to grasp it.<br />
<br />
I was reminded of nothing so much as an old Mormon neighbor of mine who strenuously defended the LDS Church's treatment of women. She used to tell me about women's "special" purpose, how women and men are inherently different and each made with a certain set of abilities and ways of being that rendered them perfectly suited to the tasks the church deemed proper. Women holding the priesthood? Oh, goodness, why on earth? That's for MEN. Women have Relief Society! Female Bishops? Pshaw! A woman is a "helpmeet" made by das deity to support and lift up her husband, to the glory of them both. <br />
<br />
Oh, my backside. <br />
<br />
Nothing, NOTHING better perpetuates oppression than the permission of the oppressed. Church leadership is made up entirely of Mormon men. Like the Union and the Knickerbocker, minus the cigars and plus the unmistakable air of divine self-satisfaction.<br />
<br />
And before you think I'm picking on Mormons, know that many other faiths are just as bad. I mention Mormons in particular because my neighbor was Mormon. Had she been Catholic, we'd be talking about the College of Cardinals right now.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Worried a lot about money these days. Hubby is hoping for a better job, but there/s the very real danger that our credit will prevent him from advancing. The catch there is obvious--if he could get this job, we'd have EVERYTHING (that's car and student aid included) paid off in 18 months. But we can't get it paid down without the job. And the job probably won't come through because of the debt. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He had me in tears last night, totally by accident. He was out in the kitchen, I was here at the computer, and we were talking about the above-mentioned wills and husbands leaving homes for their wives' USE, but not actually leaving them the property to OWN. Hubby said, "Maybe that's what I'll do--I'll leave the car to our boy, but with the stipulation that you may USE it for as long as you live and remain single." I laughed and asked, "Why the CAR?" And he said, "It's not like we're ever going to have a house or anything really worth having."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I burst into tears. I will, in just over 11 years, be SIXTY years old. Sixty, and I'm not ever going to have a home. It's been a dream my whole life. A house, a little land, just enough for a few horses and my dogs to run. Grow some food, not have to listen to loud neighbors banging and thumping, their dogs three feet from my window, baying. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sixty. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It really does just race by you, and there are no do-overs. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yeah. That's enough sad for the day. I need to try to look at it this way: at least we haven't attended any <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8CQTJY/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00C8CQTJY&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Red Weddings</a>.<br />
<br />
There is that.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
____________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Speaking of which, don't forget Game of Thrones is on tonight! Episode One of Season Four! </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="260" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/d2ZNaLQD60Y" width="400"></iframe></div>
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___________________________________</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">:</span></div>
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An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please.</div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, Edwin Kagin died day before yesterday. I just found out last night. If you're like most folks, you're probably asking "Who?"</div>
<br />
Well, that's what I'm here to tell you.<br />
<br />
Edwin Kagin was the South Carolina-born son of a Kentucky Presbyterian minister. He was a man who earned his Juris Doctorate and spent his life fighting for the rights of others.<br />
<br />
He was a man who did the near-impossible in shaking off deeply religious roots and becoming an atheist. An outspoken, brave, sometimes brash atheist who devoted himself to the idea of creating a safe society for atheists. A place where we can be open without fear of reprisal. Where our public schools and public offices are not machines of religious indoctrination. <br />
<br />
Now, I didn't know Edwin in a "face-to-face" sort of way. No, we never met. But he and his wonderful late wife, Helen (a physician and force to be reckoned with in her own right) founded Camp Quest. Camp Quest, which opened up the world for my son. <br />
<br />
This is turning into a tribute, and I didn't actually intend for that to happen. No, I'm writing because I'm angry. I'm angry at the Wills and the Monicas of the world. The small, mean people of this planet who would invade a Facebook group just for the purpose of crowing victoriously or spouting biblical passages on a page frequented by Edwin's children and friends. <br />
<br />
Oh, yes. This isn't something new to me--my first foray into atheist online forums was in 1995, AOL. We had an atheist "support" forum, and the Christians would invade constantly, some stupidly preaching, but most attacking. Because, of course, you can't have ANY pocket ANYWHERE of ANYONE who doesn't share your mythology. Oh, no! You've got to ROOT OUT those dirty atheists wherever you find them. Even on private forums where you have to LIE about who you are to join. <br />
<br />
Because, as we all know, LYING is one of those touted virtues. Right?<br />
<br />
Anyway, so here are some samples of that vaunted Christian love we're always hearing so much about:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSfuPm3INSbhHKXIvKpwyKK7JkqT6B8Cm5scPycX9Hp7TVd_YoCfx87wUyudKj0-wuJQ1-G-1roORoKC3AppvEMYH2by1wFlDm3GlV3hjzzgItrGLrnNtKeXoErHhU0nZAmv8kS59Zn8V/s1600/kagin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSfuPm3INSbhHKXIvKpwyKK7JkqT6B8Cm5scPycX9Hp7TVd_YoCfx87wUyudKj0-wuJQ1-G-1roORoKC3AppvEMYH2by1wFlDm3GlV3hjzzgItrGLrnNtKeXoErHhU0nZAmv8kS59Zn8V/s1600/kagin.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">The above is classic. Typical example of someone who can't tell the difference between a pointy stick and a bible. And why can't she tell? Because she uses them both in the same way.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo9GZ2ouYPXnkWsG7FxTQ2i1j1Vmu5N9CDIOD9SE7YoLtHLGNkmFVUptVXgQwLfy3o6vnaw7O21SOSlqq5N2NKIjkBUxShQXiELI1B7pada80pnqAoFv1LLFrMds006PVix-jW6tv-fHk/s1600/kagin+redo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo9GZ2ouYPXnkWsG7FxTQ2i1j1Vmu5N9CDIOD9SE7YoLtHLGNkmFVUptVXgQwLfy3o6vnaw7O21SOSlqq5N2NKIjkBUxShQXiELI1B7pada80pnqAoFv1LLFrMds006PVix-jW6tv-fHk/s1600/kagin+redo1.jpg" height="39" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">This guy posted twice, because crashing an atheist Facebook group and joyfully crowing that someone is burning in hell is SO much fun that it needs to be done repeatedly. Says so in the scriptures, I'm betting.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_Msj8_WzuGQhWrxi3I5jCZQLwpsYnJZCllSYIQD-8p2uYyFnqvjfZXb3X10b_5YiXQJC4y9eUrFilJcxscQpADWa-z-F2a7l1mC3n-hz_FJCB3w38zLlO4o4-8z5qcsmUcKi7Qbij4il/s1600/kagin+redo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_Msj8_WzuGQhWrxi3I5jCZQLwpsYnJZCllSYIQD-8p2uYyFnqvjfZXb3X10b_5YiXQJC4y9eUrFilJcxscQpADWa-z-F2a7l1mC3n-hz_FJCB3w38zLlO4o4-8z5qcsmUcKi7Qbij4il/s1600/kagin+redo.jpg" height="37" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will #2--in case we missed it the first time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9BilXaXSmI5XThJyDR8R98qyiVtahQshsnm_ebRRC88TkScaCuWOnP6ZbSYkMGQmZkCG8r5qgKsJh6_FdXDl9iVRFen_FG68FYN_7bxkzl7_rzFNR7phVIObM37dM-zdwA5SedpRsk1Z/s1600/kagin3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9BilXaXSmI5XThJyDR8R98qyiVtahQshsnm_ebRRC88TkScaCuWOnP6ZbSYkMGQmZkCG8r5qgKsJh6_FdXDl9iVRFen_FG68FYN_7bxkzl7_rzFNR7phVIObM37dM-zdwA5SedpRsk1Z/s1600/kagin3.jpg" height="32" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Another oldie but goodie--a variation on the "bet he's sorry now" theme. Not particularly inspired, but also didn't likely burn up too many of those endangered brain cells, either.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2SRmIEDOe_Rsgld3sClyhHfVKg47Xp1BXcV0oYyVH6nQ04ZnYU-9ahiIDEIx6LXjdMWkpBhNxmG2PWbcFyz0GBKuhfix8KOyv45EQKotsJuXK5l-7xlrVBrs7nP66KG5oSSuIYC5oZ4C/s1600/kagin5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2SRmIEDOe_Rsgld3sClyhHfVKg47Xp1BXcV0oYyVH6nQ04ZnYU-9ahiIDEIx6LXjdMWkpBhNxmG2PWbcFyz0GBKuhfix8KOyv45EQKotsJuXK5l-7xlrVBrs7nP66KG5oSSuIYC5oZ4C/s1600/kagin5.jpg" height="62" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two came as a set. The first blatantly mean, the second more sneakily so. See, there's a smugness to number two that, as a non-believer, you come to recognize . It's a passive-aggressive "whaaat? I was just being nice!" thing. I get it from family pretty frequently.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh, and speaking of passive aggressive, here's another one of those cowardly fakes:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiB6WezhMB6Uuq7jSHj7BOsf2LVw_v9X6H1VwQEPwZ2oZwn0P4S9UPtTM0kiaCO5Ymc7tDCl8Kc5uNEoBOqRTOZMvVgsM-M8zUoFHd09j_IW2JBSZwNbgpMxwjvMVdVBt_if9A4AK3CjP5/s1600/kagin6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiB6WezhMB6Uuq7jSHj7BOsf2LVw_v9X6H1VwQEPwZ2oZwn0P4S9UPtTM0kiaCO5Ymc7tDCl8Kc5uNEoBOqRTOZMvVgsM-M8zUoFHd09j_IW2JBSZwNbgpMxwjvMVdVBt_if9A4AK3CjP5/s1600/kagin6.jpg" height="30" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, Tom. That's not what you're doing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now, you might be wondering why I've blocked out the names. Believe me, I don't want to. I figure that, if you're okay with spraying your idiotic bile on a Facebook page, you MEANT for the world to see it, and if you said it, you must be PROUD of it. But fact is there are petty, stupid people who do things like this, and then SUE when someone reposts their nastiness in a way that clearly identifies them. So I obscured the names. Not to protect the innocent, but to protect MYSELF, because these buckets o' barf are anything but innocent.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a special ironic treat, I'd like to share a meme from Mr. Will's Facebook profile page. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_vcp8xa8et5U0ciudAuHLG1sdzyxnWjMW67SYQxMEBpK2QH9V4mNYjJXKmdu__eWgTmwYVFYahf7ekkrrCeoL23OccU_g_t5RjBsQ4mAujxZmaudTM37_sAE9wEPY1r0mOQPnYR3TCqB/s1600/will.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_vcp8xa8et5U0ciudAuHLG1sdzyxnWjMW67SYQxMEBpK2QH9V4mNYjJXKmdu__eWgTmwYVFYahf7ekkrrCeoL23OccU_g_t5RjBsQ4mAujxZmaudTM37_sAE9wEPY1r0mOQPnYR3TCqB/s1600/will.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
Indeed, Will. Exactly that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
___________________________________</div>
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This is exhausting. And it's always the same people over and over. So let's do it again, shall we?<br />
<br />
Samsung is NOT giving away <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00E6FG5I6/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00E6FG5I6&linkCode=as2&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">BRAND-SPANKIN'-NEW Galaxy S4s</a>. Not today, not yesterday, not next month. Not on <a href="http://www.onlinethreatalerts.com/article/2013/10/25/we-have-got-200-pieces-of-samsung-galaxy-s4-facebook-like-farming-scam/" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, not anywhere. Not because they were "unsealed," not because of any other thing.<br />
<br />
Samsung is not a charity. They do not give away Galaxy S4s. Even if the items WERE unsealed, they'd still sell them. <br />
<br />
GRIP!<br />
<br />
It's a "like-farming" scam, and these people make money off your sharing their spam. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUOc4j-7chPD167c1SW3-Bwg9acQnpyuSBp0Hu8RFB8t-8sGG1OQQXCZEVqvhowa4U6ghlHmEIYuHzspCO_hU5qxXvJ6xPuenuQSaqxnpqpCmB1SfIQZ-Ti-djZgJbwc3i_1FJkDTcwiq/s1600/samsung.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUOc4j-7chPD167c1SW3-Bwg9acQnpyuSBp0Hu8RFB8t-8sGG1OQQXCZEVqvhowa4U6ghlHmEIYuHzspCO_hU5qxXvJ6xPuenuQSaqxnpqpCmB1SfIQZ-Ti-djZgJbwc3i_1FJkDTcwiq/s1600/samsung.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture was taken from the like-farming scam that skidded across my Facebook feed this morning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And while we're on the subject, <a href="http://www.hoax-slayer.com/bmw-like-farming-scam.shtml" target="_blank">BMW</a> isn't giving away free cars on Facebook, either. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXG6KzS6cDeJFI-MqKvhvfCIyXLKgZlmWZSS1i8kpv9QKVtawbrAkeWJviaDaC9k5LFBUp2iw1LPn8wsdwsBj9Zs-KR98WyYMi0ZzxGNWxxsdvyCWBihbJaUY8-f61sQ84GU2OQjdmyRMc/s1600/bmw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXG6KzS6cDeJFI-MqKvhvfCIyXLKgZlmWZSS1i8kpv9QKVtawbrAkeWJviaDaC9k5LFBUp2iw1LPn8wsdwsBj9Zs-KR98WyYMi0ZzxGNWxxsdvyCWBihbJaUY8-f61sQ84GU2OQjdmyRMc/s1600/bmw.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Contrary to the Facebook Scam's claim, this is not a "BMW Marketing Manager" looking to hand you a spiffy new BMW. The image was actually taken from BMW India's site and used as part of the scam.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nor is Ford giving away <a href="http://www.hoax-slayer.com/ford-mustang-giveaway-like-farming-scam.shtml" target="_blank">free Mustangs</a>. Or Chevy <a href="http://www.hoax-slayer.com/camaro-competition-like-farming-scam.shtml" target="_blank">free Camaros</a>. Or <a href="http://www.hoax-slayer.com/primark-facebook-survey-scam.shtml" target="_blank">Primark Vouchers for surveys</a>. Or anything free for Facebook surveys. Or for Facebook shares. Or for Facebook likes. Sure, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/lucysheavenlybites?fref=ts" target="_blank">Lucy's Heavenly Bites</a> might be giving away coupons for a half-dozen amazing cupcakes (and they ARE amazing) for a page like, but BMW isn't handing over shiny new cars. Don't be stupid. If it's big and fancy and expensive, it's not likely to be handed to you on Facebook.<br />
<br />
The number of people who respond to being told these are scams with "well, no harm in trying" is horrifying. No harm in trying?<br />
<br />
You clog up walls, you eat up bandwidth, you waste time and make a fool of yourself in order to make scammers rich and "no harm?"<br />
<br />
I get wishful thinking. I do; you think I haven't bought a lottery ticket now and then? But my occasional forays into the realm of fantasy don't hassle other people or make criminals rich. And we know that, every once in a great while, someone DOES win the lotto.<br />
<br />
Nobody ever wins a free Galaxy S4 on Facebook through scam like-farming and bogus surveys.<br />
<br />
Here endeth the lesson.<br />
<br />
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
___________________________________</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">:</span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please.</div>
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I was thinking about someone today. An authority figure from way back when. She was great, had a real way with kids. While I knew her pretty well, I pulled back rather than becoming truly close, because--well, because my sister fancied herself close, and every time I mentioned the woman's name, I got a whole bucket-load of "I know her better than you do/I was more important to her than you are." At the time, I was just a kid and still let that crap affect my choices.<br />
<br />
Anyway, this woman was gay. Absolutely, not a doubt about it. At 17, my "gaydar" was finely tuned, and she set all the bells and klaxons to sounding. Sadly, she'd grown up in Utah, and was firmly in the clutches of the predominant faith. And so she was single for most of her life, though there was one sad, very short, failed marriage punctuating her middle age.<br />
<br />
<i>And then there was that period of time she broke free.</i><br />
<br />
For a couple of years, she threw caution to the wind and moved a few hundred miles away with a GIRLFRIEND.<br />
<br />
I was so happy for her! I never said anything, of course, because she denied. She insisted that the woman just a "friend." But my crazy, late friend/ex-roommate lived with these women for half a year, and they were absolutely lovers.<br />
<br />
I imagined a long, happy life for these women. I imagined that finally, joyously, my old friend would have the existence she deserved--one where she got to be who she was, and got to be with the person she loved.<br />
<br />
And then it ended. I don't know how or why, all I know is that she's now a much loved aunt and friend and mentor who is . . . alone. For decades, alone. She's in her mid-sixties now, and she is firmly under the foot of that faith that, to be absolutely blunt, robbed her of her life. <br />
<br />
Anyway, this isn't meant as a condemnation of the Mormon Church (though I'll gladly offer those up upon request, along with any other joy-sapping, cash-slurping, paternalistic ideological sinkhole mythology-house you wanna discuss), but rather a lament. 60+ years old, and never really free to be. Does she regret it? Is she angry? Resentful? Or worse, is she just completely cowed and doesn't realize that she could have shaken off the mythology and been happy at any time she dared?<br />
<br />
Being who she is and and seeing how she was reared, <i>could</i> she have dared?<br />
<br />
She was always a terrifically kind and concerned woman who made a career of doing what she could to help kids. She deserved better.<br />
<br />
So when you see another state fall to the "scourge" of marriage equality, think of her. Think of what her life could have been, had she grown up in a culture that embraced and nourished rather than stomped down and constrained. When you see another child being bullied by kids looking to enforce their parents' faith and cultural norms, remember her. And imagine, like I always have, just how different, how wonderful, how kind and beautiful her existence could have been, had she not been trapped in a society full of bullies who, like grit in a tumbler, make it their life's work to grind away the edges and curves that make us who we are meant to be.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_jIeUCeoj1IVrOqBt_RKB3ITgYkwbbStcykI8Fu92E5sGJcDYEOxxM80BsUnpDtqw4Ea6WJPaxo9PYq1FiRHTjDa3HjXIAvsRT_nxiF2Th4QmeVi3xANraOvcj0mR8lVZ2vyoJsCwGNj/s1600/IMG_08021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_jIeUCeoj1IVrOqBt_RKB3ITgYkwbbStcykI8Fu92E5sGJcDYEOxxM80BsUnpDtqw4Ea6WJPaxo9PYq1FiRHTjDa3HjXIAvsRT_nxiF2Th4QmeVi3xANraOvcj0mR8lVZ2vyoJsCwGNj/s1600/IMG_08021.jpg" height="320" width="169" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
___________________________________</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">:</span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Well, the dentist appointments. I know, you've been waiting.<br />
<br />
In a nutshell? My appointment yielded no answers. No bad news, but really no news at all. They say there's nothing wrong with the punky bicuspid on the right. They say the x-rays show nothing wrong with the (never-was-necessary) root canal on the left. And yet both are clearly having issues. Or, actually, the root canal (that never was necessary) is fine--it's the jaw above it, and it's the same now as it was in November. No better, no worse. And they can't explain what its problem is, but I'm assuming their "watch and wait" approach is actually more an "oops, her insurance only covers one root canal/retreatment per tooth, per year" sort of thing.<br />
<br />
Do I sound jaded?<br />
<br />
On the down side, that pocket I've complained about? You know, the one I never had until they put the crown on that cracked molar last July? The one I went back in for TWICE, and again mentioned in November?<br />
<br />
It's a six. You know, the depth? Ones and twos are happy? It's a six. I floss, I brush, I rinse, yet there it is. They tried to tell me (get this) that the pocket long predates the crown, that it's clearly visible on prior x-rays.<br />
<br />
Really? Because you folks sang the praises of my beautiful gums, even as recently as June. "All ones and twos," you told me. But now it's a "long standing" thing that's due to my hygiene rather than your dentistry?<br />
<br />
Okay.<br />
<br />
I did, just recently, snap up a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000GLRREU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=211189&creative=373489&creativeASIN=B000GLRREU&link_code=as3&tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Water Pik Ultra Waterflosser</a>, and I'm hoping to see improvement. It's got a gaggle of attachments, is easy (though a bit wet) to use, and it certainly does seem to clean that space out. I grabbed it because of my dad's long history with the product. Yes, he's about to get dentures, which doesn't sound like a glowing recommendation, but know this--he's almost EIGHTY, and he was a smoker for over 65 years. Smoking is hell on your gums and teeth, but he's been using a Water Pik since I was a small child, and the result has been him hanging onto those teeth until nearly his 9th decade. <br />
<br />
That's a heck of an endorsement, I think.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMdrpycXPYbd-AHXfSirH9CnU6ZkRqghhKCcbp__jhIdY1hd1znngQzHufA93KGFxr-b2mnXwSNRmD38h4dZvJqNKbCC3QKD9zoe4dVDiP5-JUVpBXzRKf7rzuvbqAuahL4EuZL7GMRVr/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMdrpycXPYbd-AHXfSirH9CnU6ZkRqghhKCcbp__jhIdY1hd1znngQzHufA93KGFxr-b2mnXwSNRmD38h4dZvJqNKbCC3QKD9zoe4dVDiP5-JUVpBXzRKf7rzuvbqAuahL4EuZL7GMRVr/s1600/smile.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Speaking of my dad, he's still hospitalized. Yes, that's going on four months. He's got an aneurysm with which they've adopted a "watch and wait" approach. His "ICU Psychosis" seems to be improving, though I still haven't spoken to him. He said he didn't want to talk to me until he had his mental act better pulled together. So I talk to his wife pretty frequently, keep track. He's made great improvements, they closed up the tracheostomy hole, and he's moving about pretty well, though sometimes with a walker. My step-mom seems to think he'll be home by the end of this month, but I've learned to be wary of her optimism. She thought he'd be home for New Year's, too. I'm not dissing her--I think it's great that she's feeling so positive, and I want to encourage that. But I'm going to sit back and see. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
__________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Back to the dentist and "watch and wait" (seems to be a running theme), my son's appointment went well. No cavities, which wasn't even vaguely a concern. No, that's not ego or pride, that's this: he has two unidentified masses in his right mandible, one of which had grown last year, the other which had APPEARED out of nowhere. See, we've been "watching and waiting" on his jaw for going on three years now. With that in the offing, who gives two spits about cavities? At this point, the masses have not grown or changed in the past year. No new ones cropping up, either.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I can breathe. For a few months. Maybe six. And then the panic will start again, slowly inclining in pitch until next March's x-rays.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
____________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We've had great snow this year--much better than the previous two winters. It's been great, having snow days and beautiful scenes. No "cardinals in the snow" postcard shots, but a fun video of Charlie, our Cairn, getting a bit hung up.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="295" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/GwnbEaR9edw" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
No need to worry--his subsequent forays were better, once we stomped out a trail for him. And now? He rings the bell frantically to be let out just so he can snuffle through the snow. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And that's about it. I did notice today while on Amazon that they have a "free 30 day Amazon Prime" thing going on. We've been Amazon Prime customers for a few years, because it really does save us a lot in shipping AND gets our Prime-eligible orders to us faster. Plus, it's a lot like Netflix and Hulu in that there are tons of freebie shows and the like. If you've never tried it (or if you've got a lot of stuff to order and want to take advantage of the free shipping), go give it a try! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oh, here's the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/video/primesignup?tag=neiheanortai-20" target="_blank">Amazon Prime</a> link, which might be helpful. And no, I don't get paid for your purchasing a membership. No bounty for your annual subscription. I do, however, get a little something if you just do the free 30 day. Personally, I think you'll like it enough to subscribe, but I don't make money if you do.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
___________________________________</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">:</span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please.</div>
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And the time has come, once again, to start killing children on ATVs. No other reason to put a five year old in control of a motorized vehicle, right? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.standard.net/stories/2014/03/14/two-kids-airlifted-hospital-after-atv-rolled" target="_blank">Or allow FIVE 13-14 year olds on ONE adult machine? With no HELMETS, even?</a><br />
<br />
ATVs are GROWN UP toys, and the number of adults who think it's A-Okay to put children on them is terrifying. Worse is the number of adults who think that riding tandem on a single ATV with a child on their lap or clinging to their back is somehow SAFER.<br />
<br />
It's not. <br />
<br />
I know, I know. I can hear the chorus of "but my folks let me and I was just fine!" <br />
<br />
Disengage outrage and engage brain, wouldja? My folks didn't have us in car seats, and we're just fine. My neighbors used to pile a dozen children in the back of the pick-up truck and go zipping down the highway at 65 mph, and at least most of those kids are still alive. My whole high school crowd drank like fish and ate drugs like it was the 70s, and we're . . . well, and I'M fine. Just because you survive something doesn't mean it was a good/safe/intelligent thing to do, it just means you lucked out. A number of children each year aren't as lucky as you were. <br />
<br />
My first experience with ATVs and kids came when I was in my early 20s. My crazy ex-roommate was working at a local hospital as a nurse's aide. One of her patients?<br />
<br />
A boy, six years old, who had (<i>sans</i> helmet) ridden an ATV right off a cliff. Because, when push came to shove, he couldn't figure out fast enough how to make it stop. That boy had a broken neck, massive head injuries, and various bits of internal damage from where the vehicle LANDED on him after he landed head first on the rocks. <br />
<br />
Understand, this child's life ended that day. There was zero potential for meaningful recovery here.<br />
<br />
His mother would come in every day to sit with him, talk to him, read to him. One day, my friend was in the room caring for him when the mother arrived. She was excited to tell him the news (though he was permanently unconscious), share the surprise. And the surprise was?<br />
<br />
They'd bought him a NEW ATV. She excitedly gabbled on about how, just as soon as he came home, they were going to go RIDING!<br />
<br />
My friend lost it. Asked the woman if she'd lost her damned mind. The boy was devastatingly, permanently injured, maimed, crippled, and she was talking about putting him back on the beast that tore him to bits? Was she stupid? Didn't kill him enough the first time?<br />
<br />
Yes, my friend lost more than her temper--she lost her job. Probably rightfully so, too. But I can't help but agree with her.<br />
<br />
Close your eyes. Imagine your eight year old zipping along on an adult ATV. Now imagine him taking a bump too fast. Imagine him going ass over teakettle. Now picture that ATV coming down on top of him. <br />
<br />
What, too graphic? Not nearly as graphic as the real thing, I promise you.<br />
<br />
Here's another: imagine you're zipping along on an adult ATV, your four year old perched on your lap and "safely" held in the circle of your arm. Your ATV tips, flips, or otherwise catches air or goes over, and all 180 lbs of YOU comes crashing down atop your four year old. Yes, that's the danger. And don't say "I'd never crush him, I'd be careful!"<br />
<br />
In an accident, you can't be careful. You've flown before you even know what's happening. Unless you've mastered independent flight, you cannot keep yourself from landing atop that child. It's one of the main reasons why you don't ride tandem on single ATVs and you don't carry a child in your lap--because, in an accident, your bulk becomes a danger to the child or passenger.<br />
<br />
Plus, that passenger/child is a danger to YOU. You need to be able to freely move, to shift your weight and have full control of the steering. With a child on your lap or a passenger at your back, <a href="http://www.atvsafety.gov/passenger_tip.html" target="_blank">you don't have the control you need to safely operate the vehicle</a>. You KNOW it's true, because you can't control your passenger's movements or actions. You can't control whether and when they shift their weight or position. And them shifting (or failing to) can be the difference between upright and cartwheeling.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlcLmZrBTVpW1yD6ds0iHqXzeL6ZTNjcywO020uMmUOZZWSBX1tkQYHeEPciqrldFCE3p1lMoUGRA_VHMTUfnIsVTcp9GwoGFWtseKoBn5gN6bGHY4GKQTzLEAumrDbvNeJv904bWITjp/s1600/atv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlcLmZrBTVpW1yD6ds0iHqXzeL6ZTNjcywO020uMmUOZZWSBX1tkQYHeEPciqrldFCE3p1lMoUGRA_VHMTUfnIsVTcp9GwoGFWtseKoBn5gN6bGHY4GKQTzLEAumrDbvNeJv904bWITjp/s1600/atv.jpg" /></a></div>
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I get that ATVs are fun. But they're not KID fun. With a <a href="http://www.cpsc.gov/en/Newsroom/News-Releases/2012/Annual-Rise-in-Summer-ATV-Deaths-Prompts-CPSC-to-Urge-Safety-on-the-Trails1/" target="_blank">death toll of around 700 a year</a> (and another 130,000 or so in the ER each year), they're hardly benign toys. If you feel you MUST put a child on an ATV, do it right:<br />
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<a href="http://www.atvsafety.gov/safetytips.html" target="_blank">ATV Safety Guidelines</a><br />
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Now, I'm going to say it because I think it needs to be said. If you read all this, rolled your eyes, said something stupid about "nanny states" or "paranoia" or "taking the fun out of everything" and then your kid is hurt or killed on an ATV?<br />
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It's your fault. It is YOU. Entirely. Not the manufacturer (though their motives and actions are pretty shady sometimes), not the government, not the owner of the property your kid was riding on, not anyone or anything else. Totally, completely YOUR fault. <br />
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I hope you never have to own it.<br />
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An update here: the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate. This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference. But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that. Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness. Truly. So please.</div>
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Fifteen days until the dentist appointments, and the panic is building. In mine, I get to explain that the root canal they said I needed to fix the symptoms I was having did nothing to alleviate those symptoms. In fact, it's all just like it was, except I let them kill a tooth and rob me 600 bucks. Looking back, I realize just how STUPID I was. When the dentist held the swab with the "make cold" chemical to test if the teeth were viable, he held it against RESIN on that tooth. RESIN! The whole front of that bicuspid was resin. So of COURSE he didn't get a normal response. <br />
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Damn.<br />
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Plus, a bicuspid on the right side has gone over on me--it started out so oddly. I have no molars on that side (bottom ones never erupted, top ones had to be pulled because they kept sinking until they were gouging into the lower gum), so I normally don't chew over there. But for the almost FOUR weeks it took for them to complete the worthless root canal on the other side, I was forced to chew with that bicuspid. Clearly, I damaged it. I was eating a Healthy Choice popsicle one night, and after I'd finished, the tooth started to feel really weird. There was a freaky, squirming/twitching sensation in the jaw/roots, and then a strange popping/crunching feel. Next day?<br />
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Vicious cold sensitivity, like I've never encountered before in my life. Plus, the tooth feels unstable. Like it cracked internally or something.<br />
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No doubt they're going to say root canal or crown. And I'm going to say "Bugger off--pull it if it's no good." Because no way I've got 600 bucks, and no way I'm going through another root canal for a tooth that is neither functionally nor cosmetically important.<br />
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But that's not where the fear comes from. No, the fear comes from my boy's same-day appointment. That he's been complaining of cold sensitivity and pain isn't the issue. No, the issue is those damned spots on his x-rays. You know, the "first there was one, a year later there were two, now there are three, yes they're growing, no, we're STILL going to just watch and wait" spots? The "Oh, hell, does my boy have bone cancer" spots?<br />
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And, of course, even NON-cancerous jaw tumors can be aggressive and disastrous. <br />
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So I'm panicking. The unerupted canine doesn't help--because the deciduous tooth is smaller than an<span style="font-family: inherit;"> adult</span> tooth, he's got a gap opening up there, and he's completely focused on it.<br />
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And we're completely unable to afford orthodontia. Not this year, not next year. Who knows when? In the mean time, the adult tooth is hanging out in the roof of his mouth and he's obsessing. <br />
So I'm panicked. It's exhausting.<br />
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I've dropped a few reviews over at a new site, Veryhelpful.net. Here's the link to my new review--please read it, and if you like it, share it:</div>
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<a href="http://www.veryhelpful.net/2014/03/cool-water-cool-indeed/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHW10xnBQ-BgnNuL0S6KYkQJC4lEtRc8OSuxV1g7jKQEzu-RzeUgDR0WwczbcNE7OHvKUTkcNzOIXytxu9bRSuGt5aW08AOK8LA4_zvaJx3Pf9AtLJDAtzJzD0OpD0dfnm6JHnglbNGKDR/s1600/davidoff+cool+water.jpg" height="320" width="168" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.veryhelpful.net/2014/03/cool-water-cool-indeed/" target="_blank">Davidoff Cool Water Woman</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that's about all for today. Well, not ALL--I want you to see a video I came across last night. It perfectly illustrated why I could never be a pet rescue person. I have ALL the respect and admiration for them, but I totally lack the emotional fortitude:</span></div>
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