Krokodiles Eating Junkies and Silly Utah Names

A while back, an old pal/flame of mine who's spent years dealing with serious substance abuse issues (not to mention fidelity problems) got himself ditched from my friends list.  We hadn't been close for almost 20 years, so it was a surprise when he friended me, especially when, sometimes, he didn't seem sure who I was.  Out of the blue, he went off on some astoundingly dippy religious rant, basically telling me that my lack of belief in a deity is what causes any problems in my life, and how ashamed he is of me that I can't see that.  Other crap, all "goll" related, ending with a "truth hurts, are you ready to admit it?" type-pile.

I dumped him.  Turn it around, what if an atheist "friend" showed up on your wall and said "Hey, I know things are rough for you right now, but you deserve what you're getting because you believe in a deity.  I'm ashamed of your belief, and it's what's causing your pain.  Truth hurts?"  

Yeah.  To be "fair," Sean's always been a socially blundering fool, but this went too far.  So I dumped him.  He "apologized" via email (you know, of the "I'm sorry, but YOU" variety, with some interspersed "I've always been blunt and unthinking, it's just who I am" excuses thrown in), and I said that yeah, okay, but I still don't want you in my life anymore.  I'm tired of reading about your infidelities, your inability to maintain yet another marriage, etc.  Good luck, good bye.

Anyway, out of curiosity, I went to check up on him the other day.  To be blunt, I wanted to see if he was still alive.  He tends to relapse when things don't go his way, and he's just ended another marriage.  And what do I find?

A long, vicious rant about parents who don't vaccinate.  About how they're child abusers and morons whose children should be taken from them and raised by the state.  They should be charged with child abuse, neglect, and reckless endangerment.  And a whole host of other punishments fit for parents who fail to toe the health department line.

And all from the guy who cooked meth in his house.  With his kids present.  All from the guy who tweaked and drank and smoked weed and tooted coke and dropped acid while "rearing" his children.

Parenting on Meth

Hey, I have some pretty strong ideas about vaccinations.  In general, they're good.  That said, I think the scheduling and mode of delivery isn't the best out there--it's geared for the lowest common denominator, for parents who might drop the ball, so they try to pump as many vaccines in at a time as possible as early as possible.  I KNOW vaccine reactions are real because my son HAD one--he reacted very badly to the DTaP, which is why his subsequent vaccinations didn't include DTaP, but, instead, only DT.  Because of that reaction, we held off on the MMR until he was older, which our doctor agreed was wise.  After all, our boy was homeschooled and not likely to be exposed.  And, in fact, he wasn't.  By the age of 12, he was fully immunized.  

My point?  I GET the "anti-vaccine" crowd, I just don't agree with the conclusions they've reached based upon the research available right now.  I also GET the pro-vaccine crowd, but disagree with some of the scheduling and "lumping up" of vaccines.  What I don't get?

Is some dull-wit junkie tweaking in front of his kids while condemning folks who, out of (often misguided) concern for their children, don't vaccinate.  Seriously?

"Glass Houses" doesn't even BEGIN to cover that one.

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Speaking of drugs, have you heard about "Krokodil?"  From what I can gather, it's all the rage in Russia.  A cheap, dirty version of desomorphine, this stuff leaves addicts with an average life span of less than two years from time of first use.  

Nice, huh?

Apparently, much like meth, this stuff can be cooked up at home, and there's the problem. While it does contain codeine, an opioid, it also resembles meth in the way it's become a jumble of impure and often highly toxic substances.  The high is similar to morphine, but doesn't last nearly as long.

Oh, and it rots you from the inside out.  I'm not going to post the pictures, but you can look them up easily enough.  

This stuff is now making its appearance in the States, and you've got to ask yourself--WHY?  How stupid can a person be?  There was a news story out of Chicago just the other day--three people hospitalized because of this stuff.  Two hadn't known it was Krokodil, and hey, fair enough--you're still an idiot for injecting what you thought was heroin into your veins, but compared to the third person, who KNEW it was Krokodil and did it ANYWAY?

You're bleedin' Einstein.

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Speaking of stupid, self-destructive, deluded creatures who cause those around them devastation and pain?

Shutdown ended.  And those nuts are already talking about how they're going to do it all over again in January.

Vote.  Vote them out.  Vote at the primary level.  Vote in the general election.  Make sure your family votes.  Your friends.  And make sure you vote in the Republican primaries--that's where this small, loud, stupid, well-funded group of radical activists makes the difference.  That's where they do the damage.  Don't let this guy become the face of America, huh?

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And I'm going to end on a variation of the "stupid baby names."  I'm going to hone in on stupid UTAH names.  Because Utah?

Is it ALL when it comes to atrocious names.  

Just this week, while researching obits/death records for my high school, I've come across the following:

• VaLaunne
• LaVor
• Elihu Moroni
• DeOrr
• Lennis
• LuJean
• DerMeta
• LaVelle
• Coriantumr (I did NOT make that up)
• Teancum
• DeeWill
• LaMonte
• Enos
• LeGrande
• Nephi
• Leahonai
• Heber
• LouRanne

That's not an exhaustive list, just a few favorites.  You may notice something of a trend there--the mash-up.  That's what happens when a Utah man, say, "Merl," marries a Utah woman, perhaps "Nadine."  They mash it on up, and the poor child is left with "Merldene."  

Hey, I have a mother-in-law named "ValDonnis," so it hits close to home.

Scripture aside (that would be the Nephis, the Enoses, the Coriuantumrs and Moronis), there's the "fancify it with a French-seeming prefix" naming convention.  You know, like so:

• Jean + French=LaJeanne!
• Orrin + French=DeOrrin!
• Lonnie + French=VaLaunnee!

And then there's "LeGrande."  You have to ask--which came first, the French Big Mac or the Mormon guy?  Or wait, was that "Le Mac?"  Shoot, and that was funny, too!

Now, don't think that, just because there's an odd tradition of strange, LDS-themed or related names, that Utah doesn't have the flood of just plain crappy American names.  Like:

• Chassadee (guess that's supposed to be "Chastity?")
• "Anjelikka
• Wyntur Reign
• Kaydense (which is a super-unfortunate name)
• Daemon (no kidding--I think they meant Damon, which is still stupid, but not quite so malevolent
• Whisky Jack (like the bird, only with mug shots)
• Breighleeanne
• Deztinnee
• Apathy (seriously)
• The obligatory "ax" names--like Jaxton, Braxton, Paxton, Maxton
• The equally obligatory "ay/ey" names--like Kaydon. Rayden, Shayden, Peyton, Layton, and Satan (okay, that last one is a Utah joke--thus far, anyway)

Watch this--the girls may be fake, but the names are spot-on:

Sorry is Sorry except when it's NOT

Just a little note about apologies.  Anything qualified, anything that contains the words (or similar sentiment) "but YOU?" Not an apology.  Anything that goes on to defend whatever's being apologized for?

Not an apology.

So do me a favor, wouldja?  Next time the words "Hey, I'm really sorry, it's just that you . . . " start to come out of your mouth?

Just hush, okay?  Because you're not apologizing, and you're not improving my mood even a little.

Thanks!

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A little lesson in reality for the wanker-baggers out there who seem to think that shutting down the government will "undo" the Affordable Care Act:

It's LAW, you guys. Remember the whole School House Rock gig, with "I am a Bill?"  Remember how that works?  Congress enacts, the President signs, and WOW, it's the law?  Yeah, that's what happened, it is how our country works, it's exactly the process it was founded on.  And you remember what happens when a LAW's constitutionality is challenged?  It goes before the Supreme Court.  You remember them, right?  With their bagger victories like Citizens United and the garroting of the Voting Rights Act?  Yeah, those right-leaning freaks!  They examined the Affordable Care Act and found it . . .

NOT IN VIOLATION OF THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION!

That's RIGHT, boys and girls, the ACA (often known as "Obamacare") is the LAW, and it's CONSTITUTIONAL.  And you know what else it is?

FULLY FUNDED REGARDLESS OF GOVERNMENT SHUT DOWN.  What, no one told you that?  Your histrionic, fundamentally unstable, utterly dishonest bagger representatives didn't tell you that?  Oh, no!

Yeah, they shut down the government in protest of a law that shutting down the government won't interfere with.  But really, it goes deeper than that.  They shut down the government because they want a Presidential do-over. They're still butt-hurt because they lost.

They LOST!  Probably THE defining issue this past election was Affordable Health Care, and they LOST.

I find it deeply embarrassing that there are so-called Americans who have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, toward health care.  That there are some who view the INTERNATIONAL STANDARD of care as something evil, something to be avoided at all costs.  

Shameful!

The rich, who have gotten so much richer in the past few decades, and who contribute so much LESS to our society, be it through wages or taxes, have actually managed to hoodwink us, to turn us against our weakest members, so that we point fingers at the poor and bemoan their need, begrudge them a buck-twenty a day in food assistance, all the while not noticing that we're being buggered senseless by the right and their "corporate-people" masters.  

It's always worked that way.  Always.  If you can turn a people against those weaker than themselves, you can manipulate them all sorts of ways while they're distracted by their hate.  Immigrants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, the poor, Blacks, Hispanics--it's what the "upper class" does--it distracts us, lets us feel superior to some other group, and takes advantage of our inattention.  

I think it's worse this time around because they managed to tie it all up with "patriotism."  And raging nationalism combined with vicious xenophobia?  Stirred up in a pot of falling educational standards?

Disaster.

We lag behind the rest of the industrial world in . .  . well, pretty much everything but military spending and the percentage of people in prison.  

Think about that.  Educational attainment?  Nope.  Life expectancy?  Nope.  Literacy?  Nuh-uh.  Infant mortality?  Nopers.  Maternal deaths?  Nope.  Health care?  Not even close.  

Oooh, I know!  Guns!  We have more guns per capita AND more murders!  So our proud country can boast top honors in violence, weaponry, military spending, and incarcerated citizens.

And the right has us waving those flags and shouting "America, love it or leave it!"

Which is THE most UN-American thing to say.

We are AMERICANS, when we see something wrong, we're supposed to FIX it, not DEFEND it! I get that our educational standards have fallen, I get that people just aren't as smart as they used to be.  But are we really THIS stupid?

Really?

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Speaking of stupid, I made the mistake of checking the profile of a Facebook friend's friend.  On it was a rather racist/anti-Arab cartoon.  Enough to make me wince just a little, but not enough to really make me upset.  It was the dull-wit comment left by another friend of a friend that got me going.  She says (and this is copied and pasted) "I wish they would all do it once out in the desert..All mussies." 

I.  I don't.  

Oh, gosh.

Her  name isn't Olga (but it's close) and she lives in Wisconsin or Minnesota or Michigan or some such northern clime.  Lovely places.  But one of them has Olga, and that makes it a bit less lovely. Olga's wall is crowded with painful stupidity--so much so, you'd think . . . well, I was going to say "you'd think it would be spilling over," but considering her idiot post on someone else's wall, I'd say it HAS spilled over.  Her wall offers up such gems as Reverent-posted/Olga Shared Photoshopped images of dead babies with comparisons to Hitler.  With her pithy comment "Yep.  Sad."  Memes squealing about "defund Obamacare!" and "Send him back to Kenya!"

And guns, of course.  

And Jesus.  Vertiable butloads of Jesus.  

Because nothing says "Jesus" like hate, bigotry, stupidity, and guns, right Olga?

Olga?

Her friends list is crowded with folks who have guns for profile shots.  A few have bagger takes on Confederate flags.  A bunch of Jesus-y stuff.  A lot of Obama-hating.

She's a stereotype.  Heck, Olga may not actually be real.  Isn't that a reassuring thought?

Here, a collection of meme's from Olga's wall:

I think you get the point.  Olga's an idiot.  But the crowning glory, the one that really drives home just what kind of ugly creature she is?

That's right--our First Lady as a flying MONKEY.  Yeah, racist point made, Olga.  I'm sure your "Tea Party Patriots" will reward you for your slack-jawed adoration.  No, really, I'm sure they will. They'll probably even give you health care that almost begins to approach the industrialized world's standard. 

Or at least easy access to a gun so you can end it when the health problems progress beyond your ability to pay.  Which, considering the breathtaking sums our medical complex demands for even the simplest of treatments, shouldn't be long.

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And that's that.  I'm all politicked out for the day.  Haven't run across any really awful baby names, though I did come across a bit from a guy who won't hire people with crappy names, with a specific stiffy against "black" names.  And I think that sucks--you can't help what your parents named you.  Bad names should result in parental slapping, not prejudice against the victims.

Niiiiiice.

Ahnd we LOFF and LOFF, dewnt we, AUNTIE?

Years ago, in a fit of pretentiousness, my sister decided her kids would call me "Auntie."  You know, like Dorothy's Aunt in the Wizard of Oz, only more silly/snobby-sounding?  Like "AHHntee?"  It's an affectation that has always driven me nuts.  Our family never used that term (not even my sister, who says "aunt" when referring to parental sisters), and it's utterly ridiculous-sounding to me.  It grates like teeth on wool, truth be told.  I never, ever wanted to be anyone's "auntie," always wanted to be their "aunt."  I approached my sister about this a few times, and spoke to her kids about it even more times, but to no avail.  The kids, when they started to call me "aunt," were roundly dressed down by her, told that they MUST use "auntie" because it pleases her.  

Never mind how it makes the "auntie" feel.  I was reminded of how my dad used to shout at me for calling Frank "Frank" instead of "Mr. Whittemore."  Never mind that Frank told me to call him "Frank," that being called "Mr. Whittemore" grated on him.  Back then, my sister went on and on about how stupid and unreasonable our father was.  

Yeah.

Finally, about four years ago, I put  my foot down.  I told my sister that it had to stop, it was getting to the point that, every time her kids addressed me, I was feeling angry.  I told her I'd rather her kids just call me by my first name, if "aunt" was too onerous.  Her response? That she would tell her kids to stop calling me "auntie" ONLY if I forced my then-12 year old to start calling her "auntie."  Period.  

If the pettiness surprises you, you clearly don't know my sister.  She had never been called "auntie," not in the twelve years she'd been an aunt, but now, suddenly, because I was asking to please, please not be called by a title I hated, she decided to turn the tables.  This is absolutely typical behavior.

I spoke to my son about calling her "auntie," and he promptly said, "That's stupid and childish--how about I don't call her anything at all?"

And he hasn't.  From that point on, he's only used her first name, no title whatsoever.  And that was the beginning of him not really talking to her at all.  He avoids her on the phone, he became completely withdrawn in her presence.  And it's because of this--he felt uncomfortable talking to her because he thinks "auntie" is breathtakingly stupid, and didn't want to have to say it.  Rather than risk running afoul of her, he just avoided her.  

For years.

He's only lately having any interaction with her, and that's because she responds to his Facebook things.  But I find it sad that her stupid pettiness interfered in that way.  I kept close to her kids, even when the "auntie" thing was driving me buggy, and, in fact, told her kids to never mind, call me whatever kept them from getting in trouble at home.  

It's a small thing, but you see, today my sister's daughter posted that it's so awful when people insist on calling you something you've asked them not to call you.  And it was all I could do to refrain from saying, "Gosh, yeah, don't I know it?"

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Waiting until nine this morning to call a doctor about my arm.  I guess an orthopedist?  Funny, the closer I've gotten to today, the more twitchy and jumpy my arrhythmia's been.  Yesterday, the lip twitch started.  Just a small, irritating, hyperactive little tic that's got me feeling like Elvis.  Woke up at five this morning, wowserly sick to my stomach.  Paid our last rent on this lease on Friday, still no word on a new lease.  Making an appointment for our boy today, too.  

I need a break.  Just typing that up made my heart start thwacking.

A small post-script--couldn't get an orthopedist to give a spit, so I've made an appointment with my primary care.  No, not the primary care who said it wasn't something she was concerned about--I don't see her anymore, though still in the same practice.  I'll go in, refuse to be weighed, and start pushing for an orthopedist and an MRI.  Which is what I should have done a year + ago, but I was so relieved to hear that nothing was wrong, you know?  I HATE that I still do that. 

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On a sad/funny note, I was searching for a birthdate for an old classmate who's died.  For that database I'm building for the alumni group.  For some reason, his obituary, which I dug out of my scrapbook, doesn't have a date of birth.  When searching online, the first result I got?

His son's mugshot.  You see, his son has, apparently, TATTOOED his father's name, birth date, and death date on his BACK.  I guess that's not too crazy (until you see the other tattoos), but I think it's the oddest source of information I've tapped in this search.  And goodness knows, there are worse things to tattoo on your back.

Not sure if that's supposed to be Cliff, Robert, or Jason.  Just saying that likely made a Metallica fan explode.

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Back from the doctor's office.  Where I was told that they don't know what it is, how about I see an orthopedist.

I PAID for that!  25 bucks I dropped for that when we can barely make the RENT!  And then? Then they recommended an orthopedist who ISN'T COVERED BY MY PLAN!  The three I can find who ARE?  Two aren't board certified, one IS board certified, but has an atrocious reputation and doesn't operate out of the ONLY hospital I'm approved for, and all describe themselves as "spine and sports" orthopedics.

SINGLE payer!  This jumping through hoops bullshit is exactly that--BULLSHIT!  I've been on the phone to my insurance provider three time, and my PCP twice, just since NOON.  That doesn't count the calls to various orthopedists.  And after all that, what do I have?

SQUAT!  No appointment with an orthopedist, no answers, no MRI lined up, NOTHING.  Oh, and to top it off?  An MRI "might" be covered, but it might NOT be--who knows?  I'll bet my insurance company does, but they're playing it close.

. . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . .  . . . . .  . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .

Two hours later.  I was just turned down by six different ortho offices--apparently spines and sports are where it's AT.  Lumpy, tumorous arms just aren't glamorous enough.  All of them recommended I go with the guy my PCP recommended.  You know, the guy who isn't covered by my plan?  Wound up going with someone three towns and vicious traffic away, not because he seems particularly competent or a good fit, but because he's who'll see me AND is covered by my insurance.

And he can't see me until the middle of next month.

American healthcare.  I'd laugh, if my upper lip would stop spasming long enough.

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It's been an exhausting day.  Exhausting and super-duper irritating.  Ever spend five minutes listening to a receptionist chomp gum and snort/grunt through her nose while she takes a note for you and checks your files?  I have.  Today, in fact.  Began to worry she was eating the patients.

It was almost as irritating as someone naming their kid "Consatyn."

Consatyn.

Hey!  Hey, you!  Yeah, the one with the flowered acrylic nails!  CONSATYN isn't a name!  Okay?

Okay?

And now for something ugly.

Not QUITE Elizabeth Taylor

I've been on a frenzy of obituary/memorial gathering and creating for our alumni group.  Hundreds and hundreds, it seems.  Feels like there are more of us dead than alive!  I came across a wonderful name today--actually RE-came across--I originally found her a couple of years back, but am just now getting things organized into birth year folders.  Her name was . . . well, it was LONG.  Five marriages, six different last names.  Divorced twice, widowed twice, leaves behind her last.  She grew African violets and, hopefully, did better with them than she did with the whole marriage thing.

I wish I'd known her.

Speaking of names, Messiah.  No, really.  Messiah.

Some woman and her boyfriend wound up in court down south, hashing out which last name their baby would labor under.  Imagine their surprise when the judge said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Last name, shmast name--that FIRST name's gotta GO!"  And BAM!  Little Messiah wasn't anymore.

So many issues here in this one little story.  On the one hand, yes, Messiah is a CRAP name, it's bordering on ABUSIVE, and those parents should be smacked daily.  Forever.  That said, the judge's reasoning ("There's only one Messiah and that's Jesus Christ") is garbage, and has NO place in a courtroom.  There's only ONE Messiah and that's Jesus?  Tell me, in SoCal, how many JESUSES are there?

A few thousand?

Get your religion out of my courtroom, thank you.

I really do think that Messiah is an atrocious name, and shame on the parents.  I hope he goes by "Si" rather than "Mess."  And I hope he keeps his full name a secret.  See, kids with stupid names?  Have a markedly higher rate of juvenile delinquency.  And kids who tangle with juvvie?  Are far more likely to grow up to be criminals.  So don't give your kids stupid names like "Messiah."

Or "Jermajesty."

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Speaking of stupid names, I came across one last night that, quite literally, made me scream.

Hey, folks?  THAT'S NOT A NAME!  THAT'S A HOMOPHONE.  Stop it!

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A quick revisit to our "Miracle Angel Priest."  Surprise, surprise--he's not.  A miracle, that is.  Or an angel, even.  He is a priest, though--that's one for three!

Here's the follow-up--while he is not longer an angel who "appeared out of nowhere," he is now being credited with inspiring Gosh to make the equipment suddenly and magically work.  You ever live in terror that people who believe in magic and miraculous interventions are in charge of saving lives?  Because it scares the daylights out of me.

Ack!  Danger!

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New crown seems to feel good, chewing-wise.  Too bad the garbage-and-county-fair taste and smell from between that tooth and the next persists.  TWICE I've asked Dr.Mendes's staff/dentists about it during visits, and twice I've been told it's nothing.  Just a little food caught up, I should floss.  Well, hang on, let's start from the beginning.  I had the temp crown put in around July 11th.  I was told, in NO uncertain terms, NOT to floss anywhere near the temp crown.  And so I didn't.  And the taste and smell got worse and worse, until, at about one week out, I called and said, "Okay, it's like a cow shat in a garbage can up there--is this an infection?"  They had me come in, and the dentist who saw me (a different dentist) said it wasn't an infection, it was just food caught up there, and I should FLOSS.  I said, "I was told NOT to floss."  He said, "Well, you SHOULD floss, but do a pull-through instead of yanking it back out."  I did, and it didn't really help.  Didn't hurt, though.  I went back in for the permanent crown on July 25th.  They pulled out the temp and the smell was horrid.  Oh, wow.  Worst smell my mouth has ever put off, and I'm pretty sure I've had cats take dumps in  my mouth during the night.  The dentist (a return of the first one) wiped at the area with a bit of gauze, but didn't flush it at all.  No water hit that tooth or surrounding gum.  I know, it would have been agonizing.  It also might have CLEANED the area before he put the permanent crown on.  I asked then (again) if it was infected.  He said it wasn't.  I asked when the horrid taste and smell would go away.  He said it shouldn't be long.  I should floss.  Which I do--every time I eat.

Okay, it's August 13th now, and guess what?

Stinky, stinky, cow shat in a garbage can still going on.  If I give a good SUCK I get more of it, and if I run a finger over the space between that tooth and the one before it, I can smell it on my finger.  Whatever's caught up there, I can't seem to get it out, no matter how much flossing, brushing, or rinsing I do.  So I call Dr. Mendes's office today and I'm told that they can't tell me whether or not they'll charge me for the appointment.

TWICE I've been in there, complaining about this.  TWICE I've asked, "Are you sure this is normal, are you sure this isn't an infection or something bad that needs to be taken care of?"  And TWICE I've been told it's not a big deal.  And maybe it ISN'T a big deal, but they can't even tell me if they're going to charge me for their screw up?  And it most certainly is THEIR screw up, because they could have taken care of this the first time I came back.  Or the second.

We have NO money.  If we go in and they ask for cash, we have nothing.  I made an appointment, but I'm not sure what to do.  Besides find a new dentist if they try to charge me.  And let my insurance companies know how things went down.

And write a scathing piece online, of course.  Because that's what I do.

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Oh, one fun little class reunion tidbit?  Shelly, the duck-lipped, immigrant-hating, Obama-slamming cleavage queen from the drill team?  Didn't come--apparently, she's been offending so many folks that even her old friends didn't want her there.  And a not so fun bit?  Debbie.  Debbie came all the way from Kansas, and she came to see me.  And I wasn't there.  Apparently she was very disappointed, and I feel terrible.  She was, without a doubt, the kindest, nicest, all-around "not mean" est person I've ever known.  When someone says, "Imagine the most rock-steady, loyal, caring, nice person," I see Debbie.  Boy, don't I feel like a heel?

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And here's an ugly house.  Just 'cause.

This would be an "eh" house, were it not for the freaky blobs on the wall

Nothing Good

Well, back to the stupid names thing.  If the urge to name your daughter ANALIS hits, hurt yourself.  Bad, hard.  Before you fill out that birth certificate.

Please, for your daughter's sake.

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Still no word from the landlord.  I find myself okay for a while, and then I remember, and it's instantaneous--my arrhythmia goes nutty, I feel that rollercoaster adrenaline-hit to the chest, and I feel trapped, helpless.  

My mom offered to pull the last three grand of dividend out of her life insurance policy if necessary.  So, of course, my sister wrecked my mom's car.  Same day.  No, not intentionally, but dang, doesn't that just figure?  At least no one was hurt.

Except my ability to relax even a little bit about this.  That took a vicious hit.  

Not THE car, just a representative mock-up

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I'm considering offering online "atheist tarot readings and horoscopes."  For a fee.  I'm not joking, why not?  Make it clear right up front, "This is for entertainment purposes only" and "your future misforetold by a real, live atheist!"  Provide photos of the card layouts and everything.  

Hey, I'd pay five bucks for that.  If I had five bucks.  

Gorgeous picture, I've linked it back to the site where I found it.

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Ever have a friend you really love, you adore, and you know is a total racist?  Not a racist like "lynch 'em/no race traitors/papers please," but rather of the "I LOVE my Mexican homies/I'm not a racist, I know ALL blacks aren't . . . " variety.  You know, the kind who makes sure everyone knows he's not a racist because, look, here's another picture of him slamming back a cold one with his black friend?

Yeah.

Well, I have one of those.  We've been friends for decades, since junior high, really.  And last night, he posted a picture.  A meme.  And it was breathtakingly racist.  So bad that I literally gasped.  I called my husband in, and the first thing he said was, "He must have been hacked, no way he'd post that!"

Except he WOULD post that, and I know it.  He'd post it, and he'd argue strenuously that it's not racist, it's just funny, lighten up, you-know-me-I'm-no-racist.

It was terribly disappointing, and I stared at the post for a good 20 minutes, trying to decide what to do.  I mean, this is my friend and I love him.

And he's a racist.

In the end, I settled on asking, "Hey, dude, did you get hacked?"  I got no answer, and I already know the answer, but I'm hoping that communicates my shock.  Another friend came in with, "Wow, seriously?"  And now?

Now the post appears to be gone.  I'd like to think the post is gone because he's come to the sudden and sharp realization that the meme was utterly racist.  More likely, he didn't realize that posting it on his kid's wall would make it show in the feeds of all his friends.

No, that doesn't matter, but if you have to be a racist, at least be a sensitive one, right?

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Following the story of a 64 year old atheist woman who's been in the U.S. legally for better than thirty years.  She's shooting for citizenship, but, when she answered on the paperwork that she's a conscientious objector who wouldn't take up arms for this (or any) country (remember, she's 64 years old), she was told that only believers can object to war on moral grounds, and that she has until Friday to join a church or see her application for citizenship denied.

"Join a church or go away."

Wow, welcome to 'Murrica!

It's always something . . . bad.

So, I went to the doc's office today--annual physical.  I was supposed to be fasting, and what did I do?  I popped a damned mint in my mouth while waiting in the examination room!  I spoke to the nurse about it, but, honestly, he seemed sort of . . . dull.  Nice, but only a thin hair shy of "box of rocks" territory.  His name?

Acquilleys.  That's pronounced "Achilles."

I kid you not.

Acquilleys said that the mint wouldn't affect anything, but, looking around online, I see it might.  So I called the office and asked them to make a note that I had screwed up.  That way, if the results are a mess, we'll maybe know why.

The doctor, who seems quite nice, agreed to a "once every six months" visit schedule.  I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm better with that then the "every three months" schedule Madame "There's No Mass/That's Why He's Your Husband and Not Your Gynecologist" tried to force me into.

It'll do.  I'll let you know how the blood work went.

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Next up (in about an hour) is the dentist appointment.  You know what I remember?  I remember the days of my dentist (Dr. Grover Hoopes, and the man ROCKED) looking to save his patients money.  I'd go in, he'd do the x-rays, have his assistant clean my teeth while waiting for the x-rays, and then fill right then if it was only one or two.  These days?  Holy cow, the money grubbing is breathtaking, it's astounding, how broken this system is.  What am I going in for?

I have no idea.  They say they want to see me twice a year.  Except that's for cleaning.  I have to make two more appointments each year for x-rays.  So that's four appointments per year, because they won't clean and do x-rays at the same appointment.  And if I need work?  That's more appointments, and they won't fill more than one cavity a day, so if you have two?  That's two more appointments.  So, for two cavities, they could conceivably have you in for a minimum of four appointments.  

Yes, I "get" what they're doing.  They're trying to maximize the insurance payout by spreading out the billable procedures.  

And it sucks.  It sucks for me, time-wise, nerves-wise, and money-wise, because each visit is a copay.

Universal health care, folks.  Like they do it out there in the civilized world.  And don't give me any of that dippy "I don't want to wait five months for an appointment!"  I had to wait four months for an appointment with the urogynecologist, and I had to wait six for my initial dental appointment here.  And my insurance?  The medical ROCKS (the dental is ehhhh).  Seriously, my husband's employer insures the hell out of us.  Well, there is that pesky 500 bucks a month we have to drop, but the point stands--here, in the U-S-of-A, with grade-A insurance, I had to wait MONTHS for treatment.  FOUR months just to have someone examine an unidentified, growing MASS.  

Yeah, universal health care, baby.  Now.

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So, today's the day I take a day off from the new way of eating.  Not totally losing it, no beef or pork or anything crazy like that.  But Chinese with Chicken (first non-fish meat in over a month) and cupcakes.  What's the bet I feel like utter hell tomorrow?

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So, we were at the Farmer's Market the other day, and found ourselves smack in the middle of a railroading festival.  The usual parking was full of additional booths, and so we hit the nearby parking terrace.  Now, there are very specific rules about parking here--Monday through Friday, the entire terrace is reserved for permit and city-worker parking.  However, on weekends, the top level (level 5) is for non-permit, non-city folks who are hitting the Farmer's Market.  

As we pulled in, we marveled at how crowded the first two levels were--every spot taken.  As we ascended, there were more and more open spots, until we reached level 5, which was almost empty--aside from us, there were, perhaps, a half dozen vehicles.  All bearing hippy-dippy stickers, Obama stickers, "COEXIST" stickers (I'll talk about my problem with those someday), and other nuevo-peacenik-type things.  Noting the stickers, I decided to keep an eye open on the way out, see if there was, perhaps, a trend there, politically-speaking.  We hopped on the ELEVATOR (yes, elevator--so parking illegally downstairs didn't really save any time or walking distance) and hit the market.  And when we got back, laden with our treasures?  Even fewer cars up top, even more on the lower levels.

And the stickers?

Of the ten cars parked closest to the entrance?  The "most illegally" parked, if you will?  One had a Romney-Ryan sticker.  THREE had Cuccinelli stickers.  There were two NRA stickers.  One strongly anti-Obama sticker, and one Tea Party sticker.  And some various sports team stickers.  

Certainly not a scientific sample, but it sure does make you think.  Makes you wonder about the mentality that can't be bothered to park where they're supposed to.  It's clearly marked, it's not like they missed it.  It's not like the free parking up top was full and they had nowhere else to be.  No, this is an oblivious sense of entitlement, a "don't you tell me what to do" kind of bent that I've commonly observed in the bagger/right crowd.  

Maybe there are some research dollars in that, huh?

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And finally, I did good.  First I did bad, but then good.

Friday night, the lice-kid from down the street, the one who pathologically lies?  Showed up after 9 p.m., wanting to do a sleepover.  This kid blew our boy off for months, and even before that, made it clear our kid was a "last resort."  This boy and his brother brought LICE into our home!  Most scarily, this boy has been hanging out with the frightening animal killing/kid beating group.  

Oh, and he's three years younger than our boy.

Anyway, he shows up and wants to overnight.  Wanting to save my boy the discomfort of having to beg off, I sent him upstairs--and it got ugly.  I had no idea why, so when the lice-kid had left, I asked.  And our boy said, "I wouldn't mind if he came over."

Understand, our boy can't stand this kid, which means he must be really desperate for companionship.  

Problem is, I'm not willing to have the kid over here.  When he comes, he's not here for our boy, he's here to walk through our house inventorying our possessions while he makes up stories about his rich grandpa and rich uncles who have stuff that's so much better than ours.  Instead of hanging with our boy, he hangs on the adults, telling whopping, incredibly stupid lies about things like "electroid soundproofing curtains."  The kid proudly proclaims that he's gone over a year without reading ANYTHING, and every time he's come over, it's been followed by a return visit claiming he's lost some expensive bit of electronic equipment over here.  

That's the bad.

What our boy didn't know is that I had scoped out an open house for a local Radio Control Flying club.  See, since we moved here he hasn't been able to fly because the laws are pretty nasty around here on flying in parks and the like.  He's missed it.  Terribly.  In fact, I was reading a writing assignment I gave him recently, and he was describing flying, and then how much he missed it.  So, when he was yelling at me on Friday night, he didn't realize that his Saturday was going to be RC Flying.  We've made arrangements now for him to fly most Saturdays.

That's the good.  I hope I redeemed myself.  Hubby said there were a lot of kids there, and I hope that brings him some joy, too.

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And that's that.  Oh, except we got an email from the landlord, a very vague "The HOA says there's a problem with the fence, fix it."  Yeah.  Some clarification, please.

Oh, and here's something ugly:

And finally, the bad news.  The small cavity in the lower left canine?  Not a problem, 27 bucks to fill.  The crack in the molar on the only side of my mouth I've been able to chew on since I was 13?

Over six hundred.  Over six hundred, and that's if the tooth doesn't break between now and the appointment I have no idea how we're going to afford.

Oh, and that's six hundred-plus AFTER insurance.

And that's my day.

Judge not, eh?

So, back to the baby-shooting in Georgia.  It's starting, it's spreading like wildfire.  You know, the "it was the MOM who did it!" shouting.  Why?  Because she isn't crying enough, she isn't convincing enough, she's talking too much, etc.  And here's what I have to say about that:

I was convinced that Ed Smart had killed his daughter.  No kidding, I was certain that his demeanor was inappropriate, that his crying seemed tearless and disingenuous.  I spent years working with rape and domestic abuse victims, felt confident I had a "handle" on the way people react to violent tragedies.

And I was TOTALLY wrong.  UTTERLY mistaken.  Elizabeth Smart, that beautiful, heroic young woman, that SURVIVOR, wasn't dead, and her Dad's grief had been absolutely genuine.

It was then I stopped "going with my gut."  Because guess what?  "Gut feelings," "instincts," and "hunches" are crap gauges by which to measure someone's guilt or innocence.  So I'm not going to run with any "the parents did it!" ideas unless solid, reliable evidence to that effect surfaces.  Right now, I'm going to stick with the Principle of Parsimony, aka "Occam's Razor."  You know--all things being equal, the most obvious, reasonable, easy-looking answer tends to be the correct one.

In that same vein, have you ever wondered what it would be like to have people assume you've done something horrible because they don't think your outward emotional response is in keeping with their idea of what it should have been?  You know, like I did with Ed Smart?  Can you imagine living with the knowledge that people think you murdered your child when, in fact, you didn't?  That's what comes into my head now.  Doesn't mean I don't sometimes think, "Oh, gosh, please don't let it have been the parents," but I'm very careful to keep my thoughts to myself.  

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Now, real quick, while I've got you here?  Do your kid a favor, don't give him some dippy name from some religious text, huh?  Like "Coriantumr?"  You'll save him all sorts of ironic embarrassment when he gets arrested and splattered over the web for serious Mormon no-nos like intoxication.  Seriously, "Coriantumr?"  What were you thinking?

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So, this came across my Facebook feed the other day.  I've seen mention before, but this is the first meme I've seen.  I have to say, it seems a good idea, and part of my likes it, but I have some serious reservations.  Why?

Because it's not MY job to watch out for YOUR dog.  My eyes are crap when it comes to spotting little ribbons tied on dog leashes, especially in evening/at night.  And the last thing I'm going to tolerate is someone yelling at me because I didn't see the ribbon.  It's not that I'm not sympathetic--I have a "dog-reactive" dog myself.  And it is MY responsibility to keep space between him and other dogs.  Putting a ribbon on my dog's leash doesn't in any way make it anyone else's problem.  Nice if someone notices and knows what it means, but if they don't?

That's on ME.  Nobody else. And I know, most folks pushing for this won't blame folks who miss the ribbon or its meaning.  But you just KNOW there are a few who absolutely will.  

And that's all.  Still no red paneling.  I am SUCH a loser.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

An Itty Bitty

So, I'm in the middle of this epic blog post, and I realize there's no way I can finish it in one night.  Very photo intensive.  So I figure I'll take a few minutes on the iPad before bed to just type up a "'til then" sort of thing.

Weird dreams again last night.  Dreamed hubby and I were touring the Wasatch Front in a small motorboat, cruising a strange, interconnected series of canals, rivers, and swamps running between Ogden and Provo.  A lot of white water and wishing I had a life jacket.  Oh, and the boat?  A small metal motorboat.  I was the motor.  Don't ask me how that worked.  Dunno.

Had to pull a tick out of hubby last night after he and our boy went bush whacking around some old batteries near DC.  Pics with tomorrow's entry.  Including a pick of the tick.  I hate ticks.   This was a deer tick, which is a change from hubby's usual lone star tick predilection.  I, of course, have now got the hopeless itchy-crawlies.

I was blog-crawling tonight when I came across a blog from Northern Utah.  My first urge, if course, was to leave a "Howdy, ex-neighbor!"kind of post, but I rethought it when I saw the "happily sealed for time and all eternity" bit on the side.  I'm an atheist.  I don't have an anti-Mormon thing going on, but I hesitate to put myself on folks' pages when I fear they would likely be pretty solidly offended by my atheism.  Maybe that's not fair, but, in my experience, the faithful do better with my atheism when it comes up later in the game, after they've gotten a chance to know me.  I dunno.  Maybe I'll throw caution to the wind and drop them a "how do?"

Hubby's nephew (we call him "Bad Rick" to distinguish from my cousin's son, who shares the name) has got yet another baby on the way.  I think this is number three.  Barely 18, works fast food when he works at all, didn't finish school, his mom had to go to court for custody of the first baby.  Anyway, he's got a new "baby mama" (wow, I hate that term), who is, if her Facebook can be believed, just as dramatic, immature, and dim as the last one.  She's four months pregnant, and they've chosen the name "Celica."  Yeah, like the beat-to-hell brown rustbucket my old roommate drove in college.  The one that required a screwdriver jammed between the terminal and the cable to start and would take a vicious hard left if you let go of the steering wheel.  "Celica?"  Heck, why stop there?  Why not "TownCar" or "Land Rover?"

Or Suburban?

Stupid baby names piss me off.  Names chosen because they're painfully cute or represent some insipid inside joke for the parents with no real thought for how that child is going to fare being named Pilot Inspektor or TeeLeeAnne or Celica.  I may just be hyper-sensitive about that.  Heck, I've always been driven batty by the "eight kids, and all of their names start with the same letter" gig.  Just seems uninspired and gaggingly cute to me.  Of course, of my four legitimate siblings/half-siblings, three have names that begin with the same letter/sound as mine.  And, yeah, I think it's lame and uninspired.  At least I'm the oldest "K" name.  That's some small consolation.

Forgive me if you're the parent of Jared, Jason, Jenna, James, Jocylin, Jesse, Justin, and Jello.  I'm sure you had your reasons, and my opinion on your kids' names probably means nothing to you.  That's likely as it should be.

The car is still in the shop.  Really liking the Camry (hey, maybe Bad Rick's next automotive baby name!), though I think I like the Sonata more.  Seats are more comfortable, seat belt less of a hassle.

And that's that, I think.  I'll wrap up the entry I'm working on tomorrow.  G'night!