Sunday, July 31, 2016

No Sleep and Sermons

I've started having trouble sleeping again, but I think this time it's caused by the fact that I've been drinking coffee like a champ morning, noon and night in my battle against eating very bad for me things. Coffee kills the appetite and gives me enough energy to power through my daily workouts. Unfortunately I've been hoovering up the caffeine like Jessie Pinkman sampling his blue meth with about the same results.

Didn't sleep last night and boy did I feel it today. I slide through my morning like a sluggish snail dragging her shell around, barely able to listen to our pastor's sermon, which to boil it all down the core message was 'Don't Be A Dick', something I guess I need to be reminded of while at the gym.

If you are impassive and non-verbal to others are you really being a dick or just merely rude?

Too bad that sermon didn't fall very deeply in others ears because I got my ass chewed out about ten times AFTER the sermon this morning by various self-righteous pontificators over very minor details. I ran out the door hissing and spitting that I was never coming back. Shades of my old church and I'm not putting up with that again.

As we left church this morning Jim and I were talking about that old Creek Fellowship we used to attend and he said something about why couldn't we see how crazy and toxic it all was. I don't know why we couldn't see it then, but now it seems like it does not take much before I'm triggered here at the place we're attending now.

I guess I'm not as far along in my recovery as I thought I was.

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Intrinsical Value

One of my favorite possessions is a photo of my grandmother from back in the late 1920s. I'm not sure it's pre or post Black Tuesday, Oct. 29, 1929 but I think it's likely pre. I've heard horror stories from that grandmother my whole life about two or three of her brothers jumping out of windows after losing fortunes in the market. I know her family was wealthy right up until Black Tuesday. The only one to come out financially unscathed was my great grandmother, but only because she owned many rental properties and farms. She didn't trust in stocks.

My grandmother is wearing a flapper style dress in that photo, stockings rolled just below her knees, a long necklace and a feathered headdress. She's smiling, posing with one hand on her hip and the other behind her bobbed hair head and feathered headband. She could have been straight out of 'The Great Gatsby'. She radiates confidence, happiness and value.

Too bad I never knew her that way. By the time I came along in the 1960s she was a bitter, complaining, lost soul, someone who have had every morsel of self confidence and worth quashed within her for many years. She held a masters degree, was a debutante from a wealthy family, and taught school for many years, but behaved like she believed the sky might fall at any minute, sidling around like a whipped dog.

What happened to her? I don't really know for sure, but if I had to guess it was my alcoholic grandfather that happened to her. They married in the thirties because she was pregnant and I know from family lore that most everyone in the family thought she'd really come down in life by marrying my grandfather. He was the son of a preacher and worked at Jax brewery in New Orleans.

I loved my grandfather but I did witness all the times he simply cut the hamstrings of my grandmother Vivian's emotions, needs and self worth. A murder by a thousand million tiny paper cuts. I didn't understand it as a child but many times I remember him doing things like turning the lights off in the kitchen while she was reading a recipe to make and saying she wasn't worth the electricity.

Recently reading through the blogs of Lori Alexander, Nancy Campbell, Debi Pearl and Steven Anderson, among others, I can see that this is pretty standard operating procedure for evangelical quiverfull too. It uses up women and warps them terribly as much as anything my poor grandmother experienced.

When you leave that type of toxic faith environment one of the biggest struggles, at least it was for me, was to regain your self worth, to realize you are valuable in your own way, a way that cannot be measured against anyone else standard of value.

It's one of the reasons I started going back to the gym every single day now, even if I get annoyed with folks that treat it like a social club or deal with weirdos in the hot tub. I have come to realize that instead of sacrificing for everyone else I must carve out daily time to take care of myself because I have worth. It's self care I must do to help out my asthma. I do it for me. No one else.

If you cannot believe you have worth then you cannot possibly do the things you need to do to keep yourself healthy, physically, emotionally or spiritually. Listening to the cultural enforcers I listed above you will never be able to believe in your own self worth because they preach the dangerous chorus of sacrifice it all.

They don't even realize that by teaching that type of submission they're thinning their own ranks significantly. Don't you think if God wanted workers in the field He might expect them to realize their worth and maintain their own bodies and minds in a healthy state.

Friday, July 29, 2016

Ted's Asshole and Hot Tub Hijinks

I have to say that I'm starting to think that the hot tub at the gym is some sort of vortex for strangeness. It's turning into a veritable cauldron of crazy.

Did my workout again today and had to sit in the tub, like always when my entire body is grumbling and complaining that I made it do things that don't involve laying on the sofa or lazing on the lawn furniture..

The problem being this week I've been treated to a treasure trove of tall tales and weirdness. I think it has to do with the fact that these are mostly retired guys with nothing to do but troll around the gym hot tub.

Weirdo #1, come on down - He kept babbling about being a CIA operative that was psychic and he had visions of who was going to die next. I got the impression he was Cousin Eddie's cousin with a dented piece of government plastic in his head. If he's in the CIA then I must be a Mensa member.

Weirdo #2, and just like going number two stunk literally and figuratively. His shtick was he started trying to tell me about his years working in Belgium at, was it NATO command? I couldn't figure out. Once he started trying to explain to me about his Top Secret Security Clearance I told him that my husband was retired military intelligence. He shut up about his years doing that stuff and changed the subject. Busted..

Weirdo #3 was a ministry at a local fundagelical church that is also a big old toxic stew and he tried a 'Come to Jesus' after finding out I attend the local Methodist church. I told him that if he kept bugging me I would have to start worshiping Satan for fun and profit.

Weirdo #4 today came into the hot tub and stood there pointing out of the area to the average traffic on the highway just outside of the window, babbling about those gawddamn 'Come Heres' from Northern Virginia ruining our small town. I said very little, putting on my Thurston Howell III act and actively ignored him right up until the moment he asked if I was married and tried some very dated pickup line on me. I got up and immediately left the hot tub without even replying to his crap.


But tonight Jim made me laugh so hard. We were watching television and this Xfinity ad came on...

...he turned to me and said, 'Why are they singing about building a thingy on Ted's asshole?'

I have been dying laughing ever since. The lyric they were singing that Jim misheard was 'We built this thingy with tech that's old..' I think I prefer it Jim's way. Now that I've heard his take I can never hear it again the correct way.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Caught (Between the Hot Tub and the Steam Room)

Today's gym adventures included watching two older ladies, the type that show up glammed up to work out, have a bitchy shout off in the parking lot over who got to the close to the door parking space first. This really made me laugh because it seems like if you're going to work out anyway it really shouldn't matter if you have to park another twenty or thirty feet away.

However I guess with the temps being with the heat indexes up on the plus side of 100 they might have been worried about hair frizzling or makeup melting.

I affected my resting bitch face/Thurston Howell III mien hard today because the gym was filled with folks, lots and lots of folks, making my workout harder. But at least no one started trying to talk to me, at least until I got into the hot tub.

Somehow I found myself cornered by someone I'd not encountered there before, the Bragging Preacher, not to be confused with the Pissing Preacher (Steven Anderson that says that men must pee standing up or lose their man card and balls). The Bragging Preacher kept shouting out his accomplishments and stories like he thought I gave a damn. Assemblies of God, now loosely afflicting,, er.... affiliated with one of the more woot-woot fundamentalist-crazy non-denoms in rural Madison County. I rolled my eyes so many times before I got away from him that I swear I thought they might freeze and stay that way.

The rest of the day has been me taking apart the dryer and fixing it. I should have stayed away from the gym because I think I've thrown my back out again.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Thurstonina Howell The Third Again

I've been breaking that bitch out a lot lately, from resting bitchface in the gym to avoid talking to others all the way through my you will do what I say now at the DMV.

You wouldn't like her much. I realize I'm not entirely likable all the time, hell, likely I'm unlikable a lot of the time. I have no problem with that if it's in a place and time that I'm struggling with being in. Like the damn gym.

We got through moving our son back to his old place. I felt so bad for him the entire time we were shifting his things around. There was some confusion on getting a Uhaul. Apparently none of the guys in our family realized you had to reserve one of their trucks in advance. We did manage to rent a pickup truck and get him packed up and back to NoVa.

I am not even going to lie, it was a tough day, and nope, I didn't break out Thurstonina at all. In fact it was all sorts of heartbreaking listening to the crying, whimpering and very confused doggies of my son's girlfriend while we were moving his things out. I sat on her sofa, looking around her beautiful small cottage home and had to inwardly mourn for my son because this is exactly the sort of life I pictured for him, wanted him to have. A loving partner, a nice tranquil place to live and the kind of freedom that his desire for the countryside would bring. Instead it's back to the grind in Fairfax county Virginia.

The days after the move were involved with Jim trying to get our daughter's old car transferred and tagged in our name. Unfortunately he ran into the same problem at our local DMV that I have several times now. You show up, with the correct paperwork according to the DMV website, charge card in your hot little hand and you wait and wait and wait only to be shuttled through at least three low level petty power drunken idiots that cannot even agree on how your transaction should be handled, then denied at least a half dozen times before you finally either find the one person there willing to do their damn job, or you make a scene and get the transaction finalized.

Jim kept getting rejected so I took a crack at it Monday morning, employing the other sad tactic that works in small Southern towns when dealing with bureaucracy, getting dressed up and groomed as though you were of a better class. Here that means like one of the Northern Virginia 'Come-Heres' or like one of the rich folks that rides with the hounds. Designer clothes, makeup, etc. completed with a Thurstonina Howell The Third attitude of superiority.

I hate pulling that shit, but it worked like a charm. I exited the building successfully clutching new license plates and registration. Small towns in South operate in the strangest ways.

Told my doctor when I ended up shortly thereafter at her office to look very closely because this was likely one of the few times, or only time she'd see me wearing makeup, with my hair done up just so and dressed like that. We laughed.

What wasn't so funny is what some of my blood work revealed. My blood sugars are going crazy again, spiking when I use certain asthma meds and driving my A1C levels up to scary highs. I have upcoming appointments now with a endocrinologist, cardiologist etc to make sure I've not have too much damage from the crazy up and down of the blood sugar and see if there is going to be a way to manage the spikes when I have to use my asthma meds. It sucks.

One of the suckiest things about all of this is that I now have to go to the gym daily for at least thirty minutes of exercise. I've been mostly very grumpy about this because, quite frankly, I hate exercising. I don't like going to the gym, I hate sweating, I hate that it makes my back hurt, I hate that I have to build up again some stamina and resistance after these long months of being sick. The thing I hate the most is dealing with the other people actually at the gym, which I detailed recently here about my difficulties dealing with ex church members. But I did it, but Thurstonina Howell The Third was there too. It's the only way to keep others from slowing my already slow ass down and keep on track.

I think I might have overdone it today because it's only 5 pm and I'm ready for bed right now.

Thursday, July 21, 2016


It's been quite the week. There has been major drama with my poor son. Long story short, he gave up a good paying job and a nice living situation in Northern Virginia to take a not so great paying job and move in with his long time girlfriend in very rural Central Virginia. The job involved things like he never imagined, like climbing on roofs and he rapidly discovered he hated it. When he fell off a roof and dislocated his shoulder he knew he could not stay, so he quit.

His girlfriend hit the roof, not the one he fell off of, and so now he's leaving her. Today we're moving him out, back to his old place that thankfully had not re-rented. He tried to get his old job back but it doesn't look likely.

Losing your job and losing your relationship are both stressful enough on their own, but together... it just breaks my heart that he's having to start all over again anew. I feel so badly for my baby.

The rest of the week wasn't much better. Another shooting in Baton Rouge, this time only a block from where I lived for five years before I married Jim. It is so jarring, dislocating, just weird to see all the important places in your younger life on television as the backdrop to a large scale tragedy. I've got relatives that are cops in that city, which really makes all the recent happenings hit hard. I've written about the endemic racism in Baton Rouge by most of the white population, but this cop-killing isn't going to help the situation either. Going home soon to see my mother and I'm not looking forward to being in Louisiana.

Which leads me to the thing that is making me feel bumper-stunned the most. Yesterday I spent many hours speaking with people from New Bethany and family members of Bossier Doe Carol Anne Cole. I'm going to be doing a little digging and writing an article, or series of articles about New Bethany and the stalled investigation into Carol Ann's murder for No Longer Quivering. The stories that are coming out of this are just heart breaking.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Waffles and Pussy (Cats)

The title is in reference to a line some critics got after a film maker for using in a cheesy exploitation horror film my former favorite actor has a big role in that is in the theaters now. The critics don't get the phrase and argument is lifted straight out of another better film in homage. Such is much of life. No one really understands you or your motives.

We've started a new planning phase these last month. Serious planning.

Are you ready for my big news? We're putting together plans to build, own and operate a bed and breakfast when we get to Costa Rica this fall or winter.

It's doable on many levels. Land is cheap, construction costs are low and people work for an average of two bucks an hour. All that means that I merely have to answer phones, take reservations and oversee the maid and cook. Jim actually came up with the idea and I think it's a great one.

There is one problem I foresee. It will likely poke a stick into the mad hornet ball of my narcissistic sister in law in Texas. She'll be mightily pissed and likely jealous. When she married my bro in law she told him she couldn't work because she wanted to fulfill her lifelong dream of having a bed and breakfast.

So they build, first a garage with a two bedroom apartment, followed by a large home, followed by a large opulent building to use at the bed and breakfast. I don't know for sure what happened. What I do know is that she spent my bro in laws money to build and furnish the place before changing her mind. Now the bro in law uses it for his freelance office. All that moolah just down the damn drain.

Neurotic is as neurotic does. I don't like to poke that hornet's nest, but this has nothing to do with her. She's going to make it all about her when we do. Stay tuned.

I still think she shows all the signs of raving narcissism. My therapy agrees. Somehow I don't think she would have been emotionally capable of dealing with the unwashed masses very well. I know I will because I've worked with the public in a number of jobs.


Two quite stressful things have happened recently. Last week we went into the big city to help our youngest daughter a car. The daughter that works at a university while working on her organizational business management Masters degree.

We knew this was going to be stressful. We've either paid for a car for the other two kids or paid a down payment, so we've been aware for a long time now that the day was coming when we'd have to do the same for her. The last gasp of outlay of money (hopefully) in the road to adulting for our baby.

Now Jim is a tightwad. I knew this was going to be a major battle because of that fact. Also when he's been involved in car buying in the past he likes to take a long long time to visit all the dealerships before committing. I'm immune to getting ripped off at the dealerships and manage to get good deals, but then again I've sold new cars for serious stretches when I could not get any job I wanted.

But I have to give my daughter credit. She did all her research for months on end, driven a few cars and gotten a hefty pre-approval check from her bank. She was ready to go.

After a quick visit and a handful of test drives she was ready to buy. I sat back while she negotiated a pretty decent deal at what seemed like one of the better dealerships. Turned out the sales manager and I know a lot of people in common in the industry and we spent a fun half hour talking about sales and sales folks.

He wanted to know why I fled car sales 13 years ago after a 6 month stint here locally and I told him about the unrelenting boys club antics I was subjected to daily, a rout manual for misogynists nationwide. Little things that coming to my desk and finding the contents of my drawers scattered around the room, my coat always being flung from the coat rack and stepped on by chortling manly males. Petty punishments like being sent to McDonalds to buy breakfast for everyone at the mandatory meeting and having the sales manager dole out the grub and tell you there's nothing for you. I made my first sale at that dealership after one hour on the sales floor and the sales manager told me, 'You figure it out, college girl' when I asked for a sales packet to conclude the transaction. Relentless grinding down. I smiled and took it.

I'm proud of my daughter, she handled this like a pro, got a good deal on a car that was low mileage and almost new, still had most of the factory warranty in place. But at the last second she was pressured to buy an extended warranty on the electronics since most things on this car are computerized. She did and my husband hit the freak roof! There was fighting and tears before my daughter prevailed and drove the car off the lot.

Her old car isn't dead, thank whomever, because a day or two before the car purchase Jim's car decided to give up the ghost and die. Timing belt broke and causes some major damage to the motor. He is taking her much older SUV and will be driving that now. Now that everything has calmed down.

I knew there would be drama on his part when she went to buy her car.


The other crazy thing that happened is that I finally broke down and got a Shingles vaccination on Monday morning. By nightfall I was sick as can be. I had the very rare reaction and have spent the last two days bedridden. Today I was half bedridden because my high fever (103) finally broke this morning. I can now sit up but still feel weak as a kitten. I had a high fever, pain in all my joints, very low blood pressure that meant every time I stood I either fell down or stumbled around like I was drunk. It drove my oxygen stats very low and my pulse rather high. Most people never get reactions like this, but I have now to a number of vaccines and drugs. This is par for the stupid course for me. No tequila this Friday.

Thursday, July 07, 2016

When Will It End?

Not long after I finished writing about my despair over the shootings in the last few days of young black men and the overt racism that exists in Baton Rouge I saw on television about the shootings of law enforcement during the protests in Dallas, Texas.

Violence is never the answer to violence. It just keeps upping the ante. I think peaceful protest and resistance is the only hope, like Martin Luther King preached. And this time the white community must join in to make it work. No more.

What was sickening and interesting at the same time was the vast difference in how Fox News and CNN covered the shootings. Fox News exaggerated what was going on. When I first flipped to them they announced four dead and six at the hospital with some breathless goggled eyed sick excitement. I moved on to CNN who are the time could only confirm 3 transit officers at the hospital. Later they announced it was three death and eleven in the hospital.

Is there not some legal way to force Fox News (and other offenders) to report truthfully and not hype up tragedies like some sick gleeful pageant of pain for ratings?

Ingrained Racism in Baton Rouge

This has been a sad few days, starting with yesterday lunchtime when I started to see the coverage of the police shooting of Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The videos were horrible, it was obvious, to me at least, that shooting a man at point blank range that you already have pinned to the ground is nothing short of cold-blooded murder.

I've been increasingly upset by the police shootings in our country, both of unarmed young black men and others. I don't have an answer to how to stop that, but every single time I hear of another person dying at the hands of an overzealous or possibly frightened police officer I cry. No one should have to fear law enforcement, but now many of us do.

My own fear of being shot and killed for no reason by law enforcement started with the lady that sang next to me on our church's worship team, Patricia Cook, was gunned down in downtown Culpeper. Her crime? She was trespassing at a local Catholic school and refused to show her drivers license to the officer called out to investigate. He shot her at point blank range in the face before shooting her five times in the back as she drove away. Shooting her from school grounds, a school filled with children, shooting towards a heavily trafficked major road intersection a block away. It's a mercy that others weren't injured.

For his crimes that officer received a sentence of 36 months, served a small portion of it and was released. The last I heard he was trying to get back on a force somewhere. The last thing he needs is a badge and a gun.

So Pat wasn't black, she was a white middle aged middle class lady of 54, one of the most meek and mild people I've met, the last one to be considered a threat. If it can happen to Pat then none of us are safe. We ALL could be executed by cop for something as minor as refusing to show a drivers license. We're all at risk.

The Baton Rouge shooting at a convenience store on North Foster Dr. just reinforces that horrible reality to me once again. My father used to live near the shooting scene many years before. I know exactly where this occurred. I've stopped at that particular store on my way to lay flowers on my father's grave in nearby Roselawn Cemetary. It was on the way.

Racism flows heavily through the city of Baton Rouge, just like some sort of black spiritual ick version of the Mississippi River. Is it possible to hate a place you love at the same time.

I spent a long spate of years, from 1973 to 1986, living in Baton Rouge, first in South Baton Rouge and later in the downtown area before finally settling off Old Hammond Highway near Tara subdivision. I know Baton Rouge intimately, whether I like it or not. I attended Louisiana State University of Baton Rouge, and married the son of two LSU professors. We left Baton Rouge to move to Europe for a number of years before settling here in Virginia near Washington D.C. for over twenty years now.

I've never looked back and wanted to return to live in Baton Rouge. At one point in our time here in Virginia Jim was offered a position with the Dept. of Labor in Baton Rouge. We never really considered it. It wasn't only because the weather is so unGodly hot all the time in South Louisiana either. There were other reasons.

One of the biggest is that racism exists in a particularly vile entrenchment, hand in hand with white privileged and entitlement. I grew up among that stomach-turning level of racism and I always hated it. Hated. It.

My father spewed about blacks and the evils of race mixing as I was a kid, but I could not make that leap to hating black people because there were wonderful people in my life that were black, that cared for me, loved me, took care of me. I could not hate those that had shown me love, some of the most unconditional early love of my life.

As I grew I just knew that my father and others were wrong on the matters of race. Blacks were no different than whites. It was a false dichotomy.  I grew up in the sixties amid Civil Rights, listening to my father complain about 'uppity Negros'. When Martin Luther King was murdered I remember I didn't go to school for a few days and no one in our household went to work. There was serious fear of race riots.

And race riots did touch Baton Rouge, just not when Martin Luther King was murdered, later in 1972. It happened during a Black Muslims rally downtown and while the article I linked to does not mention it I believe a older white newsman named Carlton Cremeans was seriously injured during the rally and lingered either with a brain injury or in a vegetative state for quite some time. Perhaps I'm thinking of another newsman but that is the name my brain keeps fishing up.

Racism has always been a huge problem in Baton Rouge, just under the surface. I remember in the 1970s when blacks started moving into some of the 'white' areas and how many ugly things were said. Later in the 70s when the federal government ordered school integration and started bussing students hither and yon the white population made their displeasure known at having to share schools with the black population. Anyone would could beg, borrow or steal the money needed for private school enrolled their children in one of the many Catholic schools and other private schools.

This was ironic because many of the Catholic schools had been integrated for some time with no fuss.

By the time I left Baton Rouge for greener pastures in Europe I'd seen pretty much the full spectrum of racism in the state capital, right down to the slums of Scotlandville to the fact that mostly service industry and menial jobs were the only ones open to African Americans. I saw how some of my coworkers were treated by management, and the toll crack cocaine took on a hopeless defeated community.

You'd forget how it was back in Baton Rouge during those times when we rarely went home more than every few years. But not long after arriving you'd hear or witness some white person behaving poorly towards a black. Every time this happened I was shocked. While there seems to be some racism just about everywhere in this world it wasn't so openly practiced.

Through the years as I've spoken with my many family members living in Baton Rouge and New Orleans and every community between the two I'd heard racist speech for years, proclamations of 'you know how those blacks are' and I'd gloss over it, not confronting the casual racist, just shrugging and thinking that this would eventually die off.

That press conference yesterday showed me it's not lessened, it's increased. What I observed was the black mayor and a black minister being trotted out to show how not racist the police dept. supposedly is. Followed by the chief of police pretty much ordering people to sit down and shut up, ordering them not to riot or protest. Made me sick to my stomach. As usual don't deal with the issues.

Adding in a few more shooting deaths of innocent African American males since the death of Sterling in a short few hours has been horrific. This is a holocaust of people and not how a rational just society operates. 

Today when I got up and saw that many of my South Louisiana friends and family weren't one bit sorry about what happened, seeing some very racist statements being bandied about, things like 'That n*gger got what was coming to him' and 'they saved the taxpayers a trial by executing that criminal' my heart broke anew. I cannot comprehend being so unfeeling and callous towards living human beings who are suffering.

I ended up deleting a few friends and putting a number of relatives on unfollow this morning and I'm going to be staying off Facebook for a few days.

Part of me is just so angry that I would rejoice to see that horrible fucking city burned to the ground in a riot. But then again the only ones that get hurt from a riot that destroys towns are the members of the poorest parts of the community, which in Baton Rouge means the blacks.

Like I said before, I don't know what the answer is to end all these hateful police shootings of unarmed folks on either side of the color line and, yes, the blacks are getting killed at disproportionate rates. But I do know one thing. If this is to end we cannot sit neutral on the sidelines any longer. Whites are going to have to stand up and join with their black fellow citizens and insist that enough is enough, that this must end. We're all at risk.

Tuesday, July 05, 2016

Thirty Years Still With Echos From Fundytown Replete With Fireworks, Dirty Movies and Flummoxed Fundies

I haven't felt like writing much. Back a week ago we had our thirtieth wedding anniversary and it was something of a disaster. Jim and I couldn't agree on what to do or where to go. He wanted to eat at a rather expensive local restaurant I only go to when they offer their fixed price Pre Fixe menus.

Yes, I'm tight with a buck, a bad habit picked up in fundytown that I cannot always let go of.

I suggested we go back to the beach or as a low-cost stressless anniversary just go to the nearby water park and have Mexican food. I'm not one of those women that has to have jewelry, furs or expensive presents. I'm lower key and lower maintenance than that. However Jim didn't come home from his class at the agreed upon time, he was several hours late, went straight to his computer and ignored me. I'd gotten him an anniversary card and thought I might get flowers or a card. Nope, nothing.

Nothing. Thirty years and not even a greeting card.

I kind of went nuts and the last few bits of leftover just nasty stuff from the years of tiptoeing around as the good submitting wife came boiling out and I picked one hell of a whopper of a fight. I explained some things. By that time it was way way too late to hit the water park so what we did was go to our favorite local Mexican restaurant and proceeded to get tipsy as hell on margaritas. It ended well.

For so many years I suppressed my own thoughts and needs so severely that sometimes they come boiling out like red hot lava and I go way beyond caring if I hurt someone with my words. I need to find a healthier balance. I'm hoping as time goes on and I continue to be completely open and vocal about my needs and feelings that the lava subsides.


One of the things I learned this week was how to make fundamentalist door to door Christians stop ringing my door bell. The very next day I was busy folding a bunch of loads of laundry that has piled up. I hate doing laundry and there's something just completely mindless about folding and ironing so I always switch on the big flat screen television mounted over our fireplace and find something to watch while I deal with the laundry.

That day I was catching the tail end of one of my favorite films I only got around to seeing after we left our old church, 'The Full Monty'. While I sat at my vantage point on the loveseat folding and sorting laundry into baskets I could see two men in shiny out of date suits, like the kind you might see at Goodwill and a couple of ladies in long dresses with long Assemblies of God hair, no makeup. They were coming up the walk way to the front of my house. They only got to the bottom step before I could see that their mouths had popped open and they all looked shocked. They could clearly see my television from that first step and the film was on the very end of the movie, the sequence where the guys were going into the full monty.

While I watched them staring at the sin and degradation on my television they backed up, turned around and left. But not before putting a few choice tracts under the windshield wipers of my car. LMAO, had I known it was so easy to make them leave me alone I would have put that film sequence on a loop and ran it continuously when I wasn't watching television.

It's so mild, just a few naked bums at the end, not really what I would call pornographic. But, hey, it worked!


The 4th was all cat wrangling into a thundershirt when my ruralesque neighbors four houses down decided to keep shooting off illegal fireworks off and on all weekend. I'm thankful it's over. Not one of my favorite holidays at all. Plus I'm up to my eyeballs in canning the copious produce from the garden.

Today I went to the local art house theater shortly after lunch and got to see 'The Full Monty' on the big screen. I was surprised that the only other folks there was a large group of retirement aged ladies, some with zimmer frames, cheering and clapping during the stripping sequences.