Separation of Church and Halloween

The church is killing the community. Sounds wrong, doesn’t it?  We’ve been told that the church is all about community.  Somehow, though, it has replaced the real community with a faux community conjured up from a homogeneous group brought together in a vast cinderblock bunker with a steeple on top and a 20-acre parking lot.

My daughter is going trick-or-treating tonight with a friend.  Sounds easy.  Took a lot of work to get to that point.  We live in an area with poor public schools.  Most everyone goes to private school.  My daughter knows almost no children in her neighborhood.  I guess you can say that private schools are killing the community, but that is for another post.  So back in early September, I set up a trick-or-treating date with my daughter’s best friend who lives 40 minutes away.  I communicated back and forth with the mom about Halloween plans and the sleepover.  All seemed well.  Until Monday, when I was informed that the girl couldn’t come because she had to volunteer at the “Fall Festival” at her church.

Yep.  Fall Festival.  Not Halloween.  Not trick-or-treating.  Why would anyone want their kids roaming their neighborhoods in costumes?  Seeing their neighbors.  Carving scary jack o’lanterns. The church feels a need to put an end to that.  Perhaps Satan has been found residing in Smarties and mini Twix bars.

And if the “Fall Festival” replacement is annoying, could it be worse than Trunk-or-Treat?  Skittish parents drive into their church parking lot and back their cars into a circular formation.   They fill their trunks with candy, pop the door open and the kids, unaware there is a real world out there, circulate among the trunks and fill their bags with candy.  Trunks are not for kids and candy.  They are for luggage.  Bald tires.  Low-level mobsters bound for the East River.  Sigh.

In a few hours, my daughter and another friend will roam the streets.  They will get to see neighbors they know and meet new ones.  My daughter will enlarge her community each time she rings a doorbell and says “trick or treat.”  I will go with them on the more unfamiliar streets and I, too, will enlarge my community.  And I get to look into other people’s houses.  I love that!

I’m so looking forward to seeing the little, happy kids.  And the bigger happy kids.  Hopefully not the really, really big kids, but I guess that’s ok as long as they are polite.  I’ve heard that we should expect around 150 kids.  Everyone will be out in this neighborhood – the children of the elite that live in $10,000,000 houses, college students, and the kids that live in public housing 3 blocks away.  My community will grow.  And it will only cost me 300 pieces of chocolate.  And I can leave my car parked in the drive.

Come on and ring my doorbell.  Ain’t nobody going to hell.

Mad

Rick Perry will never end abortions in Texas.

Never.

He may end legal and safe abortions.

He will most definitely increase the death rate of women who will attempt "back alley" abortions.

He will most definitely increase the suicide rate among women, especially young women and girls.

He will not safeguard women's health in any way.

He has completely mislead himself and those that believe in him by calling himself pro-life.  Pro-life does not include women butchered by illegal abortions and babies found in dumpsters.

Rick Perry will NEVER end abortions in Texas.

No one will end abortions anywhere.

This is my daughter's whiteboard.  Sometimes I wonder just who the hell she is.

If I were to write my schedule on a whiteboard, what would it say.

Get up
Seek inspiration
Eat
Shower
Seek inspiration
Laundry
Snack
Seek inspiration
Lunch
Seek inspiration
Laundry
Do something else
Snack
Seek inspiration
Walk dog
Snack
Laundry
Seek inspiration
Do something
Eat
Mess with stuff, things and crap (noun, not verb)
Snack
Drink
Television
Bed

It's quite depressing to see my day all written out.

Think I'll erase my whiteboard.


Get up
Seek
Eat
Sh
S

Can't we hang the pope hat next to the KKK hood and keep that closet door closed!

It seems that, lately, we are all promoting ourselves to “constitutional lawyer.” We all claim to know exactly what our founding fathers meant when penning the Constitution. The vast majority of who are weighing in on the U.S. Constitution have no formal education or training to do so. But this seems to be stopping nobody.

So, now I’m hopping on the “I’m a constitutional lawyer” bandwagon. Let’s discuss that Freedom of Religion thing. Why? It’s just a little bitty bit of the first amendment to the U. S. Constitution. A mere 16 words applying to religion in this country. Want to see it? Here it goes:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

I don’t see that it has anything to do with contraception, the good (or not-so-good) folks working down there at the Blue Shield offices, or requiring a European Catholic man to lead our wayward statesmen.

Seems to temporarily-self-appointed-constitutional-lawyer me, that the first amendment states that the government cannot pick one church to rule us all. In law speak that’s the “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion” part. The second part, “or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” seems to say that if you want to pick a religion to believe in or if you want to just stay home and say your evening prayers you’re welcome to do so.

That’s it!

But it seems as if the Catholic Church has done a bit of over-interpretation.

If we’re all going to be forced to fall in with the Catholic Church, then why the hell did our ancestors come to this country in the first place? Are we going to let all of that hard work (of our ancestors) disintegrate under the iron hand of the Catholic Church?

After centuries of fear of control by other countries, are we now going to let the Pope dictate how our country is run? We are letting a man who is not a citizen of this country rule approximately 68 million of our people. This man is not our elected leader. Do these 68 million Americans think the Pope is a congressman living in a suburb outside of Detroit?

THE LAND OF THE FREE is being eaten by a “holy” man in a ridiculous hat.

Ladies and Gentlemen, no one in this country has the right to tell you not to use contraception. NO ONE. No group, entity, faction, denomination, flock or cluster has the right to tell you not to use contraception.

I’ve been a regular voter for 30 years. Not once have I seen the Pope on any ballot. Never. Nor has anyone else in the country. But way too many of us are voting for him one way or another. Are these people forgetting that their ancestors came to this country to enjoy individual liberty? And now they are going to sign over these liberties and those of their offspring to the Pope?

Freedom of religion means that an individual can believe in God, Jesus Christ, trees, mother nature, aliens, and themselves. Or not. If an individual wants to dedicate his or her life to a church, fine. If they do not wish to use birth control, I will not attempt to take away their freedom to procreate until their eyes bleed, or to abstain until their eyes bleed even more. However, I will NOT stand to have them group together in the millions (or more if we include the rest of the world) and get their business up in my bedroom or my uterus.

The Catholic Church does not have the right to control my reproductive parts. The Catholic Church does not have the right to control the reproductive parts of its members. If the members of the Catholic Church choose to be sheep then I cannot stop them. I do, however, refuse to become part of that flock. I will not be governed by them.

Oh, yes! It's Another Birth Control Tirade

Looks like President Obama has poked the conservative bear. And you know what happens when you poke a bear. They tend to maul you without asking why you were poking them in the first place.

The religion/birth control war seems to be on. The Catholic leaders have got their skirts in a bunch and Midge McConnell is once again doing his impersonation of a pearl-clutching old woman. “Say,” the conservatives screech, “Let’s do whatever we can to take down Obama, even if that means screwing over millions upon millions of women and girls.

Not only does the Catholic Church want to exempt itself from participating in women’s preventive health care, they want control over the women themselves. I can’t accuse the Catholic Church of kidnapping women and making them join the faith against their will. But I can accuse them of misleading their followers. But that is another loooonnnnnnnnnggg story, and I’m here to bitch about the birth control thing and the control of men over the whole damn world. A simple and brief topic, right? Here’s some semi-random thoughts:

A. The Catholic Church in the United States wants freedom of religion. Yet, this “freedom” removes freedoms from their members. The members are to follow the Church’s teachings. This greatly inhibits the members from thinking for themselves. And who runs this church? Google it. Look at the list of male bishops.

B. The human species has not yet evolved to the point that we no longer need organized religion. Most of us seem to want guidance and instruction. Yet, somehow, too many of us have chosen to have our guidance and instruction created and distributed by men. Yes, ladies, while you were huddled down by the river washing clothes and chasing babies and children, the men starting making rules and we’ve stuck by these rules until very recently.

C. Most of the murder and rape in the world is committed by men. I’m willing to bet, without looking up the statistics, that most of the domestic violence in this country is committed by men. Yes, I know in a bar fight, I’m likely to lose to a man, but to go beyond this physical inequality to across-the-board inequality through archaic laws and religious oppression is detrimental to every individual in this country (even men). Yes, I'll let you open the door for me, but I'm NOT going be forced to gestate the offspring from a rapist.

D. Believe it or not, the same man who thinks you need to accept your broken gift from God if you are raped and get pregnant, could possibly be the next president. And furthermore, according to the ever-persistent Santorum, you better not do a damn thing to prevent that pregnancy. So ladies, if you’re walking home from work one evening, you better just be prepared to be raped and give birth. Frankly, you better not be walking by yourself. You know, the more Santorum thinks about it, you best not be out without an escort and a burqa. And what are you doing working outside the home, anyway?

Until recently, I have not been one to promote discrimination. But I’m going to become more discriminating on whom I vote for. Will I in the future base my vote on a candidate’s religion? As my daughter’s Magic 8 Ball states: Outlook good. I will not knowingly support a person or organization that encourages or merely tolerations the oppression of women.

I voted for Senator Casey in Pennsylvania. Now, when it’s time to stand up for the women of the state of Pennsylvania, he turns tail and hides behinds the skirts of his bishop. Shame on you Senator Casey. Shame on any man in this country (and yes, the world, but that’s another post) who is unable to stand up for the rights of over 50% of the citizens of this country.

Oh, and by the way, thank you to the men who are standing up for the women in this country.

Isn't it too early in the year to rant? Hell no!

I haven't written here in a while, what with all of those holidays. And then along came Rick Santorum. I can't write when I think about him. I can do very little with Santorum on my mind.

Yesterday, I found it extremely difficult to pee when I was thinking of him. I had to turn my thoughts to puppies and llamas in order to clear my bladder. I'm NOT making this up.

And today I read that Santorum is calling Romney's religion a dangerous cult. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black. And we know how Santorum likes to use the word "black."

I've got to purge this Republican primary from my mind or else go completely crazy.

In my thinking, government should be there to avoid chaos, collect taxes for infrastructure and generally do what is best for the majority of the people. Why the hell are those vying for the Republican nomination doing everything in their power to create and maintain chaos, avoid taxation and do what is best for themselves, everyone else be damned? What a ridiculous side show!

I'm just seething at the thought that this beady-eyed man thinks he or others like him have any right to get within 50 yards of my vagina or the vaginas of the millions and millions of women and girls in this country and dictate what they do or don't do. I truly wish aliens would abduct Santorum, probe him thoroughly against his will, impregnate him and force him to produce the product of Santorum and alien DNA even if it would likely kill him.

Forget the economy, forget foreign affairs, forget war, forget poverty, forget disease, forget education, let's concentrate completely on homosexuality and everyone's sister's reproductive organs. This is the way to make progress, right?

Carol of the Balls

This time of year, that old Christmas tune "Carol of the Bells" darts through my brain and often out of my lips dozens of times each day.

But after unwrapping my Christmas ornaments yesterday, it is all about the balls.

Is it silly that this ornament above (and its gold and green mates) are my favorite ornaments? I have two trees loaded with animal, bird, and Santa ornaments. Ornate vintage balls from antique shops. Lovely ornament gifts from all over the world. But these are the most important.

Back in the winter of 1950, my parents were newlyweds. Newlyweds with little money. My mother went to the five and dime store and brought several dozen boxes of inexpensive glass balls, a bottle of glue, and 3 bottles of glitter. These balls were the mainstay of their Christmas trees until my sister and I came along. Eventually, we loaded up the tree with our own little misguided Christmas crafts. Every now and then, a ball would come crashing to the ground. It still happens.

When my sister and I went off to college, my mother decided it was time for a color-theme tree. Peach and gold and white it would be. The original red, green and gold ornaments were divided up and remained in boxes until my sister and I had our own homes. I'm not sure how many ornaments survive at my sister's house, but I think I'm down to 12-14. I'm hoping to have enough to pass on to my daughter one of these years.

There are still a few ornaments left to hang, mostly these special balls. I'm dreading that awful little smashing sound that is inevitable each year, but I'm off to hang them up and remember the woman that made them.

The Cast-on, Cast-off of Life

Boy, I have been a grump lately!

Last night, we returned from our Thanksgiving trip to see two sides of the family. After (actually before) the unpacking was done, I declared that I was in no mood for Christmas. I did not want to decorate, I did not want to bake any damn cookies and I did not want to throw our annual Christmas party.

Why?

Don't know for sure.

I'm known to make anniversaries out of bad times. And this year is no different. Last Sunday was one year since my mother's kidney failure. We spent last Thanksgiving around the dining table while my mother was in the hospital. Every thing I did to "celebrate" the season last year was done in a haze of misery. I slogged through hosting the party, baking cookies, making fudge, and wrapping gifts that I was not certain would ever be seen by my mother. They weren't.

This year does not seem to be more promising.

My dad's cancer is believed to have spread. Tests done this December will confirm the path it has taken. My father-in-law is now in a nursing home after a recurrence of his lung cancer. Nothing will be done except to relieve pain.

Sometimes it feels hard to move, even harder to be festive.

--

While we were in my mother-in-law's home yesterday morning, my daughter spies knitting needles and a small ball of yarn on her side table. Attached is a small swatch of knitted yarn. My daughter asks her how to knit.

My mother knit. Somewhere in my archives is a post about it. She knit like a fiend. Like yarn was crack. My daughter watched her knit but never asked her how to do it. I certainly never asked. For me, knitting would be like asking to have my eye put out. Or both eyes. I am not a careful person.

But there sat the yarn AND a grandmother.

After my mother's death, I discovered several unfinished knitted blankets and scarves, some were nearing completion, some were far from it. My mother-in-law offered to finish off any raw edges so I could put some blankets to use and distribute the others to my family. Some were of a size only suitable to small dolls or stuffed animals. My mother-in-law is noted for beginning some projects and letting them languish for years. She is also noted for working like a demon on other projects and completing them in record time. This project was one of the latter.

And so, almost a year later, there on the table were my mother's knitting needles and yarn. With 20 minutes of patience on the side of both grandmother and granddaughter, there is a new knitter in the family. Last night, she asked me if my mother had one of those row counters. We dug out her knitting bag and found one and all sorts of other knitting goodies.

Here I sit in the dining room, clacking away on the laptop. There is my daughter in the living room, knitting needles clacking away.

--

I'm beginning, just beginning, to feel a bit more festive. I want my daughter to feel the joy of this time of year, even though I might not be feeling it. Yet. I will do my best not to show her how miserable a large part of me is. I know there are plenty of Christmas's past where my parents and my husband's parents have done the same.

Her smile will make me happy and her joy over the approaching holiday will cheer me. And the sound of my mother's knitting needles is already doing a great deal to improve my mood.

Hey Paleface

Bigoted jackass, central Pennsylvania

It’s taken me a few days to get around to writing this. I’ve been dreading even thinking about this again, but here goes.

Each Wednesday afternoon, I take my daughter downtown for her ballet lesson. Then, for an hour, I loiter in the public library. Sometimes I peruse the new books, but usually, I bring a few things I need to catch up on. Like a good little writer, I always have a notebook and pen with me. Unlike a good little writer, I rarely put what I have in my notebook onto my blog. Each week, I encounter some type of strangeness at the library, and I always tell myself I will blog about it when I get home. There are thousands of stories in the library (excluding the ones in books), and sometimes there are so many choices of characters, that I can’t settle on one to write about. Until now.

I had seen this guy once before, as he almost ran me and my daughter down while leaving the library. This day he settled into a chair in front of me and I could see his backside in all of its glory.

Today, the asshole arrives wearing a red T-shirt. The same one he wore the last time I saw him. He sits down at a computer station, pulls out a plastic bag and spits into it. He carries with him a great variety of things: a large jar of juice, tote bag, extra clothing, and a Confederate flag. And the shirt – well I don’t know what is written on the front, but the back reads, in large white letters, “KEEP AMERICA WHITE.” He wears a baseball cap covered with buttons. One button is for Penn State, which is crossed out with a handmade red “X.” A Confederate flag button, several others than I do not wish to get close enough to read, and, naturally, one with a swastika. He completes the outfit with camouflage pants, a wardrobe staple of society outsiders.

So, here in the public library, is a walking potential hate crime. My entire body shakes just being near this person. I wonder just what the hell this intolerant bastard is looking up on the computer. How to make explosives. How to tie a noose. Checking his Google stats on his popularity among white supremacists. I’m guessing that this man has been on earth for at least forty years. I cannot believe that someone who would carry their hatred on their sleeve (and tote bag and hat and . . .), would not have committed a hate crime in all of those years. Someone has no doubt suffered at the hands of this man. I’m suffering just by looking at the back of his hateful body.

Hands trembling, I took a photo. I expected him to turn around and eat me upon hearing the iPhone cute photo-taking noise. I packed to leave unscathed. It was time to pick up my Chinese daughter from ballet. I’m just assuming he wouldn’t appreciate a bit of yellow mixed into his filthy whiteness. I’m glad that my daughter was not here to see this. Would it have been a hate crime to beat him with my umbrella? I so wanted to borrow a Sharpie marker from the librarian, write “Keep America Free from Asshole Bigots” on my own shirt, stand in front of him and clear my throat. However, I don’t think I could have managed that without throwing up. And I would have so loved to decorate his racist face and shirt with my lunch.

There’s always next time, I guess. And with a conveniently located public library, I’m sure that time won’t be too far off.

Don't Put it On Me

I'm not usually one to pay much attention to what big woohoos that go on in the entertainment world. Either I'm slow to catch on or I just don't give a damn. Sometimes both.

But this time, I'm really irritated and nauseous, so I have to share.

Unless you're me or live under a rock, you've heard about the most disgusting marriage of the decade. Yep, 51-year-old actor marries 16-year-old chick. Normally, I would just think to myself, "whatever" (done in the eye-rolling sarcastic manner of a 16-year-old). But, for the love of Pete, I'm apoplectic.

Wanna watch! Go on . . .

Hopefully you've finished retching.

I only heard about this two days ago. I'm lucky to have been spared so far. Generally, I'm thinking about Libya, poverty in Africa, our failing school system, Michelle Bachmann, etc. Nowthis damn thing has taken over. Several scalding showers and eye washes have not helped in the least.

At first, I laughed. I saw a couple of videos of this girl and I just busted out laughing. I thought her plastic self was just too funny. And she does these REALLY bizarre things with her lips. If you haven't watched the video yet, please, you have to.

AND she has a music video. Classic!

Yes, it seems she really is 16. There are some disbelievers. I know, she does look like a 30-year old smokin' and boozin' not-so-good-hearted hooker. But the birthers have spoken and a birth certificate has been shown.

After I had an evening of belly-shaking laughter, slowly the weight of her situation came down on me. She really is a kid. She does possess the social skills of a 16-year-old girl (albeit one that hangs out by the back door of the boys' locker room). She didn't acquire her attitude, mannerisms, personality, and ability to make really dirty-nasty faces on her own. These things she learned. And from whom? Her parents. Hell, they are the ones that married her off to this man. Excuse me, I have the dry heaves.

So, why? Why would this man wish to marry such a girl? Pardon me for stealing a bit from Seinfeld, but I'm wondering what team he really plays for. Is she a molded petroleum-by-product working as a beard? Just sayin'! There's a little blip on my gaydar every time I hear him speak. But, that's beside the point. Why would this girl's parents sign her over, push her onto, give her up to, let her go to, hook her up with this lizard? Hurl.

I can see only one reason. Need a clue? Green paper stamped with the faces of various presidents. Ah, yes, the "reality" show people have apparently come knocking. And they are frothing at the mouth while doing the math. Probably a bit easier for him to do the math, since she is not finishing her high school career. I'm sure he's wanting the money, and no doubt she's wanting the money, but I'm sure her parents are looking forward to an early retirement and all that comes with the sloth of easy money.

I'm thinking that I lived a pretty normal childhood. My parents were a little(?) sheltering. They encouraged logical thinking, empathy, responsibility, honesty and other apparently useless shit. This girl's parents were teaching her something else entirely. And when she was done with learning, they affixed her to this pimp. Or are the parents the pimps? Dang! Its the battle of the pimps and this poor misled girl is the one caught in the middle.

So, now I'm done laughing at her and I'm into the pity. She's apparently never known the security of being raised by responsible parents. She couldn't have been given the ability to create confidence in herself. Let's face it, she didn't come out of the womb this way. But here she is now, as far from being a normal 16-year-old girl as she can possibly be. Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Stodden. You've created a plastic chick that will unfortunately become the poster child of "itness" for all young girls out there today.

No Courtney, I'm NOT going to put it on you. I'm going to put it on the man and woman that raised you.

What they have done, in my mind, borders on the criminal. They have given you no respect for who you truly are (were). And after watching these videos, I know that (except for the tweens out there who are having confidence issues) you will receive no respect from those around you. Your parents have taken that from you. You may become wealthy, but not from talent, skill, or an intelligent, well-developed mind. Those who come into contact with you will take advantage of you. They are laughing at you, and they will continue to laugh at you until your spurt of fame is over. Your parents have made you completely vulnerable to the leeches of the world.

What's next for you and the hubby? I'm praying (not something I am accustomed to doing) that one or both of you are sterile. PLEASE! NO OFFSPRING!

Girl, beware of the drinking, the drugs, the sicknesses that are out there waiting for what is left of you. I hear that the Amy Winehouse exit door is quite easy to push open.

Parenting - Part 1

Children might play contentedly in a room by themselves. Sometimes silently, or quietly humming. I DID say SOMETIMES.

However, once a parent walks into the room, their mouths fall open, and like a nestful of baby robins, they begin to peep all at once.

They may ask questions. Sing a new song they have just written in their heads (maybe still writing in their heads). Make a lengthy proclamation. Or all three in one breath.

We are traveling this weekend, therefore, we are staying in a hotel room with one bathroom. Sometimes our bathroom activities overlap (NO not in a nasty or extremely invasive way). My daughter is taking a bath and humming and I enter the bathroom to dry my hair.

I turn on the hairdryer. The robin peeps.

“Mama, what would flour and milk and water together taste like?

“Mama, was Hermoine wearing a wig during the first Harry Potter movie?

“Mama, does all of that stuff you put in your hair do anything?”

And those are only the questions I could hear over the hair dryer.

Mama sigh.

"Not much."

"Probably."

"Probably not."

I'm not much in the mood for conversation this early. I turn off the dryer, head to the laptop, and record this for posterity.

And What Do You Do?

I know I've bitched about mentioned this before, but I do have panic attacks issues when someone asks me:

And what do you do?

I know they are not asking about my hobbies. I know that they probably don't really give a damn.
But they want to ask me what I do for a living. How I make my dough. What mark I am making on the world.

I would rather have an enema on the spot than answer.

"Well, I call myself an artist but I haven't really sold much lately because of that nasty economic downturn. I used to sell a good deal, but not so much lately. I like to work with fabric and collage. I sell on Etsy. I used to sell on Ebay but that stopped working for me . . . no, I'm not in any galleries. I don't think there are any within 200 miles of where I live. Etsy is an internet shopping site. No, its very easy to use. Never heard of it, huh? No, my quilts are not like my grandmother's. I've kind of gotten away from sewing lately and . . . sure, sure, go get another drink."

What should I say?

"Well, for part of the day, I work as an artist. This time is often interspersed with domestic duties. At 2:30 in the afternoon, I become a dog walker. At 3:00 the bus arrives, and I am a mother for the rest of the day. I play games, do more domestic duties, do some dull computer work."

I could say:

"Well, I'm a homemaker with hobbies, and yes, I can hear the blood congeal in your veins as boredom shuts down your bodily functions."

I've either got to have a great job or just clamp my jaws shut and walk away. I want an alternative!

And I know I'm not the only one out there. Read this.

Really. Read it.

God. I wish I could have written that.

Mom Fail?

Needless to say, I won't be heading up the the PTO next year.

Explanation of Benefits

Benefits?!? Holy crap that's a funny way of putting it!!!

Call it a medical bill. Call it robbery.

Backstory?

O.K.

Back in March, I took my daughter to our large and ever-growing, ever-merging health building, center, complex, death star, for her annual physical. Ears, good. Eyes, good. Weight, good. Everything just dandy. Except for a small splinter in her foot. Been bugging her for a couple of days. I figured it needed to come out before we took our trip to Barcelona. I knew extensive walking was going to be a large part of the trip and I was worried that continuous picking at the splinter on our part was going to be detrimental to her walking. So, I logically worked it out that if we were going to be at the doctor's office anyway, we could just have them remove it.

The main part of the exam completed, the doctor went to fetch a pair of tweezers. The fetching and removing of tweezers, gauzes and disinfectant from sanitary pouches took about 45 seconds. The actual removal happened so quickly that I would like to have seen an instant replay. Let's say it took about 3 seconds. Fast, efficient and pain free. Until . . .

Yesterday, the bill, entitled EXPLANATION OF BENEFITS was mailed to us. Two entries under Services Provided category. #1 - Preventative Medical Care - $225.00. O.K. Not cheap, but the kiddo was thoroughly looked over. #2 - Foreign Body Removal - $639.00. WTF? We're not talking about the cost of having the body of a foreign person removed (and buried). We're talking about a tiny splinter and less than 60 seconds of medical time.

Sure, sure, our "benefits" paid for some of this. Not nearly enough. But frankly, the question here is, how the hell can this cost $639.00??!!??!!

I'm guessing the whole point of these costs is to rip off as many people as possible in the short term and deter them from returning to their doctor in the future for any medical issue short of death.

Jeez, what is that strange lump?
Could that sharp pain be something important?
How much blood is too much blood?
Is that finger (or other appendage) really crucial?

These are questions we will have to ask for ourselves. To include a physician on the decision making is just going to cost too much.

Is this what the Mafia is into now? Screw drugs and prostitution! There's more money to be made in the "healthcare industry."

Bling

Necklace courtesy of Uncle Chris and a Texas gumball machine.

I'm hoping a gold tooth is not next.

Summer? Done!

In this time of instant messaging (or is that old now?), instant coffee (maybe not, since I stand in the Starbucks line for 20 minutes while all the customers ahead of me have lengthy orders that require the complexity and time of spinal surgery), and movie streaming, I can't understand why so much of life has to be planned months in advance.

If I have a medical issue crop up, I should have known about it 6 months ago so I can get an appointment to have this new affliction taken care of. If my child is going to miss a day of school today, I should have had the "educational trip form" filled out two weeks ago. Planning a trip to Spain? Then get the computer language program a year in advance. Wait. I did that. Should have planned two years in advance.

But this summer? Its all done now. Might as well be over. Summer clothes for the kid. All ordered and bad things returned. Yep. Swimsuits are at the ready. Why? They are already on the sale rack. Picked over like succulent road kill. Summer shoes? Done. Sunscreen? Ready. Plenty of beach towels here. I'm sure the store racks are almost emptied of them by now.

Vacation plans? Done. Plane tickets purchased months ago. If a family of three wants to sit together and not spend their life savings, you've got to do it early. Actually, a it's a vacation for me and the young one -- a conference for the hubby. But hey, its somewhere else and that's what matters.

Summer camps? Done. OH YES!!! Registration for summer camps is a full contact sport. Kicking, spitting, hair pulling and throwing checks left and right. I make the hubby do the work. I help pick the camps and then I just stand back. The stress in unbelievable.

I'm going to take a day or two to recover from the planning and buying. Once I'm rested up, I'm going to tackle fall and winter again.

Car Conversation

"I think their names are Taronteo and Hepcat." My daughter starts a conversation midway. There is no lead in. No introduction. No warning.

"Who? What? What are you talking about?"

"I think their names are Taronteo and Hepcat." My daughter repeats. Once again providing no explanation."

"Who? What? What are you talking about?"

We've begun a vicious cycle.

I demand more information.

"Boys in the school."

I wait.

Nothing.

"Where are they from," I ask.

"Greenland."

"No. Russia."

"Maybe California. I'm not sure, Mama."

Is Hepcat a California name?

F School

So, Pennsylvania needs a new Governor. What fun. And once again we get to hear about education.

According to Republicans, we shouldn't bother fixing our broken educational system. Hell no. We should just trash it and start over. We really don't want to waste time and money to provide "certain people" with classrooms, teachers and textbooks, do we?

Republican candidate Tom Corbett, thinks its just too hard on the parents to have to deal with the complex issue of where to send their children to school. He also believes a child shouldn't have to bear the burden of being placed in a school with children whose intellect is superior or inferior to their own.

Corbett, the state attorney general . . . proposed assigning grades to schools -- A though F -- to make it simpler for parents to decide where to send their children.

WTF? You would think it would be easy for the parents to send their child to the public school in their neighborhood. Nooooooo. That's far too difficult. It's going to be really simple to know that their "non-gifted" child will be going to the "F" school. Probably across town. Their average child will need to go to the "C" school somewhere else in town. The genius child will go to the "A" school in the next town. That'll be easy for mom and dad. Right?

And why should we assume that the "A" school is going to be for those smart children. Let's shake it up a bit and put the gifted children in the "F" school and those backwards minorities and poor children in the "A" school. If we're going to label our children, we may as well have some fun at the same time.

Corbett is also developing a plan to shift tax dollars from public schools (where they apparently are flushed down the toilet) into charter schools, PAROCHIAL schools and other private learning programs.

Mr. Corbett, I think you are wasting your time and breath on these convoluted plans. I say, lets take the poor people, the challenged, and the darker folks and just teach them how to be maids, busboys, and field hands (easier if we just do on-the-job training). We'll let the gifted folks (rich and white, preferably male) go to those charter schools or the parochial schools and be taught science by God himself.

We don't want our "A" school students to be drinking from the same water fountains as the "F" school students during recess.

Packing Mule

Me, September 10, 2010

Friday morning, the family climbed into the politically-incorrect SUV and drove on down to Richmond, VA, to visit close friends. I should say, the hubby, child and dog climbed in. Here's what I did to prepare for this trip.

Laundry in preparation of travel.
Located 3 bathing suits (pool on premises, wheeeee)
Set up cat's things for cat sitter - all food (dry and wet) with accompanying bowls and plates, medicine, notes for each item.
Packed my suitcase.
Packed daughter's suitcase.
Packed daughter's sleeping bag and pillow.
Made sure hubby had packed allergy meds, wallet, gps.
Packed all meds and creams and shampoos for special needs (except for hubby's - his job, he just gets questioned about it).
Packed road snacks.
Packed dog items for kennel (food, blanket, toys, meds -- we're a bunch of sickos apparently).
Packed CDs for road listening pleasure.
Packed daughter's toys and books and stuffed animals in her backpack.
Pack sunscreen and sunglasses.
Watered plants.
Made sure that birds and squirrels would be fed in our absence.

Then, an hour down the road, someone had the gall to ask ME if I had packed their swim goggles. I said, "No. I did not." Someone said, "Mama forgot my swim goggles." I said, "No, I did not forget your swim goggles. You did. Your daddy did. But I DID NOT." Hubby says, "We all forgot your swim goggles." I recited the list above, and once again stated, "I did NOT forget your goggles.

Shit. Is it because I have tits and ovaries that I'm supposed to remember to pack all the above, including the damn swim goggles? I think not.

Next time, I'm putting my stuff in (and dog's I guess), and I'm climbing in and putting on my CD and screw the rest of 'em. They can wear soiled undies and sneeze from allergies and itch because they have the wrong shampoo and have nothing to read or write with and no stuffed animals and no wallet and nothing to eat but McDonalds (wait, the hubby did prepare sandwiches) no pillows no sunglasses burn from lack of sunscreen. And no freakin' swim goggles.

Packing mule is on strike.

Side of the Road Sighting

He was scary-looking. He was far from clean. If I had been walking, I would have changed over to the other side of the street. Bad enough. Then I read his clothing.

His black T-shirt was emblazoned with white letters, large enough to read from a comfortable(?) distance.

I F*CK DEAD PEOPLE (the asterisk is inserted by me).

He was mighty close to the street.

Perhaps I should have quickly slapped on a bumper sticker that read:

I RUN THE F*CK OVER PEOPLE I BELIEVE HAVE RECENTLY KILLED OR RAPED OR MUTILATED A LIVING THING. I ALSO RUN THE F*CK OVER PEOPLE I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE ARE ON THEIR WAY TO KILL OR RAPE OR MUTILATE A LIVING THING.

Perhaps he picked this shirt out of a garbage bin. Could be that he cannot afford to purchase clothing. If I had nothing, and could not speak or read the English language, I still would be quite reluctant to wear this. If this were the case, wouldn't a sane person turn the shirt inside out so no one could read it?

Perhaps next time I will swerve and take out a nasty t-shirt wearing perv to save the life of an innocent person or people.