Okay, so we have this guy at work and he's a bit obsessed with religion. It's all he talks about. And it's not the intelligent theological Bill Moyer kind of discussions. It's the "I've-spent-my- life partying- now-I- have- a- wife" kind. Just one step short of a jail-house-preacher. And he has a problem with me because I have read the bible, the Koran, Tanakh, among many other books, and I love the stories. But I don't believe them to be true and this just pisses him off to no end.
So I have a new hobby. I fuck with him whenever I get a chance. Today he was concerned about teaching his younsters about dinosaurs and how to explain the inept science of carbon dating. How long was a day when God created the earth? I reminded him that God didn't create the sun until day four, so how were days measured prior to that? This annoyed him. I asked,"What are your views on neanderthals as prototypes?" and he rolled his eyes. I asked, "Do you think that the existence of a duck-billed platypus is objective evidence that God has a sense of humor?" and steam came out of his ears. I mean, come on, it's a mammal and it lays eggs. As Larry the Cable Guy would say, "I don't care who you are, that there's funny."
I reminded him that God told Adam not to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and bad, prior to creating Eve, so why did she get a bum rap? He said, and I'm not making this up, I swear, he said,"The bible is kind of like a CSI Episode where they go back and forth in time." What the fuck? How is that an explanation? Does he believe CSI to be the Gospel?
I think my boss watches CSI, I'll check into that tomorrow, but anyway.......
So back to God and Adam. God says it's not good for man to be alone. He decides to make him a fitting helper so he makes wild beasts , birds of the sky, cattle, blah blah blah, but Adam couldn't find a fitting helper. (Now shouldn't an omnipotent God know these things?)
Was Adam getting his freak on with the animals in the garden and that's the real "behind the scene story" (no pun intended) as to why he was kicked out and he blamed it on Eve? I'm not judging, I just don't understand how women are always getting blamed for everything. I know men and they always do shit like that. I can guaran-goddamn-tee you that if God called me on my phone at work and my boss took a message, he'd forget to tell me about it. There's no point in God calling me at home because A) my husband won't answer the phone and 2) he'd call me at work or on my cell phone cuz I'd probably be knitting with the girls.
And who's the sidekick God's always talking to or is he schizophrenic?...
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
My generation
So, we have a new employee at work and one of the guys responsible for interviewing her (who will now be referred to as dickhead) was so excited about her abilities, her professional attitude blah, blah, blah.
Day one: she comes to work dressed professionally and obviously notices our laid back attire. It's pretty much casual Friday here all week long. You just can't stay clean in a manufacturing enviroment, even when you work in the office. New girl rethinks her wardrobe.
Day two: New girl wears a short sleeved shirt, jeans, normal stuff, you know? and dickhead walks by and notices her tattoos. Suddenly, she's questionable?
This really pisses me off. I'm a mother of four and I admit, I'm a blank, but three out of four of my children have tattoos and piercings in places I don't need to be looking. One weekend, I left the kids home alone, thoroughly expecting to hear from the neighbors about the parties they threw, but no, they got their tongue's and eyebrows pierced instead.
So, what' the point of your rant you ask? Easy, what the fuck does what a person put on their body have to do with the person inside?
It's just their generations version of flying our freak flag.
Each generation has to differentiate themselves from the generation before. Nobody wants to be like their mother. I wouldn't be caught dead in a leather white bikini bought at Fredricks of Hollywood, but Mom, in her day, she was styling.
My boys shave their heads? Why? Because their dad had hair down to his ass and he was a pothead.
I can guaran- damn- tee you that if I had tattoos they'd be blanks.
Day one: she comes to work dressed professionally and obviously notices our laid back attire. It's pretty much casual Friday here all week long. You just can't stay clean in a manufacturing enviroment, even when you work in the office. New girl rethinks her wardrobe.
Day two: New girl wears a short sleeved shirt, jeans, normal stuff, you know? and dickhead walks by and notices her tattoos. Suddenly, she's questionable?
This really pisses me off. I'm a mother of four and I admit, I'm a blank, but three out of four of my children have tattoos and piercings in places I don't need to be looking. One weekend, I left the kids home alone, thoroughly expecting to hear from the neighbors about the parties they threw, but no, they got their tongue's and eyebrows pierced instead.
So, what' the point of your rant you ask? Easy, what the fuck does what a person put on their body have to do with the person inside?
It's just their generations version of flying our freak flag.
Each generation has to differentiate themselves from the generation before. Nobody wants to be like their mother. I wouldn't be caught dead in a leather white bikini bought at Fredricks of Hollywood, but Mom, in her day, she was styling.
My boys shave their heads? Why? Because their dad had hair down to his ass and he was a pothead.
I can guaran- damn- tee you that if I had tattoos they'd be blanks.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
The Bivouac of the Dead
I went to pay my respects to my father-in-law today. As you can see by his headstone, doormat is more like it but that's another rant, as you can see by his headstone he fought in WWII. He was shot in the head during a jump and was among but a few who survived. He received a purple heart and a plate in the head. He died in '69 from brain cancer. Who knows what they patched him up with, but the point of my rant, is there was no fucking flag at his grave site. Flags all over this weekend. He's in the nose bleed section and he didn't have a fucking flag. Not enough to go around. This is bullshit. Even in death, a soldier doesn't get enough.
The Bivouac Of The Dead
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo!
No more on life's parade shall meet
The brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished year hath flown,
The story how you fell.
Nor wreck nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray of holy light
That gilds your glorious tomb.
- Theodore O'Hara
Thank you Krsto
Friday, May 26, 2006
Letters about Elmo
Regulations UnitCalifornia Department of Corrections
1515 S Street
Sacramento, CA 95814
Dear Ms. ________:
I have a friend who is in prison and has been for over 27 years. We have been friends since high school. Recenty, I sent him some gifts, a book of poetry by Rumi and an art book “A Star for Noon” by Gordon Parks.
While he was allowed to keep the book of poetry he was denied the art book, of female nudes with still lifes, 18 previously unpublished poems and a CD of chamber music, which was returned to me because of nudity in the art book.
There is a vast difference between female nudity in the form of art, which is respectful and pornography, which is not. As a woman, you should know this.
When the gift I gave was returned to me, I was both frightened and frustrated. I had no idea that in our enlightened society a human being could be denied art.
Please understand that I am fully aware that my ratings in the form of a simple letter will in no way change things. But I am still compelled to voice my concerns in this matter.
In other words, I have to try to change things. What am I if I fail to try?
Art lifts and heals the human spirit. Why those who are imprisoned are denied exposure to art -of any form- is beyond my realm of understanding.
Respectfully,
1515 S Street
Sacramento, CA 95814
Dear Ms. ________:
I have a friend who is in prison and has been for over 27 years. We have been friends since high school. Recenty, I sent him some gifts, a book of poetry by Rumi and an art book “A Star for Noon” by Gordon Parks.
While he was allowed to keep the book of poetry he was denied the art book, of female nudes with still lifes, 18 previously unpublished poems and a CD of chamber music, which was returned to me because of nudity in the art book.
There is a vast difference between female nudity in the form of art, which is respectful and pornography, which is not. As a woman, you should know this.
When the gift I gave was returned to me, I was both frightened and frustrated. I had no idea that in our enlightened society a human being could be denied art.
Please understand that I am fully aware that my ratings in the form of a simple letter will in no way change things. But I am still compelled to voice my concerns in this matter.
In other words, I have to try to change things. What am I if I fail to try?
Art lifts and heals the human spirit. Why those who are imprisoned are denied exposure to art -of any form- is beyond my realm of understanding.
Respectfully,
Rantings on the Incarcerated
One in every 136 Americans is presently incarcerated in jail or prison.
Prisons account for about two-thirds of all inmates or 1.4 million while the other one-third is sitting in our jails. Sixty-two percent of those sitting in our jails have yet to be convicted of a crime and according to the U.S Justice Department 280,000 inmates are seriously mentally ill.
These statistics concern me because in addition to being an epileptic I suffer from depression due to the side effects of my medication. I'm not complaining, but timing is everything.
A hundred years ago I would have been drowned like a cat for being a witch.
Here ye here ye. Rebecca was seen writhing and foaming at the mouth when she should have been doing laundry. * What say ye good people? Witch! Witch! Very good then. Let us weigh her down with rocks and if she floats she is but a witch.
Pardon sir, but it appears that the witch has not yet risen. What a pity!
*what they should have done was waited for me to have a seizure in the bath and then threw in the laundry. That's what me mum always did.
Or a thousand years ago I would have been thought to be a divine being, as it should be.
All I know is that there are those that need to be protected from themselves and in some extreme cases need to be institutionalized. There are those that we as a society need to be protected from and they need to be institutionalized. And then there are those that commit victimless crimes, such as drug abuse, prostitution and, frankly, they need to be left the fuck alone. I mean really what is the difference between dinner and a movie for casual sex which entails your basic gamble that you will get laid which in turn is truly dependent upon your bartering skills. This is where debating comes in handy also and helps with future elections.
Or money for sex?
Damn! Now I've lost my train of thought. Wait no here it is now
I don't necessarily think they should all be housed in the same place, i.e. prison.
Unless of course the Surgeon General prescribes blow jobs for schizophrenics.
But I wouldn't advise one from an epileptic. We pack a mean bite.
Prisons account for about two-thirds of all inmates or 1.4 million while the other one-third is sitting in our jails. Sixty-two percent of those sitting in our jails have yet to be convicted of a crime and according to the U.S Justice Department 280,000 inmates are seriously mentally ill.
These statistics concern me because in addition to being an epileptic I suffer from depression due to the side effects of my medication. I'm not complaining, but timing is everything.
A hundred years ago I would have been drowned like a cat for being a witch.
Here ye here ye. Rebecca was seen writhing and foaming at the mouth when she should have been doing laundry. * What say ye good people? Witch! Witch! Very good then. Let us weigh her down with rocks and if she floats she is but a witch.
Pardon sir, but it appears that the witch has not yet risen. What a pity!
*what they should have done was waited for me to have a seizure in the bath and then threw in the laundry. That's what me mum always did.
Or a thousand years ago I would have been thought to be a divine being, as it should be.
All I know is that there are those that need to be protected from themselves and in some extreme cases need to be institutionalized. There are those that we as a society need to be protected from and they need to be institutionalized. And then there are those that commit victimless crimes, such as drug abuse, prostitution and, frankly, they need to be left the fuck alone. I mean really what is the difference between dinner and a movie for casual sex which entails your basic gamble that you will get laid which in turn is truly dependent upon your bartering skills. This is where debating comes in handy also and helps with future elections.
Or money for sex?
Damn! Now I've lost my train of thought. Wait no here it is now
I don't necessarily think they should all be housed in the same place, i.e. prison.
Unless of course the Surgeon General prescribes blow jobs for schizophrenics.
But I wouldn't advise one from an epileptic. We pack a mean bite.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
So, when I started the blog I was all excited about posting shit. Like I had something really profound to say. What an ass! I really have nothing to say. I live a very mundane life. Get up, drive to work, fantasize about my funeral, pretend to work, drive home, fantasize about somebody elses funeral, etc., etc .
It varies from day to day, song to song.
Well now there's an idea, she says. My ultimate fantasy funeral would be to have a camera crew follow me around to record the person that I am when no one else is around. And then I could add music to it and direct the whole thing and be in charge. It would be a documentary/music video. And I would have to have complete creative control because I'm a bit of a control freak. I don't like shit coming out of left field. Why are we talking about baseball? Okay, okay. I wouldn't cut and paste though. Well, the mundane of course, because nobody wants mundane at a funeral. The sex scenes would have to be deleted because I'm hoping my kids will show up. And to be honest, I think we have scarred the Jack Russell for life. My confidential conversations, of course. Hence, the term confidential. Family gatherings would give it a PG13 rating because it usually ends with me chasing a son with an axe
So now we're back to mundane again. Okay, I'll have to work on the filler, but I do know that it will end with me and Bubba riding on up to ridge with our backs to the camer (Bubba has a great ass, by the way) and we gaze down into the valley as the sun slowly sets behind the islands as tears slip through my fingers forming silver pools of sorrow.
Cut!
yellow sun descends upon an ocean of metallic green
blue ski conceded to black as epileptic auras cascade upon me
splashing waves of convulsive electrical currents
that rush for my brain, driving me insane, as they paralyze my senses
still i attempt to wade through emotional waters
feeling for the bottom i try to stand
but the sand shifts beneath my feet
my sets of anger pound against the shore
slowly the rage begins to subside
with the ebb and flow of the tide ( like they didn't know that was coming) Quit interrupting!
i release the pain into the healing waters
and my journey begins
to a place where no one grieves
a sacred place where Blue Sky
meets the Waters Edge
slowly i submerge into that golden glory
eternally golden
i am the setting sun
It varies from day to day, song to song.
Well now there's an idea, she says. My ultimate fantasy funeral would be to have a camera crew follow me around to record the person that I am when no one else is around. And then I could add music to it and direct the whole thing and be in charge. It would be a documentary/music video. And I would have to have complete creative control because I'm a bit of a control freak. I don't like shit coming out of left field. Why are we talking about baseball? Okay, okay. I wouldn't cut and paste though. Well, the mundane of course, because nobody wants mundane at a funeral. The sex scenes would have to be deleted because I'm hoping my kids will show up. And to be honest, I think we have scarred the Jack Russell for life. My confidential conversations, of course. Hence, the term confidential. Family gatherings would give it a PG13 rating because it usually ends with me chasing a son with an axe
So now we're back to mundane again. Okay, I'll have to work on the filler, but I do know that it will end with me and Bubba riding on up to ridge with our backs to the camer (Bubba has a great ass, by the way) and we gaze down into the valley as the sun slowly sets behind the islands as tears slip through my fingers forming silver pools of sorrow.
Cut!
yellow sun descends upon an ocean of metallic green
blue ski conceded to black as epileptic auras cascade upon me
splashing waves of convulsive electrical currents
that rush for my brain, driving me insane, as they paralyze my senses
still i attempt to wade through emotional waters
feeling for the bottom i try to stand
but the sand shifts beneath my feet
my sets of anger pound against the shore
slowly the rage begins to subside
with the ebb and flow of the tide ( like they didn't know that was coming) Quit interrupting!
i release the pain into the healing waters
and my journey begins
to a place where no one grieves
a sacred place where Blue Sky
meets the Waters Edge
slowly i submerge into that golden glory
eternally golden
i am the setting sun
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
This is my horse Bubba and I'm really missing him tonight.
He use to be a roping horse and I sometimes wonder if he misses his old life. Different town every weekend. The bright lights and screaming crowds as he hauled his ass out of that shoot like a hell hound barreling down on that steer.
He hesitated one too many times and he was out of a job.
He teaches me something every day.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Okay so my boss tells me I should have a blog. Why I listen to him I have no idea. Apparently I am easily persuaded. But I think my boss is psychic. And here's why..
I get home, thoroughly prepared, mind you, to start right in on my rantings. But not quite sure what to write about. I had in mind an opening somewhere along the lines of "I stand before you naked. Exposed, like a mothere with child. Belly split wide open for all the world to see her dead fetus." Like Doogie Howser with an edge. And then talk about my horse Bubba. The greatest therapist in the world. Anyway, so I come home all prepared and there is a package on my doorstep. And I open it up and it is from my friend Elmo (who is presently serving 15 years to life in a CA state Prison). Thank you Don Pardo. Now would you shut up so I can tell the story?
So, I'm poking through this box trying to figure out whether it is for me or did I miss a memo and the gods have appointed me to be in charge of lost and found? Because shit like that happens to me all the time, I swear. But more about me later. Anyway, I'm sitting in my office poking through a prisoners belongings (which, by the way, I DO NOT recommend) and it's a bunch of shit on writing. Can you cuss in here? Because to be honest I have no idea what I agreed to when I pressed the accept button. One of the books is titled "Jump Write In", by Judith Tannenbaum who is also a friend of mine and she also wrote another book titled, "Disguised as a Poem" and Elmo is in it. See how this all keeps coming back to him?
So now I have to rethink this whole writing theme scenario. I thought I was going to write about knitting and horseback riding, for crying out loud. But reading the likes of "In The Matter of the Life Term Parole Consideration Hearing of blah blah blah" I have to admit, it's a little sobering. And now my life seems a bit dull...
Now I don't know what to write about.
Words, you stand before me now.
Defiant like a restless youth.
That cannot be erased.
So anyway, like I said before, this was my bosses idea. So if you don't like it, I suggest you take it up with management. But I hope you do.
I get home, thoroughly prepared, mind you, to start right in on my rantings. But not quite sure what to write about. I had in mind an opening somewhere along the lines of "I stand before you naked. Exposed, like a mothere with child. Belly split wide open for all the world to see her dead fetus." Like Doogie Howser with an edge. And then talk about my horse Bubba. The greatest therapist in the world. Anyway, so I come home all prepared and there is a package on my doorstep. And I open it up and it is from my friend Elmo (who is presently serving 15 years to life in a CA state Prison). Thank you Don Pardo. Now would you shut up so I can tell the story?
So, I'm poking through this box trying to figure out whether it is for me or did I miss a memo and the gods have appointed me to be in charge of lost and found? Because shit like that happens to me all the time, I swear. But more about me later. Anyway, I'm sitting in my office poking through a prisoners belongings (which, by the way, I DO NOT recommend) and it's a bunch of shit on writing. Can you cuss in here? Because to be honest I have no idea what I agreed to when I pressed the accept button. One of the books is titled "Jump Write In", by Judith Tannenbaum who is also a friend of mine and she also wrote another book titled, "Disguised as a Poem" and Elmo is in it. See how this all keeps coming back to him?
So now I have to rethink this whole writing theme scenario. I thought I was going to write about knitting and horseback riding, for crying out loud. But reading the likes of "In The Matter of the Life Term Parole Consideration Hearing of blah blah blah" I have to admit, it's a little sobering. And now my life seems a bit dull...
Now I don't know what to write about.
Words, you stand before me now.
Defiant like a restless youth.
That cannot be erased.
So anyway, like I said before, this was my bosses idea. So if you don't like it, I suggest you take it up with management. But I hope you do.
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