16 - It's All About The Gravy, Baby!!

I need to lose 5 pounds this week, so I don't have to lose ten pounds next week. 
Hashtag FML

YESSSS!!!

Day 16 - Something you are excited about.

It's November, so DUH!!

Turkey Day!!

I love Thanksgiving, it is my favorite holiday ever.  Especially as there is no 'Thanksgiving Candy' or 'Thanksgiving Gifts' I am required to buy for my entitled little brat of a child.  Winning!

Any holiday that is all about food wins in my book, but Thanksgiving is the mack daddy of them all.  Or maybe it's the daddy mack?  I don't even care, Thanksgiving is the gravy on the mashed potatoes of my life.

This Thanksgiving is going to be super fun.  We are doing it at my sister's house, and the day(s) will go something like this -- all interspersed with baby snuggles from my favorite tiny humans:

Arrive Wednesday evening, bake pies, assemble sides that can be assembled ahead of time, and prep turkey.

Thursday am, Starbucks and smoothies for breakfast, turkey in the oven.

The rest of the morning/early afternoon will be spent cooking side dishes, decorating, and watching all 10 of the Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS in order.

Borrow sister's maternity pants (she had a baby on August 31), and set table.

Eat mammoth feast, using copious amounts of gravy, until I am dazed and too full to stand up and walk away from the table.
PIES!!
Clear away feast, making packets of leftovers for other family members, but setting the majority of the stuff away for Thanksgiving Soup (also preparing and hiding 3 full plates for me to plow through after everyone goes to sleep and I watch a Christmas movie).

Bribe entitled child to help me shuffle and roll to the couch.

Watch Festive Holiday Programming until everyone goes to sleep.

Consume 3 plates of food while watching, and fall asleep with the smell of turkey gravy and shame wafting off of me.

I use this meme a lot, but it's MEEEEEEE!

Friday am, up early, Starbucks and Thornton's Treeland, where we will spend roughly eleven years slogging through the mud, wrangling babies and dealing with my irritated (no wifi @ Thornton's), entitled child, while my picky sister and her equally discerning 11 year old daughter debate the merits and flaws of ALLLLL 645 trees on the farm.  Find tree, toss it in the truck and hit the Hockinson Cafe for breakfast, return to sister's house.  Spend 2 hours crawling around on the floor adjusting and re-adjusting the screws in the tree-holder while my brother-in-law pushes the top  back and forth until my picky sister is satisfied that it is 100% perfect - probably while fending off my bossy niece who doesn't talk a lot, but has to be involved in every activity in her house will probably be crawling around under the tree with me yelling "No" and trying to shove toys up my nose.

Make and consume Thanksgiving Soup, pack up my Thanksgiving AND Thanksgiving Soup leftovers, snuggle babies goodbye, go home (stopping to buy a jar of turkey gravy en route), and collapse.

Yes, yes I do!

Probably sounds hectic and crazy, but it's our Thanksgiving tradition, and I am so grateful for it.

And for gravy.

And this guy.

Yum!  Muffins!

Ahem - 3 Days Later...

So, Miss Veronica at GrownupTanrums and I are struggling through a 30 Day Blog Challenge.


We have both missed days and then caught up, but we are still slogging through.


At the outset, we promised and predicted social media shaming and shit talking.


But, we both have lives and are doing the best we can.  Which is, literally, all you can expect from anyone, EVER.




I actually thought I was 2 days behind, but realized, from checking my stats (HELLLLOOOO, Germany, you have out-paced Russia on blog reads, Tausend Dank!!) I am THREE DAYS BEHIND!!  



So, here we go:

I loved them growing up...as adults - all of us - not so much!

Day 13:  A Book You Like, A Book You Don't.
Easy-peasy.
A Book I Like - To Kill A Mockingbird.  Harper Lee's Magnum Opus. 
Scout, Jem, Atticus, Dill, Boo, Aunt Alexandra, Uncle Jack, CALPURINA.
This book, which was pretty much required reading for the youth of America for decades is AMAZING.  Beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, romantic..FAIR.
I grew up in the whitest county in California.  I did not know any POC when I read it, but I had a heart and a brain and read the newspapers.
This book made me angry at the assumption that a POC was wrong simply because of the color of their skin -- be it black or Albino white.
This book made me relish my countrified childhood.
I loved Dill, that 'pocket Merlin', because my head was too full of fancy as well.


I loved that book.  I still love it.
I read it every fall, because the penultimate conflicts happen in late summer and after a Halloween (Harvest) carnival.

 Book I Don't - To Set A Watchman, the sequel to Harper Lee's Magnum Opus.
Or the prequel..I don't care.
It SUCKED.
It was boring.
It was awful.
And Atticus was a fucking closet racist....
I never finished it, even though I started it about 48,000 times.
I probably will never finish it, and I don't even care.
No Jem, no Cal, no Hero Atticus.  Even Scout lost her flavor....gone was the girl brawling in the play yard and fighting boys,
UGH!!
I hate sequels and re-makes.
I loathe that every generation tries to re-do or re-make what came before.

WHY CAN'T YOU JUST APPRECIATE WHAT WAS BEFORE YOU AND CREATE YOUR OWN SHIT???

Dirty Dancing, Havana Nights??  Barf.
Ben Asshat as Batman -- STFU!!!
Clash of The Titans without that clockwork owl and Claymation Calibos?  Go.  Away.
New humans, please create your own art, movies, and music and leave the classics alone.
KThanksBye.

Day 14: Something You Struggle With.
INSOMNIA.
In.Saw.MMMM.Kneee.AHHH
About 3 out of every 7 days I wake up anywhere from 1:30-3:30 and cannot go back to sleep.
Which sucks.
BIG TIME.
Lack of sleep is a killer.  Literally.
I am too tired to link any of the studies, but trust me, they are real.
I have hallucinated when I have been awake for more than 48 hours.
If I stay awake for over 24 hours, I have a remarked tendency to cry at ...oh, everything.
When I can't sleep, I look up conspiracy theories on the Internet --

did you know Stephen King killed John Lennon??  No?  GTS!!

Did you know Katy Perry is actually John-Benet Ramsay (or Ramsey, too lazy to GTS)

Did you know the earth is flat or  9/11 was done by the Jews, the Russians, or the ...um whoever??  Anyone but radical goat-fucking Islamists, though....because that is TOO EASY!  

Everything has a back-story that includes collusion, the Rockefeller's, the Rothschild's, and those damn lizard people that seeded the earth with humans like we plant potatoes in Idaho.

I can never drift into sleep after spiking my consciousness with this ridiculous crap.
I literally pass out 5 minutes before my alarm goes off, and then wake up in a gritty-eyed, thin-sour-sweaty-haze.  It sucks.
I am never very productive at work, post-insomnia.
I am never a very good mom to my not-a-morning-person-child, post-insomnia.
I am never patient, tolerant, kind, or pleasant on the post-insomnia days.

I have TRIED.

Melatonin, Epsom-Salt baths, warm milk (haha, KIDDING, I am not a baby goat, so BARF!!), Sleepytime Tea, positive visualization, booze...nothing helps.
I sincerely hope this doesn't go on much longer, but since this has been a thing for me since I can consciously remember, I can only hope I get another fallow period (I have had multiple, lasting YEARS), where I sleep through the night, sometime soon...because the last 18 months have been kicking my ass.
And I am tired (of it).
So tired.

Day 15: Something You Are Currently Worrying About.
Easy-peasy.
Fucking Everything.
If I even began to list what worries me today, I would end up in an asylum, so I am going to try to keep this lighthearted and not at all connected to the things that actually cause me to wake up in a sweat (see above).

I worry that I know who all the dudes in One Direction are, and that I actually have a favorite.
Up until about a month ago, I only know 1 single OD song, because it was about my beloved JR (KJ), whose boyfriend would play it for her every time she showed up at one of his gigs (at least that's how I saw it).
A couple of months ago, after I realized I was an inadvertent Justin Bieber fan, I found a new jam...
It was not a Bieber song, but it was by a dude from OD and I LOVED it.  I thought it was by the cute, blond one....but it wasn't.  So I had to GTS and try to get them all sorted out, because I was super confused about who was singing what and I didn't have a scorecard.  When I got it all sorted, I decided it was all Quavo's fault, as he sings in the Bieber song I like, and the song that is not-by-Niall-Horan-but-thought-it-was.

I know he is, like 19, but CAN YOU BLAME ME???  

Fucking Quavo. (although, I must admit, he is the shit!)

Anyway, I fell asleep at 6 this morning, having re-set all of my alarms to 6:30 and had a very weird jumbly dream in which my sis was knocked up AGAIN (my perfect little sis, not the other one), I was eating porcelain coffee cups and spitting them on the ground, even though I had no shoes on, and eventually, wound up at a holiday bazaar in which OD showed up and I tried to take a selfie next to my 'favorite', but ended up to Harry Styles' secret lover instead (that's another conspiracy theory, BTW!).
I am 42 and have no business having a favorite (former) OD member, or even knowing their names....but I do.  (barf)

I worry that somewhere, somehow, someone thought Blake Fucking Shelton is the Sexiest Man Alive.

WTF???

Blake Shelton???

That Mofo has LITERALLY sported a mullet this century.

As in...sometime AFTER 1987, sometime AFTER they stopped making Pontiac Thunderbirds, sometime AFTER it stopped being okay for dudes to wear T-shirts where they cut the sleeves off in a huge loop from waist to shoulder, that dude was 'business in the front and party in the back' and meant it!!!
With absolutely no irony.

Excuse me, People Magazine, but have you met Jason Momoa???

Sexiest Man Alive.  Because that is a BRAID, not a MULLET.  Also, because he is JASON MOMOA.  And you are not, Blake Shelton!

HAVE YOU????

Obviously not.  

That headline this morning was a sign that 2017 has officially flushed itself down the toilet.

Which is fine.
But I am too tired to hold my breath for 6 weeks.

So, ya'll better get your shit in order right quick.

Cheers, and now I am caught up with no sign of Ryan Gosling.

Because. Jason. Fucking. Momoa.

Day 12 - Songs You Listen To When You Are Happy/Sad/Angry

Music is my jam.


I have to have music playing all the time, everywhere.


In the car, at home, at work.  I literally "cannot even" without music.


I have shit taste in music, you guys.


For the last 6 months, my 2 favorite songs have been by boy-band-type dudes.


I love Britney, Xtina, BSB, and NSync, and will 'carpool karaoke' every time they come on the radio.


I have to listen to Eminem or Korn when I clean my house.


When I am gardening or painting walls, or otherwise puttering, I HAVE to listen to The Beatles.


When I have insomnia, Matt Rainey and The Dippin' Sauce helps me chill.


However, when I am super sad, super mad, super stressed, the only thing that helps is Duran Duran's 'Big Thing'.  The whole album (besides 'All She Wants is') or Depeche Mode's Music For The Masses -- I am sooo a child of the 80s!!


First of all, Simon Le Bon should have been my husband.  Even more so than Ryan Gosling. 


I have had a fangirl crush since...oh, about 1984, which makes him my longest relationship....lol


Duran Duran was the first concert I ever went to, and although it was not the most intense (Ozzy), most insane (Good Charlotte), or the most incredible (Boys II Men, New Kids on The Bock, and Paula Abdul), it was my first, and I will never forget it.


I have spent years freaking out over every new release (Wild Boys nearly unhinged me), buying magazines, T-shirts, etc.

*swoon!*

They broke up - sob - and formed different bands;  Power Station, Arcadia, and then re-formed with new people.


Big Thing was their first post-breakup album, and it is the only one I still have the cassette of (well, I have Arcadia's So Red The Rose, but it's not D2), the CD of, and the one I listen to all the time when I am feeling too many feels.


'Do You Believe In Shame' is my favorite song from that album, and I listened to it about 40,000 times last fall/winter, because it reminded me of my friend Jimbo.  The lyric "I believe the little part of you inside of me will never die"...well, that was everything.  For whatever reason, 'Too Late Marlene' just makes me feel better - no idea why.  I listen to "The Edge of America" every time I drive to the coast, and I am not being ironic.


Music For The Masses belongs entirely to my high school friendship with Sara Sanders.  'Never Let Me Down Again' was the first song she would always play when I got in her Suzuki Samurai.  "I'm taking a ride with my best friend" is the opening lyric, and she would always laugh and fling that giant curtain of beautiful brown hair over her shoulder and say, 'That's us, right?'
And it was.


'Behind The Wheel' was the same....she was the driver, behind the wheel, and I was her happy passenger, willing to follow her anywhere.
Except for the night I didn't.
I stayed home, and she left.  Forever.


So, there you have it.


In addition to having mostly shit taste in music, I am horrifically morbid.


Also, I hate Beyonce's music.  And her voice. 
Loathe it.


Just had to throw that out there.

These Are Few Of My Favorite...Movies

This post is very hard for me.


Most of my favorite movies are my favorites because of Kevin Spacey.


You all know (or may not) what he has been accused of lately.


Sexual assault, inappropriate behavior, intimidation.


I am having a very hard time reconciling that with the person I have loved and admired for half of my life with perv-boy.


Here are my favorite movies:




1:  Gone With The Wind.

Here is what happened.  In Jr. High (which was at a K-8 school), two lovely, gorgeous, funny, fabulous girls showed up at my school.  I had never seen them before (unusual in our tiny community), and they were super amazing for being unknown and for having the cache of being new.

N...well, N was AMAZING.  She was gorgeous, funny, and she was also a complete GWTW addict.  The first time I saw GWTW was at her house and I was literally transported.  Scarlett O'Hara became my idol, my 'what-not-to-do", and my hero. 

I spent about 6 weeks in front of a mirror to get this right!  OG RBF!!

The movie may be racist, affected, and a whitewash of the Civil War, but -- to me-- it is beautiful, inspiring, and a fabulous form of escapism.  I watch it around this time every year, and it is always fresh, magical, heartbreaking, and transforming.

2.  The Ref.

I was at Blockbuster (GTS, millenials, it was a thing in the 90s), looking for a movie over the Holidays, and I found a cover that made me laugh.  It was The Ref, starring Dennis Leary, but featuring Kevin Spacey.  That movie made SO MUCH sense to me.  It was a funny, fabulous, heartwarming film, and I immediately put KS on my radar.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

3.  Mulan.

Ummmm...I recognize all the ways Disney whitewashed this tale, but 2 things -- Mulan stepping up to say her dad was too old for war and how he proudly limped up to take his conscription --- SOB ---- and then the part where she figures out the test and uses the weights to help her climb the post...SOB, SOB.

GET IT, GUUURRRRLLL!

This movie is all about perseverance and not accepting limitations, and I love it.

4.  Hurlburly.  Dunno, you just have to GTS.  Hilarious, heartbreaking, sinister, and savage.  This movie resonated with me, and I watch it at least once a year.  I also infected my sister with this movie, and she loves it as much as I do --- and Kevin Spacey is in it.

One of the best movies EVER!!

5.  National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.

IF I NEED TO EXPLAIN THIS, WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS.

The gang's all here!!

6.  Pitch Perfect.

See # 5.  Haha.  Seriously, this movie is everything.  Girl Power. Amazing songs. Triumph through adversity.  Geek shows Princess how to win.   I literally watch this movie once per week.

Fat Amy is my Spirit Animal!!

7.  Love Actually.

All my favorite British actors.  Happy endings all around.  Love IS all around.  Enough said.

Also..Hugh Grant -- SWOON!!

8. The Sound Of Music.  Mousy governess snags swoony father of amazing children and they all live happily ever after....SWOON.  Also, THE SONGS!

Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu.

9.  The Usual Suspects.

Again, KEVIN SPACEY.  Also, who is Keyzer Soze?

This is one of the movies I watch every year....in the spring, unlike The Ref or Hurlyburly (which I watch in the fall).  But I now know that Kevin Spacey is a predator??? (maybe, was he drunk?) and also it was directed by Bryan Singer who is a NOTED PEDOPHILE!!!!  UGH!!  How is this a thing?

 

10. EVERY STAR WARS MOVIE EVER MADE, EVEN THE ONE WITH JAR JAR BINKS, because STAR WARS!!!!

I love them all...fuck you for judging me!!!

 

Day 10 - Short Term Goals For The Month

Ahem.


Sorry, everyone.  I could be very lofty and inspirational and list shit like meditation, weight loss, good habits, blah, blah, blah.


Nope.


Nope, nope, allllllllllllllllllllllll the nope's.




It is Thanksgiving Month, which is LEGIT my jam.




Soooooo, my 'short -term goals' are as follows:




1. Gravy.
2. Paulette's Country Kitchen Pies.
3. What Do I Replace 'The Ref' With?
4. Flocked, natural tree vs. fake tree?






1. Here's the deal - I make an AMAZING homemade Turkey Gravy, thanks to Martha Stewart.  When I was 18, I realized my mother in law was using gravy out of a jar for Thanksgiving Dinner.  Granted, she was running 2 businesses, raising a teenage son, coddling an adult son, and dealing with an unanticipated granddaughter that she loved SO much, everyone thought it was HER child and not mine.
But gravy from a jar??
NOPE.
I watched the Martha Stewart show, learned how to make the best gravy EVAH, and have made it every year since then. 
Problem is, I frequently underestimate my post-Thanksgiving gravy needs.  There is always a RIVER of gravy on Turkey Day, but it falls short on Leftover Day, and 2nd Leftover Day, and Make Thanksgiving Soup Out of Leftovers Day.


This year, I am determined to make enough gravy to go the distance, without sacrificing flavor or texture.

Yesssssssssssssssssss!!!

Not saving the world by any means, but SUPER important to me.


2. My FABULOUS sister-in-law bought pies for a Thanksgiving dinner.  Chocolate Raspberry Cream Cheese Pie, and Chocolate Peanut Butter Silk Pie.  She got them from Paulette's Country Kitchen, which is the ONLY place to eat breakfast in 'town' (Nevada City or Grass Valley).  THOSE PIES.  Haven't stopped thinking about them since 2013.
I was soooooooo looking forward to having them at Thanksgiving this year when I went 'home for the holiday', but my trip home got derailed by a thermonuclear blast, which has made all of my plans for the next 3 months moot (or "moo, like a cow's opinion"!).  Ordering them and having them shipped at this late date is not an option, so I am going to attempt to recreate them up here, and will report the results to all of you.


3. Ummmmmm, for YEARS, "The Ref" has kicked off my holiday season, as it is one of my favorite holiday movies ever.  THIS YEAR, I don't know if I can watch it...in fact, I know I can't.  Kevin Spacey, who has been one of my favorite actors FOREVER is a filthy fucking pervert and a sexual predator and I can't watch a movie that has been a staple of mine, and my sister's, holidays for years.  It sucks.

This WAS a holiday staple....   :(

4. I am letting Lexi pick our Christmas décor this year, and she wants a flocked/white tree.


GROSS!


I loathe white trees, I loathe flocked trees (isn't it just a cancer-causing chemical shit storm??), I hate that look.


HOWEVER, Lex wants a white tree with lime, turquoise, fuchsia, silver, and purple, and that's what she is getting.


Much to my dismay.


These goals may not be earth-shaking, world-changing, or even beneficial to anyone but myself, but the prompt dictated the post, and you are allllll stuck with my selfishness.


But how is longing for more gravy a bad thing??

Yeah, yeah!

The Struggle Is Real

I am supposed to talk about something I struggle with.


Hmmmmm.......where to start?


I fucking struggle with everything every single day of my life.


I struggle with my weight -- I am too short to be this fat.


I struggle with my hair -- I REALLY want to buy 2 $500 wigs and shave my head and rotate these fabulous wigs so I don't have to deal with the barbed-wire-silky-soft-curly-frizzy-wiry-greying-I-do-what-I-want pile of protein filaments jutting from my scalp that bring me grief on a daily basis.


I struggle with my parenting style.  Am I really creating a human that can go function in the world?  Or am I fostering the next megalomaniac being that brings humanity to its knees?  (With Roo, one can never be sure).




My biggest struggle though, is intimacy.


I know how to have sex, trust me, if I was on Yelp, I would have 5 stars..HAHA!!


I don't know how to let my guard down.


I DO, and I HAVE, but it doesn't come easy.


It is a STRUGGLE.


I had to put a layer of shellac around my heart and my feelings at a very young age.


I had to learn that sex was a thing entirely separate from love at a very young age.


I had to put on a cloak of self-preservation so I could protect the children I loved at a very young age.


As I grew older and (hopefully) wiser, I met a few memorable people that enabled me to put all of that aside and bare my heart and offer it up to share with someone else.


Those instances were always successful (except with TC  :(  ) .


I have had some AMAZING relationships with some FABULOUS dudes.  They were nourishing and safe and loving and fun. 


However, times changed, the world moved on, and those relationships came to very loving, caring ends (except for TW -- the last 'boyfriend' - I am soooo embarrassed to type that, guys, I am 42 fucking years old!!  -I had, which has caused me to be single for, like, EVER!), and I continued on my path.


I have blogged MULTIPLE TIMES in the last couple of years about how/why/when I would get a new partner, but LITERALLY have not done one single thing to snare one.


Because I am afraid.


I am afraid I will meet some dude that will mess with my Roo and I will have to kill them, thus landing me in prison for the rest of my life  (Legit fear, I will FUCKING MUTILATE any person that wrecks my baby's innocence).


I am afraid I will hook up with some guy that ignores me or belittles me or tries to control me, and I will put up with it because I HATE failure.


I am afraid I will meet someone that rocks my world and changes my thinking and then falls in love with someone younger (obvs), smarter (HAH!! As IF!), or more interesting (possible, but I doubt it) than I, and I end up an old, fat, wrinkly mess that taught my daughter that being useful to men is more important than being a free, powerful female.

I am afraid to be soft.


Life has made me hard.  I mean that in the most literal sense.  I have to be hard, because I have raised females and the world treats girls like shit (Harvey Weinstein, Louis CK, Charlie Sheen, Christian Longo, Scott Peterson, Ted Bundy, etc., etc.), just turn on the news.


Do you know how many times someone has grabbed, squeezed, patted or fondled my enormous ass without first asking permission?


Do you know how many times my boobs have been brushed, bumped, pinched, or patted without the person even knowing me?


Do you know how many times I have been slinging bottles behind a three-deep-packed bar with a line of cocktail waitresses lined up waiting for HUGE drink orders and some fuck says, "Why don't you smile?" while my fellow drink-slinger (a surly bald dude) NEVER got asked that same question??


Do you know how many times I have walked down the street next to or behind a teen aged girl and watched men of all ages (some of you fuckers WAY too old enough to know better) catcall, eye-fuck, or otherwise salivate over said juvvies??


I don't trust you guys.


I really don't.


The last time I did trust someone enough to bring him around my girls and introduce him into my life, and TRY to let those walls down....well I couldn't.


Because the old 'you-aren't-good-enoughs' kicked in, and I blew the best thing that every happened to me...and NO, I am not talking about 'blew' as in shark week, you pervs.


I mean I hesitated.


I held back.


I prevaricated.


I held up that wall, and I lost.


The one relationship after that was a joke.  It was a 'this-is-all-you-are-worth-so-why-don't-you-just-settle?' kind of a thing. 


Which I did.


Until I realized Roo might settle for something similar, which filled me with so much horror, I bounced.


I sincerely hope I can stop struggling with intimacy so my daughter doesn't grow up thinking men are shit and being a spinster is the way to go (cause it's not...sometimes it's not fun at all).


It would help. though, if you fuckers would quit groping and jacking off in front of us because you can...


Just saying.

Did NONE of You Watch Terminator?!?!!?!

This is what's in store for us...FOR REAL!!!

Ahem.


I missed a day.


There was no Day 8 post due to several factors.
1. Lexi murders shoes.  Since she could walk she LITERALLY has not had a pair of shoes, regardless of brand, last more than 3 months.
2. Slumber/Birthday Party
3. #BigFatMary


I got off work at 5, had to drive 20 minutes across town to pick up my child, and then go shopping for shoes and presents and pants.


1. Lexi is super picky.  Shoe shopping was a nightmare.
2. She found a present for her friend ONLY after finding 64,000 things she wanted for HER birthday in 3 weeks.
3.  I am oddly shaped and cannot find pants that fit my waist (nonexistent), my ass (huge), and my legs (short and stubby).


By the time I got home, and fed, watered, homework-ed  (whaaaaaat??that's a word!!) my child, and made sure she bathed and got ready for school.....I was zonked.


Since #GrownUpTantrums missed her Sunday post, I assumed a bit of quid pro quo was in order, and did not post.


(FYI, we are keeping each other on track with our 30 Day Blog Challenge through social media humiliation and smack-talk)


Now, I have already posted once about tonight's (okay, YESTERDAY'S) challenge - Your Fears.  I did it here (click and read, please!), and several of you mofo's have chosen to torment me endlessly through inappropriate memes. texts, and IMs.


You all suck.


Since that post a couple of years ago, there is something (besides men, technology, 'civilization', global warming, Little Rocket Man, etc.) that scares the ever-loving shit out of me.


AI


Artificial Intelligence.


WHY would you do this?


Did everyone not pay attention watching Terminator or X-Men Days of Future Past???


AI/Thinking Robots are BAD.


VERY BAD.

This is what happens when you give robots the tools to out-think humans!

Stephen Hawking thinks they are bad, Elon Musk thinks they are bad, and I THINK THEY ARE BAD.


If the 3 greatest minds of the modern era all concur on one topic.....WHY ARE YOU DOING IT??


Why on earth would we create beings/programs that can out-think us and eventually destroy us??


If you doubt me, go check this out:


DeepMind.com


Seriously, why the HELL would we create beings able to think faster, create better ways of doing things, and use intelligence we simply do not have?


DUH!!!


They are going to kill us all, people!!!


We create a race of robots with AI to cook fast food, clean our houses, manufacture goods and give them the ability to think and evolve.


What do you think they are going to do when they figure out they are FAR smarter than humans??


UGH!! 


Literally cannot.


Stop now, please, because I think AH-Nuld is too old (and tired out from shagging the maid) to rescue us.

Go to DeepMind.com and check this out.  But you may want to put on a Depend first.

7 - Bullet Your Day

• Wake up.
• Check phone.
• Hell, naw!  It's 1:30 (or 2:45, or 3:15 or 4:12)
• Try to go back to sleep for 5 minutes.
• Lay there and think about alllllll the things I could be doing instead of laying there thinking.
• Go on Facebook for approx. 20 minutes.
• Do the math to see how much sleep I could get if I fell asleep RIGHT NOW.
• Go on Msn.com
• Put phone down and try to sleep. (If I wake up before 3, chances are I will fall asleep)
• Pick up phone and Google "where are they now" about casts of various 80s movies: Heathers, Teen Witch, Just One of the Guys, etc.
• Do the math to see how much sleep I could get if I fell asleep RIGHT NOW.
• Google things like "surgery to reduce nostril size", 'where is it legal to own a pet fox', 'why does my cat chew on my scalp', etc.
• Drink a glass of water
• Contemplate getting up and going to the gym. (LOL)
• Use timeanddate.com to see how many seconds it's been since I had sex.
• Do the math to see how much sleep I could get if I fell asleep RIGHT NOW.
• Get super tired and doze off at 5:55 am
• Hit the snooze button at 6:00 am
• Spend 2 minutes thinking of all of the reasons I should get up right now.
• Doze off or lay there trying to decide what is wrong with me - I NEED TO GET UP!!
• Hit snooze at 6:10.
• At 6:11, pick up phone and FB until 6:30.
• Drink a glass of water and make tea.
• Go to Starbucks for a coffee.
• At 6:45, shake Lexi's arm and shout in her face until her eyelids peel open.
• Watch as she gets furious, refuses to get up because "I'm stretching!!" and then dozes off.
• At 6:50 shake Lexi's arm and shout in her face until her eyelids peel open.
• Feed Lexi breakfast.
• Send her off to change and get ready.
• Verify backpack she packed last night does, in fact have her iPad, her completed homework, her Club card, and her pencil case.
• Pack her lunch and put in backpack.
• Bang on bathroom door and ask if she is ready.
• Listen as she kicks the door and shouts, "I am CHANGING!".
• Stand back as she yanks the door open so I can re-do her hair.
• Hustle her downstairs to double check her backpack.
• Shower, dress, put hair up in 10 minutes flat.
• Try to get Lexi out the door while she scrambles to find her phone and headphones.
• Shove Lexi out the door, lock bottom lock and head to car.
• Discover I don't have my car keys.
• Storm back to get them. Have locked myself out with no keys.
• Use library card, Driver's License, or similar to break into house.
• Grab house keys.  Car keys not on silver dish in entry specifically there to hold keys.
• Keys not in yesterday's coat. Or in yesterday's handbag.
• Keys not on any flat surface in house.
• Find keys sticking out from under pantry door where demon cats have playfully skidded them.
• Lock house, get in car.
• Drive 2 miles.
• 'Mom!  I don't have my iPad!!!', Yes you do, I put it there myself. 'I know, but when I was checking if all my stuff was in there, I moved things around so I could bring my new Beanie-Boos to school and I took it out!!'
• Turns car around.
• Drives 2 miles home.
• Locates iPad, gets back in car.
• Shouts at dumb kid the entire 20 minute drive to her school about responsibility and having systems in place (LOL).
• Get to school and realize she had headphones on the whole time and heard nothing.
• Drive 20 minutes to work. 

Tomorrow's post!!

I literally cannot deal with this anymore!!


I will finish it tomorrow, but this COUNTS, dammit!!

Day 6 - Top 3 Pet Peeves

Things that make you go Hmmmmm...


My top three pet peeves.


Off the top of my head, I would say this:


1.  The word "moist".
2.  People with shit grammar....you know, the people that use "your", "you're", and "too", "to", and "two" incorrectly....NOT  TO MENTION "defiantly" means resisting and "definitely" means without a doubt, you ignorant internet FUCKS!!!
3. People that hold grudges over decades.




Here is WHY, yo.


1.  There is, literally NEVER a reason to say 'moist' in a sentence.  A cake can be delectable and delicious.  No need to call it moist.  A day can be misty and foggy or humid, but 'moist' is never a good meteorological fallback.  You can call a dude a wuss or a baby or a weenie-faced-mamas-boy, but DO NOT CALL HIM MOIST!!  Seriously, the word should be banished from the lexicon of humanity and never uttered again.


2.  Back in the early days of my online life, I was that dick that would do this, after your horrendously-spelled FB posts:
*you're
*your
*TOO
*to
Eventually, you ignorant motherfuckers wore me down to the point where I merely point and laugh and keep scrolling.
BUT I DON"T WANT TWO (see what I did there?)!!!
I want to correct every last one of your ridiculous misspellings and tell you to grab a copy of Strunk
& White and get a fucking clue!!
I don't, though.
Partially because my fat thumbs have condemned me to a lifetime of typos, and also because the tsunami of stupidity from you dumb-asses has overwhelmed me to the point that I cannot deal with it.


3.  Ummmm...seriously, do I give an actual fuck about what you went through 50 years ago??  Were you in the Holocaust?  Do you have a number tattooed on your arm?  Did you go to sleep at night with ashes swirling around your head?  Ashes that MAY have been one of your family members or friends?  If the answer is no, then you need to suck it up and shut the fuck up and move on.
I can count on 2 hands the number of people I know that had a perfect, magical, Leave-It-To-Beaver childhood.  So, you didn't?  Okay, fine.  It's not what happened to you, but what you do with it that defines you.
As a straight-up control freak that strives to control every single thing in my world, I can honestly say the ONLY THING we have control over is how we respond to what life shovels at us.


Life is burying you in shit?? Well, guess what? Manure makes the best mulch, from which the biggest flowers, the most viable vegetables, and the richest plants grow.
You went through adversity (who hasn't?), FINE.  Use that shit to avoid the pitfalls, to be stronger, to help others navigate that same shit.


But for fuck's sake, quit whining.  At some point, the choices you make are your own, not the ones you were forced to accept.  At some point, you need to own your choices, your mistakes, and your life.  At some point, your passive-aggressive posturing requires you to accept that some of your life's burdens are things YOU created with YOUR choices.


Shit, guys, I am too tired and angry right now to say more than this:


Never say moist.
Spell Check is your friend.
Own Your Shit.


Aside from the first, I don't always do that...but I can try.


And, so can you.

Day 5 - Something I Will Never Forget..

Since I was about 20, everyone I know that has read my cards, blogs, scribbles, and listened to my speeches has said I should write a book.

And I have.

Actually, I have written several.  I have about 30 yellow legal pads full of not-entirely-fleshed-out-novels.

In addition, I have 3 out of the 4 stories I want written for a horror anthology, based on the remote, but gorgeous, region I grew up in.  AND, I have a 'chick-lit' type book that I am working on daily - it's all about 2 sisters dealing with their mother's death, and the cross-country road trip (because of the younger sister's refusal to fly) they take to get home to her.

I say all of this, not to brag, but to let you know that writing a something a little more substantial than this blog is a hyooooge deal to me, and I work on it daily.

Once I am published, something I am absolutely sure will happen in the next 5 years (and no self-publishing, but  legit offer from Ballantine, Bantam, or similar), I will have a very special dedication.

CLEARLY, I will recognize and celebrate my friends, family, and teachers that made an impact in my life.

However, the most important dedication will be to my 8th grade teacher, RH.

RH was my teacher at a rural 2-room schoolhouse that I attended between 3-5th grades.  He was passionate about rock-climbing, he housed our entire class at his in-laws on our field trip to San Francisco, and he steered me in the right direction about hygiene when I had no idea what that word even meant.

He called me "mary-looking-for-a-husband" (how prophetic!!), based on a gimmick shirt I wore to school, I called him Mr. Strawberry Nose, based on my clever BFF's observation.

When I left that school for a slightly larger school, RH popped up as our 8th grade teacher. 

He was my new BFF's dad, and he was a difficult taskmaster.

However, he was also an  amazing teacher.

Long before sushi was fashionable, he treated our class to oysters, mussels, shrimp, and octopus tentacle to celebrate our completion of the invertebrate section of our science books.

He drove a VW Bus, and owned more than one -- including the one with the tent that popped out of the roof!!

He wore round wire-rims like John Lennon.

He was so cool.

Until...

We were assigned The Red Badge of Courage. 

I hated that book.  Not only did I find the writing pedantic and boring, it also gave me nightmares.

My childhood WAS a nightmare, so having schoolwork contribute to the pot was not fun.

When I was writing the book report for that book, I had a very hard time.  I LOATHED the book, hated the protagonist for stirring up my own fears, and did not feel it was a good book at all.

In order to adequately convey my feelings, I busted out my step-father's thesaurus to help me explain how I felt about the book.

I turned in my book report and forgot about it.

Then, RH called me into the classroom at recess.  He asked me where I got my book report. 

?????

Umm... I wrote it? 

No, no, he said, who wrote this for you, or where did you copy this from??

My ears were hot, as if I had been caught doing something shameful--which I wasn't!!

Where did I copy this --- WHAT??

Mind you, this was pre-internet, and we lived in an area where the nearest public library was a 45 minute ride into and out of a river canyon, and only happened twice a month.

Where did I copy it from?? Nowhere...how could you copy a book report when you were so poor your family only even visited that library twice a year because town visits were for laundry, groceries, and gas???

Who did I copy it from??  Ummmmm...no offense, but he knew my family.  Too well.  When you live in a rural area where there are about 300 people total on the mountain, and he had taught both my older sister and brother and knew my mother...

(I don't exactly feel like a shit about what I am gonna write here, but I recognize that I probably should.)

WHO THE FUCK WOULD HAVE WRITTEN THIS FOR ME, BRO????

He had taught my sibs, knew my mom from the TWO --that's right, TWO -- stores, plus the gas station in our area.

He knew damn well no one in my family was capable of the literary genius of that paper (sorry, kids, #TRUTH).

I laid all that out for him, like, WTF, mate???  For real?

Nevertheless, he persisted.

"Define 'foreboding'", he said.

I frantically cast my mind back to the dusty pages of the thesaurus I had used to augment my paper.

"Ummm......something bad.  Like, you think something bad is gonna happen?", I ask, plaintively.

"Define 'despotic'", he said, flintily.

"Ummmmm.....uhhhhh...*trying desperately to recall when and why I had used it*, 'I don't know', I admitted, shamefaced.

"I knew it.  You didn't write this.  I am giving you and 'F'."

I literally saw stars.  Okay, maybe not stars, but black spots took over my vision, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.

I walked out of the classroom, into the sunlight where my friends were playing tether ball, 4square, gossiping, and generally enjoying themselves.

I was dazed.

Punchy.

Wasn't too sure what had happened, just knew I was on the receiving end of an ass kicking I did not deserve.

Since that was a monthly occurrence in my home life, I was kinda pissed it happened at my refuge -- at school. 

I sat down on the cement edge of the sidewalk that went down to where my friends were playing a particularly vicious round of 4Square.

An F??

Because he thought I was a cheater?  A plagiarist? A forger?

Shame is an emotion I was very familiar with in  my 12 years.

In  2nd grade, a boy called me "IT" (way before the book or miniseries was a thing) for no other reason than I was ugly and poor.  Everyone picked up on it, and that's who I was...IT.

In 3rd grade, I was molested by my mom's boyfriend, and she made me change schools (to that 2-room school) so no one would know about it.

In 6th grade, I left my small 2-room school for the larger district school and had no friends.  I made friends -- GREAT FRIENDS -- right away, but the shame never left me.

I was ugly (lazy eye, stringy hair, K-Mart clothes), poor, and often dirty.....so why should I be surprised that my teacher felt my brilliant essay did not originate with me?

Except.....

WAITAFUCKINGMINUTE!!!

I wrote something (yes, I used a thesaurus to flesh it out) that someone I respected and admired thought was copied out of a FUCKING BOOK, or possibly written by someone else (realistically there was no 'someone else' in my life capable of that literary genius...yes I said it --I will fucking own my shit!!).

That was my "A-Ha" moment.

I was a motherfucking writer.

If RH, who was a frickin' TEACHER -- a great one, by the way, thought that what I wrote was beyond an 8th grade girl.....that meant something.

I am a motherfucking writer.

It was earth-shattering.

I may be ugly and poor and garbage, but I can write like a motherfucker and trick someone that graduated from college into thinking I forged this.

FUCK YES.

Of course, that didn't solve the dilemma of the "F", or the accusation of plagiarism or forgery.

It took the intercession of my 7th grade teacher, the AMAZING GH, and a school administrator (BS, who was the only Republican on the staff, and drove me to school from 'town' when we moved halfway through my 8th grade year so I didn't have to switch to a town school, where I surely would have been eaten alive as Ridge Girls were not treated well by Town Girls [that actually turned out to be a fiction]) to make RH reconsider his first analysis of my paper.

Both GH and BS were adamant that they were well aware of my verbal prowess. and the fact that I forgot 'despotic' was more likely nerves and not proof I was a liar, a plagiarist, or a forger.

I got a B on that paper because I had turned it in late in the first place.

I didn't even care.

GH and BS had stood up for me, two adults to whom I was probably just another face, had stood up for me and made someone take a second look at who and what I was.

RH had revised his first opinion of me, based on the advice of his colleagues.

And I got a 'B' instead of an 'F'.

More importantly, I got this:

He never would have questioned that paper if  I was pedantic or boring or adequate.

He questioned it because of 2 vocabulary words and an amazing fucking arrangement of words (call me cocky, but I have 30 years of hindsight and a memory of that ugly, ashamed little girl to say the praise is worth it), and I will always remember and love him for that.

His skepticism and disbelief made me realize I have a gift.....and there is no way I EVER would have understood that until he questioned the legitimacy of my words (okay, and 2 of Merriam Webster's), and I can honestly say I will always be grateful he did that.

So, yes, when I eventually publish my book, I will credit many of my teachers --Kenneth Harris, Ginny Hillsman, Irene Frazier, Mr. Cartan, Nancy N, Tony M, Clyde L, and always and forever RH.

He challenged me, and questioned me, and made me realize that I am a writer.

And I will always be grateful for that.

Always.