Making sense of tragedy: Adam Lanza, NRA, Sandy Hook Elementary, gun violence, Newtown and mental health

I wasn't going to write about this because it's overwhelming - I don't know what I feel (or should feel) as a bystander to tragedy. However, after witnessing the virtual war over gun control, mental illness and God, I feel the urge to debrief.
The news reached across the globe. On Friday, Dec 14, 2012, after murdering his mother in her bed, Adam Lanza, 20, stole three of her weapons (she owned six), walked into Sandy Hook Elementary and never walked out. He murdered 26 people, including 20 children ages 6 and 7. Authorities report he had enough ammunition to murder many, many more.
Mass murders are devastating and unnerving but this one ... 20 children ages 6 and 7 in a sleepy town in Connecticut? Children. Connecticut. As Americans we are not immune to mass shootings (the "Dark Knight" movie theater shooting was only five months ago) but children ... that was out of our scope of possibility. Children of all ages are no longer safe at school. Sleepy towns are no longer sleepy. The age of innocence is growing younger every year until the time will come when no one is free from violence and adult content. There will no longer be childhoods, on the gritty, harsh reality of life.
I won't indulge my feelings because I don't know how I feel. I think that's OK, it's OK to not know, to be numb from senseless acts of violence. To be numb from movie theatre massacres, shopping mall shootings and, especially, mass murders at elementary schools. This isn't supposed to happen because it's inhuman. It's evil. We're at war with an invisible enemy: mental disease.
I know my feelings in reference to others and the thoughts they've shared in stark, naked honesty on the Internet. Their thoughts are full of absolutes and unshakable substance -- almost as unnerving as random acts of violence. Why aren't others without words like I am? Why aren't others unsure of what this tragedy means and how America should react? Why don't others understand it's not simple because life isn't simple? Maybe there are many like me and they simply choose not to respond on social media. It's the fanatics who shout from rooftops as if that's the only way their feelings will matter. Facebook and Twitter are on one big rooftop, overlooking the world.
Eddie Nimibutr, owner (which has been disputed) and chef of the Austin, Texas restaurant Thai Noodle House commented: "I'm failing to give a damn about the CT shooting. I don't care if a bunch of white kids got killed. Fuck post-racial bullshit. When kids from minority groups get shot, nobody cares. When Israel launched missiles at the school on Gaza, everybody was too busy jerking off. Why should I care about people who don't give a damn about me? Personal responsibility, right?"
He later commented: "I am no fool to just feel and just believe the hypocrisy in our society the way everyone told me how to. Lots of people are mad at me for the thing I said. Some called with threat of violence. I laughed at the Internet tough guys, but I reported to the police. I am educated and believe in my rights of the Freedom of Speech ... If you don't like me or my opinions, I suggest you to unfriend me and fuck off. I am pretty much sick of some people telling me what to think, how to think, or how to feel today, and if you don't like my foods, fuck off and eat someplace else."
Although he's a hypocrite, among other things, I agree there are horrific crimes being committed everyday, especially in Syria. Unspeakable acts of violence hardly evoking a cringe or attention when quickly uttered on the evening news we, most likely, DVR because we're busy. Too busy for the news, how pathetic. However, it's different when it happens in your country, especially in America where we proudly wear Americanism on our sleeve next to our hearts. It's different because the majority of the dead are children. Children were gunned down as if they were a threat. Maybe you pull a Columbine and gun down your classmates because you were bullied and emotionally beaten down ... it's not OK in any stretch of the imagination but it's a lesson in psychology we can grasp when trying to make sense of it all. There's no rhyme or reason to why a 20-year-old would shoot children just as it's difficult to comprehend why someone would shoot moviegoers.
Random acts of violence are the scariest because that means you are never safe, not even at once safe havens like an elementary school. Yes, maybe Adam Lanza wanted notoriety but we, as a society, need to examine the why before we can discuss the what now.
As I'm making my list and checking it twice for Christmas, I'm guilty. I didn't know the people and children murdered, I don't know the survivors, I've never been to Newtown, Ct. and I don't know the people affected directly by this tragedy. I've never had a friend or family member murdered. I can't imagine the pain and suffering they are going through right this second and will go through for the rest of their lives: the survivors guilt, the what if, the regret, the anger. However, I can't help but feel troubled and guilty, like I'm under a black cloud. Guilty for laughing at a joke, guilty for being cynical, guilty for enjoying celebrity gossip, guilty for getting annoyed when my mother babbles too long on the phone or the person in front of me drives 40 in a 55 mph zone, guilty for knowing this incident will soon lose its hold and I'll continue sweating the small stuff. I try to remember to be grateful for what and who I have because I never know when I'll take my last breath or when the ones I love will take theirs ... even with this in mind, I'm still troubled.
It's never one thing. It's not because of this random act of violence further reminding us we are not safe. It's not because it involved 20 children being gunned down while hundreds waited in fear. It's also because of the reaction from people I know and don't know -- everyone has an opinion and they want YOU to know about it ...
A relative made it an abortion issue: thousands of children are slaughtered every day in abortion clinics and rarely get a single word spoken for them. This person is a religious zealot so, I figured, she's in the minority (hopefully) along with the Westboro Baptist Church, which planned to picket the funerals.
Another commented the mentally ill should remember, when diving off the deep end, to kill themselves and not others ... don't think those individuals work that way.
Before I venture into Second Amendment talk, I hope this obsession with guns and the NRA (both pro and con) doesn't overshadow the need for mental health advocacy. To many people, the mentally ill are difficult to understand -- how someone can be so distraught they'd consider suicide. You've never felt that way so to keep from feeling uncomfortable you hope this person snaps out of it and goes back to normal. Come on, times are tough but buck up little camper. Mothers of mentally ill children, most likely, feel they failed their offspring because what's your first thought after Adam Lanza's rampage? His parents failed him. It's this mentality which makes the mentally ill uncomfortable with seeking help and makes parents uncomfortable with seeking help for their children. Typically the mentally ill need a support system if they are going to seek treatment/help and be successful. If they can't fathom confiding in their loved ones, how are they going to confide in a doctor and follow a treatment plan? The stigma needs to go away and psychiatric help needs to be less about co-pays and the good doctors being out of network, and more about helping those who need it most. Mental health needs to be less embarrassing. Yes, shame on his mother but considering she was an end-of-the-world stash-piling-weapons sorta gal, shame on the people who knew them for not intervening. Hindsight is 20-20.
If I told you I had breast cancer, how would you react? If I told you I was bipolar, how would you react? Or how about something less mainstream, like Aspergers? Your reaction is what needs to change in America.
Then there's the endless gun ranting, including proposing every teacher carry a handgun for protection -- which means a loaded handgun in each classroom (is this frightening to anyone else?) -- and expressing fear the government will take their guns away.
I think people who enjoy hunting are great, I am related to a hunter and love him dearly. There's something beautiful about providing for your family, something traditional and human. If you want to purchase a hunting rifle and, after going through a thorough background check and obtaining a license, then more power to you. However, no civilian should own a semiautomatic Bushmaster .223 rifle with a 30-round magazine -- the gun Adam Lanza used and the same gun involved in the D.C. sniper shootings. No civilian needs a semiautomatic killing device. No civilian needs a stockpile of ammunition. Two handguns and a shotgun were also recovered at Sandy Hook. You can be a responsible rifle owner and hunter or target shooter but I don't understand the logic of a responsible semiautomatic owner ... it's like me saying I'm a responsible rocket launcher owner. Why do I need a rocket launcher? Sure, maybe I like rocket launchers but I don't need one.
The Second Amendment was adopted December 15, 1791 -- a lot changed these 221 years.
Guns are designed to kill living, breathing animals and humans. You want to protect your own? The sound of a rifle cocking is enough to scare the most intelligent burglar away and, if not, the gun is locked and loaded. Government intrusion in your life is a frightening concept but, in most cases, needed because everyone is not as smart and stable as you think you are.
When I was young, my father taught me and my brother how to shoot a gun. It was a handgun and we practiced in our backyard. He didn't mouth off about gun rights, he didn't showcase this weapon as an extension of his manhood - he showed us how to use this device so we'd understand in case, heaven forbid, an intruder entered our home. He also held the demonstration so we'd be scared and understand the danger firsthand.
I understand what it means to be a responsible gun owner who doesn't hunt. My father, a raging Democrat bordering on the edge of liberal, has a gun in his home for protection. He doesn't have a Bushmaster .223 rifle or magazines for mass shooting. He has a small gun he keeps in a case. Why isn't that enough?
Even after writing, I didn't find answers. I don't feel less guilty or unnerved or helpless. If you agree with me, great. If you don't, that's OK too. I'm not a senator or congressman. I'm not in local government. I'm one of many who didn't die Friday. When it comes to random acts of violence, we are all survivors. No one is safe. Hopefully those in charge put aside their differences (fiscal cliff, hint hint), sit down, and talk. What are schools across America doing? They are reassessing safety protocols. Why shouldn't Congress reassess mental health and gun safety? I'm not giving answers -- I don't have any. A conversation needs to start now. Let's set aside preconceived notions and steadfast beliefs and look at mass murders. Look at gun laws and safety. Look at school safety. Look at mental health. Look to other countries for ideas and basis. People need to stop pretending (and most often believing) they have all the answers. No one does, not even the self-righteous NRA. Let's find some answers so Sandy Hook doesn't become the norm, so these teachers and children didn't die in vain.

Christmas with the Cynic: Jesus, Elf on a Shelf, Santa, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah - Bah Humbug, pass the nog

My wall calendar caused great confusion today. It's almost Christmas? Another year almost gone, lost to Morgan Freeman's wormhole lurking in Stephen Hawkings butt -- isn't that where time goes to die? Our mystery ship is venturing further into years fit for sci-fi -- (Stardate 2013 - we should be living la via loca on Mars or carpooling with George Jetson to our job at Spacely Space Sprockets or being served Romulan ale by robot maid Rosie, who will one day malfunction and kill us all). In my real day job (my night job is being a m-fing, yolo-ing boss -- whatever that means) I am constantly reminded of the current date but, for some reason, didn't realize until today the sequence of numbers means it's almost Santa's birthday.
Eww. Cue the moment, every now and then, when you slow your roll and remember you're a fragile human on a swiftly turning planet covered with billions upon billions of creatures. You are 99% oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium and phosphorus and 1% freak. Do you exist or is this a dream? Wait, before I question existence, entering a full blown marijuana-free freak out (no bueno), let's come on back to our warm and fuzzy existence, safe from reality!
It's almost Christmas! Are you done spending money on others? Is your house decorated? Is your Christmas menu planned? If you have lady parts (or are a dude who looks like a lady), did you purchase a sparkly outfit, or three, for holiday parties you'll ruin with regurgitated chunks of egg nog, guilt and shame? Do you feel the Christmas spirit coursing through your veins like tiger blood? If you're anything like me, has the urge to binge drink increased by 300%?
You hear that? Hark! It's an angel getting its wings. Did you get the coupon in your e-mail? I hope it didn't get stuck in your spam filter because you'll miss out! If you spend more than $250 at the mall, an angel will get its wings, and if you spend $500, God will love you. Oh wait, you flipped off a man while backing into a space in the mall parking lot and mumbled nasty things under your liquory breath while in the long line at the Apple store. Go directly to jail, do not collect $200 and God does not love you.
It doesn't feel like Christmas but what's Christmas supposed to feel like? It's not snowing (save your global warming talk for Al "I Created The Internet" Gore -- ever notice how he sounds like Forrest Gump and looks like Kirstie Alley?). I'm not at a Christmas party, sipping on hootch in holiday attire while purposely forgetting my diet and munching on creamy dips, chocolates and buttery cookies like Bridget Jones -- it's Christmastime so it doesn't count. I stopped getting weeks of Christmas vacation after college (wah) and this year the calendar wants to further slap me in the face with Christmas on a Tuesday. Rude. I'm at m-fing work yo cuz it ain't the freakin weekend and even R Kelly isn't going to have himself a urinating good time.
I heard a Salvation Army bell ringing the other day -- which makes me think of Christmas. Not particularly in a good way because I don't trust charitable organizations -- where is my money going? I haven't seen any fake ass poser Santa's yet, which is good because they give me the heebie jeebies like clowns.
I'm every nightmare you've ever had. I'm your worst dream come true. I'm everything you ever were afraid of.
There's a war on Christmas raging in the U.S. because the reason for the season has been forgotten in favor of getting down on our knees and praising Santa, sappy Hallmark cards, filled stockings, poisonous poinsettias, Christmas carols covered by losers like Mariah "Monkey Face" Carey, suck-my-honkey-lips mistletoe, Pop Rocks candy canes, Rudolph and his alcoholic nose, tolerance for other holidays, prickly holly, yule logs, fire hazard trees, gift-giving, fruitcake, awful sweaters and Xmas. Baby Jesus War Soldiers become upset when you wish them Happy Holidays or Season's Greetings instead of Merry Christmas, which is interesting because my Jewish friends don't get riled up when you completely forget about their existence all together and speak about their holiday in hushed tones and wonder.
I don't think there's a war on Christmas. The media profits from this fiction by hyping a small group of hysterical people because it's an easy way to elicit a response from the public. It's either "this season celebrate reason" or "Jesus is the reason for the season."
You know what? It's Dec. 13, 2012. There are 12 days left until Christmas. No, I'm not filled with the Christmas Spirit like a Port-o-John but that's OK. I'm not the type to be over-joyous and it's not Christmas yet. In our material obsessed culture, Christmas and Christmas Eve has expanded like a fat lady in spandex to black out December and the end of November. The season starts with Thanksgiving and doesn't stop its bombardment until you're hungover and broke Jan. 1 and filled with enough guilt and shame to last the year, as well as a low threshold for emotion. I was hungover the other day (shocking) and cried during a jewelry commercial. No, it didn't feature mind numbing Jane Seymour: Open your heart and love will find its way in ... open the large vital organ pumping inside me so your love can creep in like nerve gas? Fat chance Dr. Quinn. It was a better commercial than that but was still a jewelry commercial -- booze, you perplexing seductor, I love you, always and forever.
So, don't feel bad if you're more Willie Stokes than Buddy the Elf. When Christmas Eve rolls around, that's the time to enjoy being with friends and family and remember life isn't about Facebook statuses, Twitter updates, deadlines and bumper-to-bumper traffic. It's not about 50% off sales, reality television, blockbuster movies, or even, sigh, strong booze and filtered cigarettes. My reason for the season is remembering to be thankful for what I have and remembering to be nice and, if I can't, drink heavily and keep my big, fat mouth shut.

Angus T. Jones & Two and a Half Men: Do as I say, not as I do

Have you ever watched an episode of "Two and a Half Men" -- on purpose or not? I can't say I've caught a recent one with man-child Ashton "Kutchie-King" Kutcher but I've sat through a few reruns with the warlock himself, Charlie Sheen.
My viewership ended after catching two or three random episodes while lazily flipping channels -- entertain me magic box! -- because each episode was identical. It's your typical sitcom-shtick with safe-for-TV-after-8 racy undertones and far-fetched scenarios. Boobies, booze and babes. Yuck, yuck, yuck!
In addition to Kutcher, the other man in this equation is Jon "Forever Duckie" Cryer. Although decades removed from "Pretty in Pink," he's playing the same awkward, geeky character as he did in 1986, which goes to show he's playing himself like Kutcher has for decades. I wish I could be cast as the cynical, crass, Amazon woman in some retched sitcom for thousands of dollars an episode.
Sigh.
Angus T. Jones, who plays Jake, the son of Cryer's character, is the half. He's been playing this role since age 9 and now, at age 19, is becoming more than half, possibly 78% man. He was cute as the chubby, witty child but now, as the awkward teenager, his character is losing its charm, which is good because Jones wants out.
In a rant recently posted online for Forerunner Chronicles (linked to the Seventh-day Adventist movement -- go ahead and make your best eerie yikes face), Jones commented, in his best unenthusiastic deadpan voice:
If you watch Two and a Half Men, please stop watching Two and a Half Men. I'm on Two and a Half Men and I don't want to be on it. Please stop watching it and filling your head with filth. People say it's just entertainment. Do some research on the effects of television and your brain, and I promise you you'll have a decision to make when it comes to television, especially what you watch.
What's up with wackos and their research? Reminds me of when Tom Cruise argued with Matt Lauer on "The Today Show" -- "you don't understand the history of psychiatry." Also, a videotaped testimonial? Who does he think he is, Osama bin Laden? Nicholas Brody in "Homeland?"
If I am doing any harm, I don't want to be here. I don't want to be contributing to the enemy's plan. … You cannot be a true God-fearing person and be on a television show like that. I know I can't. I'm not OK with what I'm learning, what the Bible says and being on that television show.
He can't be a true God-fearing person because he's on the Satan Network but he's still on the show because of his contract? He doesn't want to be there if he's doing harm but admits you can't watch the show if you fear God ... I'm confused. He is doing harm or not? Is Satan running this show or not? Could you imagine walking into an office for an interview and a big, beautiful leather desk chair turns around as you enter and you're face-to-face with Satan? I'd poop myself for sure.
Jones has attended this church for less than a year yet has it all figured out with a little help from his friend and spiritual guide Christopher Hudson, who is also featured in his testimonial looking like a fake ass Romany Malco.
Jones found Hudson through the ForeRunner Chronicles video series and remarked his videos, which he "loves watching," have been a "blessing" and the "information is so great." These videos cover a variety of topics, including:
Jay-Z is a Freemason with ties to the devil.
Beyonce is leading people away from Christ and toward accepting all men of homosexual practices.
Obama's healthcare plan is similar to Hitler's policies.
The NYC gas crisis can lead to cannibalism -- direct quote: "Your baby might start looking like a chicken wing."
Hopefully a dingo doesn't eat your baby. I'm so confused with these fundamentalist theories I might draft a genealogical chart of Hitler and the Devil because apparently Jay-Z is the brother of Rosemary's Baby and so is your TV -- Freddy Krueger is in your TV so now it makes sense, right?
What is it with "Two and a Half Men" and actors losing their shit? First Charlie Sheen attacks executive producer and co-creator Chuck Lorre before quickly morphing into a crack-fueled, drunken, warlock alien, mouthing off about tiger blood and wizardry like a drugged out Harry Potter. Now, we have Angus T. Evangelist Jones and his Spiritual Guide preaching to anyone with an Internet connection while Jones continues to cash his roughly $350,000 an episode paycheck -- which, as he mentioned, is Satan's money. I'm sure he's spent his Satan blood money on a pretty comfortable life -- do as I say, not as I do. I want some Satan blood money! How much has he earned from the show in his 10-year stint as Jake? What does the hand that fed him millions of dollars taste like? Jesus' love? You could argue all the money in the world can't help if you truly hate what you do but I believe Jones drank too much of the Kool-Aid.
It's reported his mother is worried he's being exploited by the church. That's a bingo!
Christianity has become fuel for hate speech -- with Christians hating others with differing sexuality, religion, race and political views. It boggles my mind how people can pretend to be these angelic, God-fearing, Jesus-loving Christians while they stand upon their Internet-run soapboxes and judge and hate to their black hearts delight. What happened to loving God and loving your neighbor? Look in the mirror before telling others how to live.
As for Jones, if he really hated the show he'd donate his paychecks to charity, not bitch and moan while spending millions on material possessions, luxuries and a new pair of George McFly eyeglasses. Give me a break hipster!

Fear mongering: Black Friday and Cyber Monday are one big gimmicky tease

Are you reading this on a half-charged SmartPhone because you've been camped outside a Wal-Mart for days? The cold temperatures, the air mattress and multi-colored lawn chairs, the boredom, the unpaid time off from work, making sure one of your crew stays behind while you search for a bathroom, food and somewhere to brush your sweatery teeth ... all so you can be first in line for some hot, nasty Black Friday action. What's your poison? A big screen TV so you can see Honey Boo-Boo and Kardashian booty in 50" plasma-y glory? Maybe a Hamilton Beach Single Serving Blender and Biggest Loser Food Scale -- it's a bundle! -- so you can finally get in shape because to lose weight you don't need to hit the gym or eat fruits and vegetables, you need to buy something to do the work for you! It's a Christmas miracle!
Instead of rising at the butt crack of dawn on Black Friday, businesses started the craze earlier with Thanksgiving night deals because their employees are dying to wait on rude, crazed, cheapass folk! Is there a death toll this year for how many people will be trampled to death?
But wait! There's more! To further help with your Christmas shopping, there's Cyber Monday with online deals as well as Small Business Saturday so we don't forget the little guys. Deals! Hot! Red hot! The prices are dropping so fast and so hard so they can bring the savings to you! Don't forget the Apple Black Friday Sale with deals on their overpriced, but wonderful, products for one day only. One day! Go! Run! Get there!
What happened to overeating on turkey, sweet potato casserole, corn pudding, stuffing and pumpkin pie with family members you love or love to secretly hate before unbuttoning your "big jeans" and dozing off on the couch? I also refer to these big jeans as my eating pants. Don't judge. Maybe take a walk (more like a waddle) afterwards so you can pretend you burned the 5,000 calories you ingested by lazily frolicking down the street. You typically get Friday off so you can prepare your home for Christmas or relax. You hear that noise? It's the calm before the storm called Christmas. But wait ... what's this? Big business heard you have a day off from work! Oh no! Of course you need to spend that day spending money!
Insert newspaper circulars, e-mailed reminders, television commercials -- spend, spend, spend!
Americans spend the entire year complaining about the economy and how they're broke as the saddest joke ever told and then, come the day after Thanksgiving, they go apeshit and kill each other at midnight over a 50" plasma TV and a $15 toaster. There was a time when I enjoyed visiting the mall in December to get tipsy at the California Pizza Kitchen (word to the wise, they cut you off after three so make yours doubles!) before embarking on my Christmas shopping stumble. I checked everyone off my list just in time to sober up and drive me and my headache home. Nowadays you'd be lucky to find a parking space, let alone get inside that crowded sucker. No thanks. Can't do it. Won't do it. Not gonna do it. It wouldn't be prudent.
Cyber Monday is a ploy for retailers to milk the Black Friday revenue. They want to see how many days they can eek this sucker out because they are fear mongers. They scare us into believing we'll miss out on huge savings on items we want and need if we ignore these few crucial days. They try to make us believe nothing will ever be on sale again so if we don't take advantage we will ruin Christmas for everyone.
This Thanksgiving, what are you thankful for? Family (especially the ones you actually like to be around), food, loved ones, or hot deals at Target? My advice: make a list like you're going to the grocery store so you don't return home with everything you don't need. Impulse buys are not your friend. Check the list twice. Shop around. Items will be on sale after Cyber Monday, I promise. Honestly, I'd rather have a thoughtful gift you found after shopping around on the Internet and in stores than an item you bought Black Friday at 4 a.m. because it was on sale and you were loopy from lack of sleep, six gooey Frappes, binge eating and being a fear mongered loony.

Hostess, Twinkies and your stomach: Who is sobbing over the death of Golden Sponge Cakes With Creamy Filling

On Friday, Nov. 16, 2012, Twinkie "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling" Hostess went to be with the Lord. The urban legend of immortality was a lie. He was 82.
He was born in 1930, in Schiller Park, Illinois, the son of James Alexander Dewar, a baker for the Continental Baking Company. His childhood featured a filling of banana cream until World War II when rationing forced Twinkie to be filled with vanilla cream. In his 50s, during a mid-life crisis of sorts, Twinkie experimented with strawberry filling but soon returned to his vanilla roots. He would be vanilla until his death.
He is survived by his various cousins, especially Wonder Bread and Ring Ding, who he was close with later in life.
A memorial service will be held at 4:20 p.m. Saturday, Nov. 17, at 7-11 convenience stores across the United States.
In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Stoners For Jesus Inc.

I've been on a diet since the beginning of June. Oh, wait. I'm not supposed to say that. Diet is a dirty birdy word. It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change. So, let me clear my throat and try again. (This is when you imagine me, in my mother's basement, clearing my throat in a room lit only by the electric glow of my computer screen.) Ah hem. Since the beginning of June, I've made significant changes to my lifestyle, specifically sustenance-based because, when you boil it down, I am fueling the most expensive vehicle I'll ever own, my body. Why should I expect my vehicle to run smoothly if I fuel it with unwholesome filth?
This brings me to the hot topic of today. No, not the violence in Gaza. No, not Gen. David Petraeus (speaking of dirty birdies) testifying about Benghazi. No, not the fiscal cliff or the four people who died, and 17 injured, when a freight train plowed into a parade float carrying wounded veterans. I'm not even talking about the popularity of Black Ops 2. I'm talking Twinkies. I'm talking Wonder Bread, Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, Coffee Cake, Fruit Pies. I'm talking HoHos, Beefsteak rye bread and Sunbeam. Love the Drake, hate the Drake -- many people are saddened today when news hit Hostess Brands is filling for bankruptcy.
Insert fat guy joke here -- maybe involving his shock when the news hits, followed by moments of panic before (flight or fight!) fleeing to the closest store to stock up on his favorites (then imagine the day he's gone through his stash and holds in his hand the last Twinkie. His sadness is Lifetime made-for-TV-movie worthy.)
Anyway, what interested me most about this news was the reasoning behind the bankruptcy. Obama-haters will quickly reply it's the economy stupid and Obama is causing Americans to lose jobs instead of gain jobs like he promised.
You made promises, promises, Knowing I'd believe. Promises, promises, You knew you'd never keep! (Wouldn't it be funny if you could treat politicians like you'd treat a cheating lover. Get all up in Obama's face with your pointer finger drawing the letter S in the sky as you rip into him. Jerry! Jerry!)
Anyway, not-so-fast -- Hostess reached a contract agreement with its largest union, the International Brotherhood of Teamsters (sounds like a roller derby team for a secret society -- bet their uniforms are creepy!), recently but thousands of members in its second-biggest union went on strike late last week after rejecting a contract in September offering cut wages and benefits. Hostess CEO Gregory Rayburn warned employees he would file for bankruptcy if they didn't return to work (maybe a threat, maybe not) because production was below normal and their profit margin was very thin. They didn't return, sales were lost and cash flow was low so he closed the doors on an iconic empire. Although, it's being reported a lot of the turmoil over cash flow is due to big bonuses given to Twinkie big wigs (which makes me think of a Twinkie wearing a wig, which makes me laugh). Shame shame, we know your name!
Anyway, Mr. Twinkie (Rayburn) gave this reason: the industry is overcapacity. Think about your grocery store: the bread and snack food aisles -- classic staples in most American carb-and-sugar-obsessed households. How many different types of bread can you buy? It's outrageous. Whole wheat, whole grain, white, all natural, organic, rye, fiber enriched, oat bran, buns, rolls, Texas toast ... the brands and options are endless. In the snack food aisles, the goodies are endless. The industry is saturated with options because every few months there's a hot item -- pomegranate and pumpkin flavoring, low fat, low calorie, no saturated fat, quinoa, chipolte, all natural ... companies need to stay on top of the changing of the times and grocery stores want a big selection. It's overwhelming.
As for Twinkies, Americans in all shapes and sizes are troubled because Hostess (not to mention its various brands) is a symbol for joy and childhood. Maybe you haven't had a Twinkie or a piece of Wonder Bread in years but it's a household name and when someone takes away an item that's been a part of your life forever ... well ... that's troubling. They might as well kick your dog! However, don't blame it on the economy or some underpaid striking workers. Blame it on the over saturation of mass-produced, factory made, American food. You don't believe me? Cracker Jack just announced a new ingredient ... caffeine!
As for me, I haven't eaten a Twinkie or Ding Dong or King Kong or Kim Jong-il or whatever for ... I can't remember. Growing up I was an oatmeal cream pie gal. Nowadays, when I hunger for sweetness, I prefer something fresh and homemade because desserts aren't staples, they are luxuries, so why not make sure it's delicious and not made with chemicals (did you know Twinkies have beef fat in them? Sodium stearoyl lactylate -- I don't even know what this is!)? When Twinkies were born in 1930, they were unleashed on a thinner America, an America with less snack foods, soda and junk food filling our shopping carts. Less preservatives and chemicals injected into our bloodstreams. An America without an obsession with reality television and video games. We can't handle unhealthy foods which, in turn, over saturates the market because companies know we are hungry for carbs and sugar. It's an addiction like alcohol and cigarettes. They are cheap and easy to mass produce so that's a bingo as Hans Landa would say.
Although ... I don't know Rayburn so I can't say for sure but wouldn't it be interesting if he staged this whole thing? You know, took advantage of the protesting and cried bankruptcy so America would freak out and beeline to the snack shelves. We didn't want it before but now there's news we can't have it so we want it bad!

Obama, Romney, Conservatives, Liberals: What I learned from the 2012 election

I can hardly stomach Facebook and Twitter. The amount of political posts made me nervously seek out the closest trash can because I was surely going to retch.
On election day, people were Tweeting and posting pictures of their "I Voted" stickers like superheros, like the lamest Superman ever to exist. He's not faster than a speeding bullet but he accomplishes tasks! He votes! He pays his taxes! He doesn't break the law! He checks items off his To-Do List!
He is the most uninteresting man in the world.
The election-hangover has set its claws into American minds. We get poor winners and poor losers. The left are rejoicing and letting everyone know about their win, like their vote decided the race and Obama is going to save us from Romneyitis and self-destruction. The right are supporting the Mayan calendar and preparing for the end of the world. They have their bags packed for Australia and Canada (just like the left did when George W. Bush was reelected) -- which I find funny because Australia has universal health care, strict gun laws, no death penalty, openly gay politicians and judges, and a female prime minister who is an unmarried atheist. Hell on Earth to a conservative! As for Canada, Republicans won't love the free health care, gay marriage and big government! Also, what do you think? You'll just be able to cross the border and, voila, they will crown you king of Canada? Look it up, it takes a lot to be allowed to live in Canada. They don't want us as much as we don't want them.
For devastated right-wingers, you can always join Donald Trump's Revolution. Sounds like a fitness video offered on QVC at 4 a.m. for half price.
I guess these people didn't have parents who constantly reminded them never to talk about politics and religion in social situations because, to me, Facebook and Twitter is a ginormous social situation. Although, I can see why people think it's OK to let their freak flag fly high on social media -- they are safely sequestered at home, not face-to-face. You're not Joe Smith from Podunk, Miss., you are BigAces675. Look at the big brain on you!
The majority of people Twittering and posting as fast as their piggie fingers can type are sharing political outrage because they want to make it all about them. Isn't that social media? It's all well and good when you complain about a bad day or, on the other side of the coin, an exciting moment in your life but it becomes exhausting when it's all politics or the dreaded female self-portraits via cell phone. Why do women do that? We know what you look like sweetheart. Stop puckering up buttercup and live your life.
Compare your average political Facebook ranter to a rioter in Egypt or Yemen. Would they throw rocks and sticks at tanks and armed soldiers? Would they stand in front of a tank a la Tienanmen Square? No. We are fat, lazy Americans who don't trouble ourselves with much of the turmoil of the world. We commute to work in our gas guzzlers, eat fast food, watch football and reality television and slowly turn into rotting vegetables. We complain while disguised as our Internet-alter-egos and are spineless rubes in real-life.
People complain about too much government and Obama being a socialist but when something goes majorly wrong -- aka the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy -- they complain relief isn't coming fast enough. They are hypocrites! Their beliefs exist as long as they are convenient and revolve around their little world.
So, now the election is over, people will forget they are self-described political pundits and leech on to the next craze. What's the next big thing gonna be? Another baby killer to shame and crucify before he/she has a trial? Another big name sex offender? Judge away America.

Forgiveness: Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?

I saw a sign and it opened up my eyes.
"If you refuse to forgive others, God will not forgive your sins."
This small, rectangular black sign with white lettering is stuck in the front yard of an old farm house. No chapel in sight. Instead of sighing at the religious rhetoric and continuing on my sinful day of me, me, me, followed by me, the wheels in my pickled brain began turning like the wheels in the sky.
Religious or not, have you ever been in a life or death situation, or a dangerous or sticky situation? Similar to a lifeline on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire," your mind turns to one person. God. You pray to God ...
I know I haven't been the best Christian but if you let me live (or if you save me from this looming negative thing) I promise to go to church and stop drinking so much. I'll be nicer to my jerk of a sister, I'll floss, I'll say my prayers, I'll volunteer at the homeless shelter, I'll donate money to the humane society ...
Blah blah blah. It’s like you’re Frank Lopez in "Scarface" begging for your life -- never understood how he was a Jewish, Yiddish speaking gentleman with a Latino last name. Instead of What Would Jesus Do, we wonder What Does God Want because we are turning tricks for salvation. Lucky for you, you pick a card in the game of "Life" and it says: God flipped a coin. You're saved. First order of business, take back your promises like a jelly-belly on day three of a fad diet. God is who we turn to when the shit hits the fan but when the fan is cleaned of shit we promptly return to faithless, free-thinking ways because why go through life obsessed with our predestined demise? You don’t dedicate your life to Travelocity, obsessively planning a trip you may never take because what’s the point?
Maybe it's because this presidential election was filled with hateful rants, arguments and opposition. Maybe it's because the holidays are looming over our heads like a black cloud -- a time to think of others, be thankful and generous, and be subjected to mind-numbing, sugar-coated, manufactured Christmas music. Whatever the underlying causes, forgiveness is an enduring topic.
In your many years upon Earth, at least one person has hurt your feelings and you have held a grudge at least one time – this is a safe bet to place. Get my ass to Vegas! Maybe it's filed under ancient history or the scars are still fresh and oozing with grief. Was it a comment someone made? A cruel remark or laugh at your expense? Maybe it was an action -- sleeping with your wife or stealing money from your wallet. Does time heal all wounds? If so, how much time are we talking?
Maybe, like me, you forgive but you don't forget. Is that sinful? Will God forgive us but not forget our sins? Is that good enough for God? Why do we expect others to forgive us while we have a hard forgiving others? Do human beings have the ability to forget about an experience or situation after forgiving someone, even subconsciously?
Do you hold on to anger, resentment and thoughts of revenge? You know, the perfect situation where you make that person feel exactly how they made you feel because wouldn't that make it all better? Wouldn't you be satisfied?
Odds are you won't, you'll be worse off, but how can we forgive? What's the point of forgiving terrible people who continuously walk all over us? Shouldn't we remember what they did? Can people change significantly?
Remember those 1-800-Collect commercials in the '90s with the old man who'd plead, "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" It's unhealthy and dangerous to believe in the Lifetime movie, Guideposts, happy ending image of forgiveness. It's not easy. Life and people are not perfect, ever. I don't think of forgiveness as, the old man said, finding it in my heart to forgive someone then going back to how things were prior to the scuffle.
I haven't stayed in touch with many classmates, aside from social media. So, when they resurface, whether it's in person or through a Facebook friend request, I find it hard to keep my thoughts from returning to years past.
Not too long ago an old schoolmate sent me a friend request. I haven't seen this person since high school graduation and we weren’t what I’d consider friends in school. Although it's been a decade, I couldn't help but remember how this person treated me in school -- the constant ridicule, the embarrassment, the name calling and laughter. I accepted this treatment and stopped putting effort into my clothing and style. I became an angry person and withdrew from friendships and relationships. What's the point when you've been crowned a big, fat, loser?
This is what came to my mind when I saw the name on my computer screen. Did I friend this person? No. I'm sure they've changed over the years and became less of a dream-crusher but I don't care to give them access to my life, even in the superficial form of Facebook. Do I resent them? No. Do I have a revenge plan formulated, thumb-tacked to my bedroom wall like in every episode of Law & Order: SVU? No. I hope this person is happy and learned to become a better person than the one I knew in high school because, like holding grudges, cruelty isn’t healthy.
You see, forgiveness isn't about me friending this person and turning our history into a Lifetime film. Forgiveness is about letting go of resentment and thoughts of revenge. I don't have time to worry about the people who wronged me because nothing will be solved. I am living my life and focused on putting the spotlight on the positive because those are the people, places and things that deserve my attention.
Forgiveness isn't about denying responsibility to guilty parties. That person in high school, as well as many people throughout my schooling years (obviously I wasn’t captain of my cheerleading squad and Homecoming Queen), hurt me – no doubt in my mind. My forgiveness doesn't minimize or justify the wrongs. Over the years I’ve forgiven people but not excused their actions because that’s not forgiveness, that’s forced forgetfulness.

Hurricane Sandy, New York & the NYC Marathon: Why Must The Show Go On?

Update: Mayor Michael Bloomberg cancels marathon amid controversy.

As an east coast resident of the United States, I witnessed Hurricane "Superstorm" Sandy firsthand. Can I get a witness? She huffed and puffed but, luckily, she didn't blow my house down. I lost power for a little over 24 hours, which forced me to conserve my iPhone usage and trade in my refrigerator, computer and TV for a battery-operated radio, trashy romance novel, bottled water and food stored in ice-filled coolers. Bon appetite!
Damage: one fallen tree and over 10 inches of rain. There was also the one semi-sleepless night spent tossing and turning while the wind howled like a jet engine, my house shook and I covered everything but my eyeballs in quilts and blankets for protection from Mother Nature's daughter, Sandra.
As John Kimble would say, "Stop whining." I was extremely lucky when compared to others, my hardships almost meaningless. Residents of New Jersey and New York had homes damaged, lives lost, flooding, power outage lasting days and still in effect. The headlines say it all:
Hurricane Sandy's New York City death toll climbs to 40 as city attempts to return to normalcy
Searchers on Staten Island recover bodies of two boys swept away from mother by flood waters Monday
Authorities work to restore power to gas stations in Sandy's aftermath
Cleaning up after Hurricane Sandy
Hurricane Sandy death toll rises to 90
Celebrities are using Twitter to get the word out about donating to the Red Cross, fundraisers and benefits are planned, New Jersey has been declared a state of emergency as well as New York ... did you see the images of the demolished Atlantic City boardwalk? It's like a scene out of "2012." Where's John "Evel Knievel" Cusack and his death defying RV jump? It's frightening when blockbuster disaster films mimic real life.
I have a loved one in Manhattan. Come Sunday, when his power is estimated to be restored, his grand total of days without electricity will reach seven. Seven days. No shower, no computer, no stove, no refrigerator, no bueno. He's been washing his hair in the kitchen sink so he can go to work because, as Mayor Michael Bloomberg can atest, life after Hurricane Sandy must go on.
Speaking of Bloomberg ... this makes me wonder ... why didn't he postpone the New York City Marathon scheduled for Sunday, Nov. 4? Isn't it insensitive? What about the city's resources? How can people compete in such a selfish event while people suffer?
Bloomberg assured the media power should be restored by Nov. 4 so that will free up "an enormous amount of police." How many emergency personnel do you think is needed for such a huge event as the NYC marathon? Just because power will be restored (hopefully) doesn't mean people aren't suffering.
Another pro-marathon argument: it's a point of pride for the city and will show everyone New York is working through the pain of this natural disaster. "We are here and we are going to recover." Bloomberg also pulled the 9/11 card when he reminded people former Mayor Rudy Giuliani made the decision to let the marathon continue after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack ... which is a different situation as well as a window of almost two months between events.
I understand the need for perseverance and hope but having a huge event the same day most New Yorkers will be with power for the first time in seven days, doesn't that seem like wondering why a woman who just went through a devastating divorce hasn't moved on after seven days? It hasn't been a week!
I think it's disgusting. There are people without food, shelter and electricity who are forced to fork over money and stay in hotels where out-of-town marathoners previously booked rooms. What are they going to do? Kick the evacuees out? What about the folks who lost homes, loved ones and everything? People are suffering! These places have been declared disaster areas! People are waiting in line for hours for gas to fuel generators and vehicles. They plan to bus out-of-town runners into Staten Island, where the race starts while public transportation just got back up and running, somewhat. Nothing like jogging against a backdrop of homes leveled by a superstorm.
I don't know about you but an annual city event wouldn't make me feel better about a terrible situation.
Another pro-marathon argument: the marathon brings an estimated $340 million into NYC. Organizers plan to use to event to raise money for recovery efforts -- The New York Road Runners, which operates the event, will donate $1 million to the recovery fund and said more than $1.5 million in pledges are secured from sponsors.
That's all well and good but, again, I wonder ... there are resources devoted to the race when there are people in peril. Also, you are "freeing up" police officers and other personnel who worked all week so they can work a marathon? Don't they deserve some time off to be with their families -- they live in the area too and were probably affected by Sandy. What about the people who are still missing? Couldn't those emergency personnel search for them instead of working this event?
This reach for normalcy is demeaning to the people whose lives will never be normal again. What about them? They aren't just people depicted by reporters on your TV screen or in a newspaper article, they are human beings.

Hurricane Sandy coverage: Meteorologists out in the elements, loving the storm

Here I sit on the east coast of the U.S., securely (so far) sequestered in my casa as Hurricane Sandy gives us her worst -- wind gusts, torrential downpours, flooding. What a bitch. Luckily my power is still hum hum humming along so I can partake in the extensive hurricane coverage on the boob tube. Thankfully, the local coverage is up-to-date. Not so thankfully, I think the meteorologist has a rager. You know, boner, erection, stiffy ... While discussing Hurricane Sandy, he excitedly used some inappropriate language like the storm is "interesting" and "beautiful" reminiscent of "Independence Day":
Dr. Okun: The last 24 hours have been really exciting.
President Whitmore: Exciting!? People are dying out there. I don't think exciting is the word I'd choose to describe it.
Meteorologists love weather, obviously, so extreme weather is like fetish porn.
There are reporters out in the field: standing in flooded areas, complaining about the cold, wind and rain while the storm beats down on their pink, snotty faces peeking out from tightly secured hoods ... robed in bright slickers, they brave the elements to give us live coverage. I see some benefit -- reporters showing real-time conditions -- but it seems unnecessarily dangerous. The newsroom anchors comment how the reporter is "tough" and "doing a great job" while comfortably lounging in their chairs in the heated studio.
Politicians, like sassy porker Chris Christie, lay down the law: "Don't do anything stupid." Thanks, Vinnie Barbarino.
Then there's the 80-year-old veteran reporter in a yellow slicker standing in a river mumbling and bumbling about the wind, although my better half is a fan of this senile dinosaur.
It's like the Olympics for news. May the odds be forever in your favor. 

What is Halloween? -- Holidays become more consumer goods than tradition

Is your Halloween costume laid out on your bed, wrinkle-free and glorious? Pumpkin carved, candy bought, house decorated. Here I sit with half a costume and a full serving of cynicism. This go around, my Halloween musings keep returning to Ray Bradbury's novel "The Halloween Tree." Oh you don't know?! Well now you know:
On a journey to save their friend from certain death by a mysterious force, eight boys travel across space and time with the help of an equally mysterious man, learning the origins of Halloween along their travels.
Origins, history, tradition. Americans are so conditioned with traditions reinforced by retail stores and the media, we forget, or never knew, how major holidays came to be. Or, more likely, we get the gist with no want to delve further. We weren't alive then, so let's move on, right? You shouldn't live in the past and, according to Col. Jessup, you can't handle the truth!
Anyway, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Valentine's Day, Fourth of July ... we focus on food, merchandise and clothing. We must prepare for parties, boozing and b.s. We don't reinforce the roots of holidays to our children or friends and, more often than not, don't mention the historical significance as we get down on our knees and worship Santa, over-eating and fireworks. We're breeding a race of idiots.
Halloween has Celtic influences: feasts, rituals, festivals of the dead, and preparing for winter. They called it the Festival of Samhain. That night, souls were said to visit their former homes ... creepy, right? So, during feasts places for these souls were set at the table as a welcome invitation. People donned disguises to conceal themselves from the not-so-nice souls and fairies who returned. Not all souls are Casper the Friendly Ghost because some have unfinished business. People trick-or-treated, more or less, but for food for the festivals, not candy to feed their fat faces. Jack-o-lanterns were turnips carved to represent the souls and fairies or, sometimes, for used for protection.
So, instead of some goofy carving, how about carving an image of a dead relative ... pretty eerie when lit by candlelight.
Halloween has Christian influences: honoring saints and praying for the recently departed who still climb the stairway to Heaven. Trick-or-treaters were the hungry and poor who went door-to-door for soul cakes -- cakes for Christened souls -- as they prayed for souls in purgatory. Costumes were worn for the same reason as the Celtic tradition. Although, Jack-o-lanterns represented souls in purgatory. Again with the purgatory, yikes!
As for the good ole U S of A, Puritans were pure as the driven snow and wanted none of this nonsense until the mass of impure Scottish and Irish immigrants flooded the country and brought their traditions.
Assimilation because aren't we all just mongrels at the pound?
Religion isn't forced upon us as it was in our not-so-distant past. We are free to believe what we want with only hate speech, nasty looks and judgement from the religious right. That's all well and good but there is something comforting about tradition to me, something prideful. Maybe it's because I grew up in chaos but I hope people share historical tales of Halloween, as well as other major holidays, and stop making it all about the Almighty Dollar and this Gimme Gimme Gimme culture we've been brewing.

America's obsession with abortion: Mitt Romney distancing himself from Richard Mourdock's mouth

Indiana Republican Senate candidate Richard "I Love Chick-fi-La" Mourdock stands by his statement: when a woman becomes pregnant during rape "that's something God intended."
"I struggled with it myself for a long time, but I came to realize that life is a gift from God. And, I think, even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that it is something that God intended to happen."
Struggled? Struggled, as in torment for days, weeks, months? I'm confused, is he Socrates or a candidate for Senate? Sleepless nights, charts and diagrams scattered across a coffee table under communion wafer crumbs, evenings spent alone with bottles of wine trying to figure this thing out. I didn't know this needed to be "figured out" but if anybody can do it, some rando from Indiana is our man! Did he struggle with what's been described as Indiana's most pressing problems: the cost of healthcare, substance abuse, and the economy? No, he struggled with pregnant rape victims.
It's interesting the National Republican Senatorial Committee, as well as presidential hopeful Mitt Romney, stand by Mourdock because they didn't stand by their man Missouri Senate candidate Todd "Legitimate Rape" Akin. I don't understand how the comments differ all that much but whatever ... Romney distanced himself but still supports Mourdock -- like a relative who's a miserly hateful jerkface but because you're related you hold them at arm's length but still love them because they're "your miserly hateful jerkface." Romney's handlers say he doesn't agree with Mourdock's views but, after watching debates and speeches over the past few months, I don't know how Romney stands on anything ...
He all five-point-planning when all he got is a one-point plan, lookin like he be modeling on a package of men's briefs.
After drawing outrage from the public (shocking), Mourdock clarified. He didn't mean God preordains rapes but God is the only one who can create life and his God or any God wouldn't intend this to happen ... Confusing logic. Mourdock is upset his comments were twisted by Obama's House of Democrats and Loose Liberal Lefties. For those who disagree, like myself, it's our fault for not understanding. We need to get our shit together and get with the program!
Since he's taken us down this lovely Our Bodies, Ourselves road, I wonder why his good and loving God would allow rapes to happen in the first place. Mourdock has life, the universe and everything figured out so ... Why would God allow 10-year-old Jessica Ridgeway to be kidnapped and murdered? Why is Hurricane Sandy, aka "Out To Destroy Key West FantasyFest," barreling down on the east coast of the United States on its way to join forces with a cold front and become Frankenstorm (makes me think of Al Franken ... which makes me think of Stuart Smalley)?
You're good enough, you're smart enough, and, doggone it, people like you.
Anyway, Americans have friends, family and loved ones, young and old, die from terminal illnesses, car crashes and senseless acts of violence. Is this God's plan? Oh wait, it's not preordained by God but God's the puppet master so ... huh? I better call Richard "Socrates" Mourdock! Oh you didn't know? Your ass better call somebody! Better call Saul!
I'm no left-wing nutbar believing Mourdock is pro-rape or soft on rapists because that's not the case. He's another jerk obsessed with vaginas as the world heads for disaster. Another day, another dollar, another hopeful Senatorial looney up in Tocus (Attention loud mouths backing Obama or Romney, please oh please put as much time and effort into voting for Senators because they are important too).
Anyway. Why are Americans obsessed with abortion, especially politicians?
Decisions over birth control, abortions and the like are made between a woman, a spouse/partner/close friend and/or a doctor. Women don't wonder what senators or representatives or the president will think if they start Ortho Tri Cyclen or choose to have an abortion because it's not like politicians are ever specifically thinking about them. They are supposed to pass laws and chair committees for the good of the people: not some people, all people. It's reminiscent of Prohibition: outlaw abortion and guess what? Women will find ways to make it happen and it won't be pretty.
Politicians pander to the base with controversial issues, especially abortion because it ties in with hot button topics: religion, government's role, when life begins, sex, feminism, a woman's role in society, motherhood, family, healthcare and the economy. There's supposed to be a separation between church and state but people are deeply embraced in their religious beliefs, they feel everyone should follow the leader as their holy book says. Well, not that they've read the holy book, but I'm sure it's in there somewhere. My way or the highway and apparently life is a highway so ... yeah ...
Truth be told, if we continue down Abortion Road we will never find a solution because this isn't a quest for common ground. This is a black and white debate with no room for compromise. It's a losing battle fought with more vigor than any other battle: the economy, healthcare, unemployment, conflicts overseas, drug abuse ...
I would love to host a mass meet-up with every politician and say: take a deep breath and channel sixth grade science class. Ready? Say it with me now: penis, penis, penis, vagina, vagina, vagina. Say it again. Some people have vaginas, some people have penises. They can bring great, dizzying, overwhelming amounts of joy and pain. Stop obsessing about vaginas and fix the country. Stop pretending you are a Bible scholar because we all know the Bible is a book of riddles and lessons. Bible Bottomline: Love God and love your neighbor ... no matter if your neighbor is gay, straight, black, white, poor, rich, Christian, Jew, Muslim ... we are all children of God.

Halloween costumes -- Slutty, controversial, witty, lame: Are you ever too old to dress up?

Walk your TV-addicted, frozen dinner loving ass outside and take a deep breath. The air is crisp, temperatures hover in the land of perfection. The leaves turned in secret, showcasing brilliant shades as their last hurrah before death -- enjoy raking 'em up loser!
Your fat, salty tears rain down on bathing suits, t-shirts, tank tops and shorts as you pack them away and unleash sweaters, jackets, boots and jeans to cover your body before your tan fades and you return to the land of Pasty White American. Mother nature is diverting the attention away from winter, which creeps upon us to steal sunlight and warmth and leave us with snow, ice and cabin fever.
Bah humbug.
Ah yes, it's fall. Maybe you enjoy the cooler temperatures or the return of all-American football. Foos-ball? Buncha overgrown monsters man-handlin' each other ... Maybe you're a piggie pig face and enjoy the food -- pumpkin flavored goodies, fall beers and comfort foods like chili and harvest fruits and vegetables -- and the excitement for more food with Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts knock, knock, knocking at your chamber door and your waist line.
Or maybe, just maybe, you're obsessed with Halloween.
There are folks who enjoy a good shock to the system, like offerings from television networks and movie channels -- i.e. AMC's Fearfest or "American Horror Story." Jason, Michael, Candyman, Mothman, Freddy ... rejoice! The freaks come out at night and so do you!
Some enjoy decorating their homes for trick-or-treaters, parties or for their own nick-knack-paddy-wack-give-a-dog-a-bone loving amusement from low-range Halloween fun to I-want-to-make-kids-cry -- pee filled tightie whities, skid marked briefs, nightmares and therapy appointments. Haunted house vs. Martha Stewart Living (pre-jail).
I'll never forget the Halloween, many moons ago, one of my sisters donned a full gorilla costume to answer the door and scared the neighborhood bully. Seeing his fat, tear-soaked face before he ran screaming from our front porch = bliss.
With big events, from holidays to celebrations, there are those who go overboard. Today, class, pinpoint your judgement viewfinder on costumes. When are you too old for costumes?
Halloween costumes start at infancy when parents dress babies as the cutest thing imaginable even though they can't walk or talk -- Tootsie Roll pops, Dalmatians, ladybugs, puppies ... or you're the spawn of Mr. and Mrs. Death Metal and were clad as Ozzy or Rob Zombie. Schwing!
As we age and become self-aware, we choose costumes. Most boys want to be Batman or Spiderman while girls choose a princess or Disney character or, in my case, a skeleton and, the following Halloween, a geisha. Anyway, kid-you was excited to dress up because your friends were excited, it's fun to pretend, and the All Mighty Free Candy image flashed non-stop in your brain. Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat. If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear. This ends at age 12 -- although some rapscallions eek it out a few more years but that's awkward.
In high school there's a lull ... you could dress up for school but that'd be lame because you're in high school and everything is lame and you're so cool. So hip it hurts. So, you'll either dress up for a party or not at all. College is when the nonsense begins. Girls become all trick, no treat, and dress as slutty (insert costume here) -- there are always uncreative skanks who dress as prostitutes for Halloween. Lazy. Thanks to Mitt Romney's recent PBS attack (news flash liberals, Republicans have hated PBS for decades), there's even a slutty Big Bird, which makes Sesame Street mad.
After college, it's all parties and bars until you have children who need the trick-or-treat experience. I lack kids but drift farther away from a college mentality year after year until here I sit in the limbo realm. I know people my age, and older, who are gung-ho costume party people with their ensembles already signed, sealed, delivered. Bucko dollars were spent. Then again, I know others who could care less and won't don attire or, possibly, don something deemed lazy by gung-ho costume party people. I'm floating, somewhat interested in adorning my body in ridiculousness but less interested because of money, time and self-respect. I'm getting too old for this nonsense or am I?
Also, what am I supposed to be? I'm spoken for in the relationship department for eternity so the female go-to slutty (insert costume here) is questionable. With that in mind, I'm a little long in the tooth to be anything juvenile. So, nothing slutty, nothing silly ... what then? Maybe it's because I'm not fanatical about anything. There are characters I love from movies, television, books and popular culture but then there's the dreaded you-dressed-up-as-someone-but-don't-really-look-like-them-so-people-ask-you-all-night-who-you-are phenomena. Also, yeah I like this, that and the other but not so much as to want to be them for an entire evening.
Maybe I should lighten up and have fun. Dance like nobody's watching as the hens say.

Mitt Romney, Barack Obama debate: Did you change teams?

Fox News is reporting liberals "freaked out" after Barack Obama's poor performance last night (no, not sexual performance). Apparently Mitt "Galvatron" Romney crushed him, signifying Barry O finally lost his mojo -- it was last seen floating in a bottle of homebrewed beer. Memo to Barack: We get it, you're a cool dude. No need to brew beer and act all Joe Everyman because you're not. You're the president of the United States of America. We don't want the president to be cool, we want him/her to be smart. Sincerely, Everyone.
Big Bird was placed on the endangered species list last night -- which is equivalent to ripping our childhood dreams out of our grasp, kicking our dog and spitting in our ice cream before calling our sweet, sweet mother bad names. Although, Mitt Romney assured us, "I love Big Bird" like an abusive husband who says, "I don't want to hit you, you just make me so mad sometimes." It's not you Big Bird, it's me. Muppets across the world are rioting because people care more about muppets than they do real life.
Criticism isn't limited to the stars of the show. Apparently, veteran newsman Jim Lehrer asked questions weaker than his brittle old bones and lost control. The 78-year-old should leave the spotlight for Shady Oaks Retirement Community, where he'll be rewarded with Old Fashioneds, an unlimited supply of pitted prunes and a new spot as moderator of daily bingo -- Golden-agers are serious about some bingo!
This news, and much, much more, has hit the Internet since 1 minute into the debate last night. The rise of social media offers everyday folks tools to analyze and deconstruct Romney and Obama without waiting for the broadcast to end, as well as followup analysis by biased TV pundits. Everyone is an expert, credentials are Internet access and fingers. People declare winners and losers and examine every word, stutter, blue tie, red tie, and American flag pin from the word go. Their soap boxes are Facebook posts and 140-character filled rants.
These folks either bombard you daily with political know-how, shaking their heads when you don't agree, or are the ones too meek to speak in public because it's oh so much safer to anonymously gripe on the World Wide Web in the safety of their basements. The freaks come out at night and when alone on the Internet.
The debate was the most tweeted event in U.S. political history according to Twitter (which is impressive until you remember Twitter was founded six years ago -- lot of history before then folks). Although, it's not the most tweeted live event in history because, remember, we are Americans. People were more fired up for the Grammy's, MTV VMAs and the Super Bowl. However, it's important to keep in mind these Twittering fools skew to a younger population. Yo brah, sweet tie Barry. Mittens' hair looks sick!
A people browser web analytics firm examined Tweets (yes, Big Brother is watching) and concluded more people Tweeted about Romney winning so that makes him the winner winner chicken dinner in their eyes.
Did you watch the debate? Why? Were you planning to use this event to finalize your decision come November? Do you simply love a good show, you queen, you!? Did you not want to be out of the current event loop? Maybe you figured you can't complain if you don't watch. I heard someone comment they wanted to finally catch a glimpse of the human side of Mitt Romney.
All of this is a large, heaping helping of rotten baloney. I did not watch the debate. I did not plan to watch the debate. I did not stay up reading Tweets and FB posts by friends and strangers alike who believe they have PhDs in Life, the Universe and Everything. Everyone watching last night went in with an agenda, with a bias, whether they admit it or not. You've got your guy in this corner and the other guy in the other corner. Round one, fight! (All we needed were Ring Girls!) Everything your guy said right last night was amazing, everything he said wrong was ... well he didn't say much wrong and he's human, right? As for the other guy, every word that came out of his mouth was a lie or further reason he's out of touch with America. Blah blah blah.
Did you think you'd see the human side of Romney or Obama? Real talk with Barry and Mitt? They've been rehearsing for weeks and are, at the end of the day, actors. They're not three whiskeys in sitting with you at a dive bar, opening their slurring, bleeding hearts. They are on national television with millions of eyes watching surrounded by their posse of staff, who are crossing their fingers their prep work pays off.
Also, I don't understand how this debate could change your vote. Their platforms couldn't be any more different on the big issues. Blue or red. Conservative or liberal.
Hello? Hello? Anybody home? Huh. Think McFly, think.

Bored at work: Procrastinating vs. unengaged

My average workday features two speeds: bored and swamped. So swamped I want to, and usually do, cry. You know, your eyes fill with tears, your nose tingles, and the Gunnery Sergeant Hartman in your mind screams, "No Private Pyle, you disgusting fat body. You are not going to cry you namby pamby. No way maggot! Get off my obstacle!" Fast or slow. Black or white. My job is a bipolar chick off her meds.
At work, I get paranoid bored, eyes darting back and forth between the corners of the ceiling, searching for the secret camera installed one dark and stormy night to ensure I'm fit, healthy and productive -- The All Seeing Eye. I'm apprehensive to use Internet Explorer to search online even though it's set to not record history because they could be watching some other way, some super techie sneaky way that's above my pay grade. Watching for what? Who knows.
It's notsomuch I fear they'll poo poo the contents of my search history. I'm more concerned they'll frown at my wasting worktime. You see, I'm not an unproductive Patrick Bateman, masquerading as a Wall Street investment banker while my workday consists of jamming out to "Lady in Red" by Chris de Burgh at full blast on my Walkman and skimming S&M porn. Oh, and I'm not a serial killer.
So there's that.
I somewhat enjoy accomplishing the task at hand at my day job, so when there's work to be done I dive in head first. My worry is the powers that be (All Seeing Eye) will assume my Internet usage is procrastination, when in fact it is me unengaged. Then there will be the awkward e-mail, or heaven forbid face-to-face confrontation, where I will be forced to admit they aren't giving me enough tasks, which, in my line of work, means I'm not needed full time. Yikes.
Obviously this All Seeing Eye is nonsense but when you are behaving badly, even semi-naughty, you usually get paranoid -- which is related to guilt. Catholic guilt, Jewish guilt, Muslim guilt, shitty parent guilt, overindulging in booze with a grand finale of nachos and cookies at 3 a.m. guilt ...
Anyway, what's your go to when bored at work? Do you attempt a productive activity, like balancing your checkbook, paying bills, accomplishing something you've put off for days so you don't need to take care of it later when not at work? Of course not. You Facebook stalk friends and frienemies, check Twitter for breaking updates from US Weekly or sports news, and check your e-mail. You hit update on these three -- the axis of evil. 
You look at the clock -- are the hands moving backwards? Tick tock tick tock tick tock -- they are totally moving backwards and that ticking is loud. Finally, something to do comes in. You're almost giddy with excitement for doing work while at work -- so lame. You get busy at the task at hand and become lost in the world of whatever it is you do -- law, sales, graphic design -- because they are paying you. You finish the task and lo and behold, you've burned 7 minutes. Seven minutes? Sigh.
You check Twitter again and learn Arnold Schwarzenegger didn't realize he'd fathered a child out of wedlock until the boy started looking like him -- obvious hard hitting news. George Michael seeks treatment for anxiety -- I'd be anxious if I was him too. Honey Boo Boo's family got a raise -- you brace yourself for the end of the world. You text message your friend, "What's up?" You check Facebook and notice the political rants slowed, which is comforting, but the amount of insatiable self-centered friends makes for boring content. "You've got to be kidding me." Or the irritating quote post, like "Shake like you're famous girl."
You're too bored to comment to find out why they're posting this passive aggressive crap. Anyway, now you're bored of being bored. You look at vacation pictures of friends you hardly know and sigh. Back to Twitter, nothing new. Now the super guilt -- guilt for having nothing to do and guilt for not being productive while bored. It's hard enough to sit inside an office with windows, peering out to a beautiful, sunny and 65 degree fall day like you're in Alcatraz, staring out between prison bars at beautiful San Fransisco, yearning for freedom, but knowing you're further complicating this by not only wasting this beautiful day at work (and a day of your life -- tick tock tick tock) but at work while there's nothing to do, well it's sad.
Yet I know if I had the day off I'd probably spend it at home, in bed, watching crappy television while filled with guilt over being unproductive so ... maybe I deserve this. Also, when I am busy with tasks at work, that's when I feel the productive urge: track my spending (maybe even getting freaky nerdy with it and create a spreadsheet), send birthday cards, order an item from Amazon. This urge is related to the mind racing before bed, which is coupled with the urge to clean your bathroom or do the dishes at 11 p.m. because you should be doing something else than sleeping.
Humans often don't want to do something while doing it and don't live life in the moment. We live in our minds, in the past or the future, and work at random jobs that suck our lives away, moment by moment, because of the Almighty Dollar.

What is happiness: Are you happy? Would your dream scenario make you happy?

There's this chick on Facebook I'm friends with but not really friends with ... if you catch my drift. She sent me a friend request but falls under the category of I-know-of-you-but-don't-really-know-you. To friend or not to friend, that is the question. After figuring there's no reason not to friend her (like she's a snoop for a frenemy), I friended the chick.
What did I get out of this deal? A surplus of photos featuring her interesting looking toddler and questions. Yes, questions. Every day she poses at least one question to her Facebook friends (i.e. What shows are you looking forward to this fall? Do you watch football? What is your favorite video game?) Maybe she feels guilty for the baby photos but it's an interesting use of Facebook nonetheless considering most people post information that is either TMI or an obvious ploy for attention (i.e. So over it ... or the always popular I'm-going-to-post-melodramatic-song-lyrics-that-match-my-feelings).
Considering our real world non-relationship, I never felt compelled to comment until today when she posed the query:
Happiness is ...
Happiness. As the kids say, smh. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be happy. I bought thousands of dollars worth of clothing, accessories, makeup, this, that and the other in the holy quest for happiness. I've drank thousands of bottles of liquor, wine and beer. Doomed to fail relationships, packs of Parliaments, gallons of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, pounds of peanut butter fudge, bags of Combos, pounds of sticky-icky marijuana, all in the quest for happiness.
It wasn't until recently I realized happiness isn't a destination, it's a mode of travel.
Dear God, I want to be happy!
Well then be happy already, what are you waiting for?
Maybe realize isn't the best word because real life ain't like the movies. I need to be reminded daily of this happiness is a mode of travel sentiment. So, the words are posted on my fridge. However, when you see something day-in-day-out, your mind tends to unconsciously hit the ignore button, especially when moving throughout life on fast-forward. So, when the real deal sadness hits me late at night (dark things always come out at night, don't they, when it's quiet and time for bed), I remind myself to do my best, change what I can, and be happy about the happy things in my life. If I repeat it enough, I'll believe it, hopefully. Simple enough, right?
My Facebook friend's query got me taking happiness one step further after someone commented, "A life free from responsibility." Hmm. Sounds lovely, right? I could be sitting on a tropical island somewhere, drinking a mojito and fueled by a drunk buzz, the kind where you think you have all the answers. Maybe I'd jet set around the world to all my dream destinations.
What's your dream scenario? Living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? Big city socialite life? Movie star? Famous athlete? Out of debt and rich-as-Romney?
Nothing will be as perfect as it is in your mind. No scenario is free from negatives. What's the point of focusing on an unattainable dream in hope for a life free from anything negative? You'll miss out on life, on the right here right now.
My tropical island will have days where it storms or there's a shortage of mojito or I'm violently hungover from drinking mojitos constantly. Frankly, I get bored laying on the beach for extended periods of time as it is. I am a homebody who has a sell-by-date on vacations of about 3-4 days before yearning for home, where I am happy for a day, possibly two, before yearning for vacation again. I don't care for interaction with people but get lonely from time to time. The middle of nowhere could get lonely and buying the bare necessities could be difficult.
As Americans, we unconsciously want more. I got a raise so I can buy more things but now I am buying more things I will need another raise to get even more things.
Also, there's the tendency to want to change your environment, wanting to be a part of the solution instead of a part of the problem. If you simply check out of responsibility, how are you helping the human race? Kind of empty, right?
There's always going to be stress in your life, whether you are Richie Rich or poor as a shithouse rat. There's always going to be something you don't want to do, someone you don't want to see. You're going to be tired, unmotivated and bored from time to time. You're going to have to work at a job that isn't fabulous and pay bills. That's life. No one is perfect and no scenario is perfect. Human beings are not motionless and, thus, crave chaos in varying levels.
Maybe it's best to define our own happiness on a small scale. What makes you happy? Making your wife happy by surprising her with a delicious home-cooked meal of her favorite food? Getting lost in a good book? A kind word from a stranger? Stop thinking big and think small, about the happiness that's right in front of your face. Stop focusing on the negative. You're happy and you don't even know it!

2012 Emmy Award Winners: Beyond the Day-After Who Wore It Best, I Don't Care

I've been known to enjoy what can be referred to as Trash Rags, aka US Weekly, OK! and, if feeling particularly cultured, People. Judge away, I don't give a damn. I enjoy the drama of fictional people with no regard to truth vs. lies. I don't care because I'll never befriend these stars, gain their trust over months of bonding -- happy hours, lunches, mani/pedis, shopping trips, girl nights out -- and have them reveal their deepest, darkest secrets after too much red wine.
As George Bush Sr. said: Not gonna happen.
This fascination pushed me to take in some pre-Emmys action last night. Full disclosure: I was surfing around for something to watch and found E!'s red carpet show and rolled the dice. I like fashion. I like celebrity gossip. Let's give this a whirl. Also, I wanted to understand the ways of millions of Americans. According to ABC, 13.2 million people watched the Emmy's last night.
And away we go!
First thought: It was interesting to see what the women were wearing.
I enjoyed Leslie Mann's getup - beautiful and young! Match-matchy Heidi Klum wore a one-piece with a beach coverup -- single and ready to mingle with men other than the help. Nicole Kidman's seamstress ran out of sequins, Ginnifer Goodwin went with the cover of her grandmother's sofa, Zooey Deschanel and Julianna Hough were late for the Disney Princess Prom.
Like clockwork, celebs along the lines of Sofia Vergara and Christina Hendricks looked stunning -- vaa vaa voom!
Julianne Moore and Julie Bowen went with the shade of Sharpie Yellow Highlighter. Ashley Judd channeled Joan Jetson, Julianna Marguiles and Elizabeth Moss's dresses were ugly, Lucy Liu wore a disco ball and Lena Dunham yearns for her post-menopausal years. You couldn't ignore Kat Dennings' cleavage or Connie Britton's hideous hairdo.
I could go on but won't because you get the picture. It should be noted the majority of these catty reactions were provided the day after (today), when perusing online picture albums of Who Wore It Best, where the public can vote like our opinion matters. I got bored with the pre-Emmy show because the questions were snooze-worthy and I'd rather read about celebrity lives in magazines then hear them talk live on TV.
Entertain me monkeys!
So, on to the show. Jimmy Kimmel is funny so I figured I'd stay with it for the long haul -- although, is he depressed? In his opening monologue, he seemed beaten down by life.
All in all, I lasted 8 minutes because I didn't care enough to not change the channel to reruns of "Family Guy." I didn't care who won an Emmy because it doesn't matter. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy many of the shows featured, including "Breaking Bad" and "Homeland." I'm glad these shows and the actors involved won awards but it doesn't change my opinion of the show or the actors/actresses.
Take Joe Emmy Watcher. He's a big "Breaking Bad" fan and likes Aaron Paul. He watches the Emmys and sees Aaron Paul win. He jumps up, he shouts, he claps, he's excited! Why? How is your life going to change now Aaron Paul won?
Too cynical?

Mitt Romney, Barack Obama, lies, hope and freedom: When will the circus end?

Along my daily commute, the political yard signs blend into one giant buzzword. Barack Obama stands for hope and moving forward. Mitt Romney wants us to believe in freedom, opportunity, America and our future.
Hope, believe, freedom ... these ambiguous words remind me of a creative writing class I took in college with a professor who stressed: Don't use cliches. Don't use words like soul and heart. Be specific because those words are meaningless since they have so many definitions.
Hope, believe and freedom are on the positive end of the fear mongering spectrum, with words like socialism, communism and Muslim on the negative end. You don't know the meaning but the words elicit a response nonetheless from years of apathy and exposure. Obama and Romney, as most politicians, stand up on their soapboxes, granted by the political machine, and babble endlessly without sharing anything specific so there's enough room to argue their words were taken out of context or misinterpreted. Eloquent speeches, practiced answers and witty commentary crafted by well-paid writers deliver enough b.s. to whet our appetites but not enough bulk so we're satisfied. Well, unless, we are mindless sheep.
Yes Obama, I believe in hope and moving forward too. You're just a modern day MLK Jr., aren't you Barry?
Why are we, as Americans, so apathetic and lazy when it comes to politics?
Who are you voting for: Romney or Obama? Tick tock tick tock, November is knock, knock, knocking at your chamber door. What's the reasoning behind your choice? (If you're not voting I ain't got time, or patience, for your dumbass.) Specifically, what in their plan for the next four years gets your motor running? Perhaps it concerns the right to bear arms, health care, religion, womanly issues, the military or economy (i.e. hot topics). Perhaps it concerns the media nonsense you've read or heard. Perhaps you get a bad feeling about one of the candidates. You're voting for Romney because Obama didn't fix your life in four years. You're voting for Obama because Romney is plush and unrelatable.
Do you even know the candidates? Obviously you don't know them like family, friends, coworkers or acquaintances. However, what factual things do you know about them?
This Romney 47% baloney made me sigh. Why are you shocked? What did you think he thought about the poor and lower class? For him to label us entitled was harsh. Yes, some people on welfare aren't deserving because they could acquire a job. Yes, some people on unemployment, welfare and assistance spend a majority of their money on nonsense like Marlboro lights, cases of Budweiser, dragon tattoos, gel-tip manicures and non-essentials. Does this account for everyone? No. How many people does this account for? Do you know the statistics? Can you believe statistics anyway -- what, did hire Magnum P.I. to follow them every single person around for a week?
Mitt Romney's 2011 tax returns were finally released today, as well as a summary of the past 20 years. Makes me wonder why he was holding back. Are we going to find something titillating in there? What made him wait so long? (Although, I'm still waiting for annual tax returns for the past 12 years ... ) If you're a Romney-supporter, he deserved privacy. If you're an Obama-supporter, Romney's trying to avoid criticism over something shady -- unpaid taxes, low tax rate, offshore accounts, vast wealth, etc. Patchouli liberals are leery of the man, especially a man with loads of scratch.
On the other side of the coin, people trash Obama because of the unemployment rate, the government has gotten too big, the economy is still depressed ... or lovely absurdities like he's a Socialist Muslim born in Africa. They have their "Where's the birth certificate?" bumper stickers next to "Drill baby drill!" and "I'll keep my guns, freedom and money, you can keep the change!"
Bumper stickers are another way insecure Americans make it all about them because everyone, EVERYONE, needs to know their opinions because Americans have the freedom of speech. So, we speak any way and anywhere we can.
Maybe it's because this Obama vs. Romney affair feels like it's been burning since the world's been turning, but I am weary. Turn off your televisions and radios, stop reading news on the Internet and in the newspaper and magazines. Take time and research what each candidate stands for from reputable sources and make your decision. Whatever this decision is -- good for you. Just, please oh please people, shut up about it already!

Impulsivity, not curiousity, killed the cat: Is being impulsive related to immaturity?

Curiosity killed the cat, right? Well, impulsivity would've killed my would-be cat if my other half and I fed into our sweet, sweet hubris and adopted a feline. Blame it on the wine-over fog, blame it on being childless in the age-gap of everyone and their mama wanting to know, "So, you guys gonna have kids? Tick tock, tick tock." I know this clock, I've seen this clock, I hear this clock, shut up about the clock. Whatever the case, our minds united like a Vulcan mind-meld and we got the bright idea to adopt a cat. Well, negotiation stage of adopting said cat.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a little buddy in the house, a little pet friend?
Vendetta Logic: Our jobs keep us away from the homestead for large blocks of time during the week and our weekends are spent, mostly, away from home = no dog. Weekend warriors unite! The next best thing is to adopt a cat, right? Clean their litter box, fill their fed bag and away we go, right? No fuss, no muss.
If I was still hovering around the age of 18, here I'd sit with a damn cat -- maybe I'd name it Kitten Mittens or Slayer. I would have split from our home post haste and headed straight to the humane society -- do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to animal hell. Then, I'd gotten into that I-have-to-buy-a-cat-right-here-right-now-because-obviously-no-one-else-on-the-planet-let-alone-my-town-sells-cats mode. No wonder at that age I got two pointless tattoos (a constant reminder I'm an idiot) and excess heartache (he didn't call because he needs me to call him 50 times to remind him I exist, right? Right? I don't want him to forget.). Instead, the cat idea was appealing enough for conversation but not enough for action - thank you Baby Jesus.
Look at me Ma, I'm all grown up!
A few days later I looked up some felines online -- like a Match.com for wannabe pet owners. I found some cuties but then suddenly realized ... I don't 100% like cats. My dreadful experiences with cats quickly flashed before my eyes. I sprung into action -- well ...action 21st Century style -- and texted my other half and, lo and behold, he shares the sentiment. It's not that we hate cats, we just don't love them, especially their my-shit-don't-stink attitudes and the weird stretchy/claws factor. Eek. Cats always seem like they are up to no good, prancing and creeping around. Sitting, waiting, lurking, licking.
So, what's the deal pickles? Why did we want a cat? Ding ding ding: This isn't my first time to the rodeo.
After watching a few episodes of "Sons of Anarchy," I was hot for a motorcycle. Red hot. Me want that now! Just think how cool I'd look cruising down the road on one of those loud, rumbling, sex machines! Wearing a leather jacket and studded black boots. Oh yeah, totally awesome! I could take a class, right? Get my license ...
Wrong. I would never ride the thing if I ever got past the class, or to the class for that matter. I've never even ridden on a motorcycle! Bugs in your face, holding on for dear life, balancing ... notsomuch. I'm a wannabe badass leather freaky mama in Banana Republic and wedges.
Sigh.
It's easy for us to form these harebrained schemes of modes to happiness. We moan and complain about this, that and the other and suddenly we find a solution. I need a cat. I need a motorcycle. I need to purchase something, anything, so I ignore figuring out why I want something like this in the first place, why I'm searching for things outside rather than looking inside. Advertisements feed into this human trait.
I keep thinking about those lovely ornamental grasses I want to plant in my front yard next spring and how great they'll look, blah blah blah. Am I thinking about the painting that needs to be done on the inside? No because painting sucks. The decluttering? No because it's overwhelming. It's no fun!
The only reason I thought about a cat is because they're sold with a seal of low-maintenance approval. I'm lazy! I have a blind aquatic frog named Lenny Kravitz for goodness sake. Easy peazy.
Am I taking action in regards to hitting the gym more often to lose those 10 pounds that haunt me day-in-day-out? No. Eating better on the weekends so I don't yo-yo diet? No. Being more productive at work? No. I'm thinking about the motorcycle, the ornamental grasses, the 4-inch wedges I saw in a magazine.
I am not thinking about right here, right now. Not even about tonight or tomorrow. I'm thinking about a magical future, whimsical visions of what I'll do when I have the money, or when spring rolls around ... I'm escaping through my mind to items and ideas I probably won't end up enjoying.
My impulsive nature has gotten better with age but there's always an itch, an itch that, if I scratch, will lead me away from my current to-do list into dreamland. While this itch is appealing, I think it's linked to immaturity, like being impulsive. I don't want to grow up, I want to dream of motorcycles and pets instead of bills, my job, my commute and exercise. Also, it's easy to think quickly and act fast instead of being like Meatloaf (WWMD?) and sleeping on it, giving you my answer in the morning because, in the morning, I'll realize cats suck and motorcycles are scary.
Wah wah wah.

Nicki Minaj loves Mitt Romney? Not so much -- The state of rap, Americans worshipping celebrities

This past Sunday, while you were planning your extra weekend night of boozing and over-eating instead of resting, Lil Wayne (Little? Isn't he, like, 30?) released a new mixtape, "Dedication 4," (I thought mixtapes ended after Funkmaster Flex ... ) featuring Nicki Minaj -- the over-sexed, Trinidad-born rapping clown. You wouldn't know her by her given name, Onika Tanya Maraj.
Enter Mitt Romney. Yeah, Mitt Romney, the billionaire robot swarming your newspapers, televisions, news-feeds and eardrums until November, well hopefully talk of him stops in November when he loses.
Nicki Minaj + Mitt Romney ... first thoughts? Wouldn't it be hilarious if it was a sex scandal? It's the cliche tight-ass billionaire with a freaky, deaky, black chick on the side. Classic. Lemme get a taste of that sweet, sweet brown sugar baby. Just don't tell Ann.
We're not so lucky. Truth to be told, Nicki Minaj included a couple lines about ole Mitt on Lil Wayne's new release:
"I'm a Republican voting for Mitt Romney. You lazy bitches are fucking up the economy."
I smell b.s. Minaj's Ode to Romney is not so much an endorsement as it is an example of the outrageous nature of the current state of rap. Rap started with lyrics about being a cop killer or hardcore thug with guns, drugs and street credit (how white do I sound?) and it's morphed into an over-produced mash of commercial nonsense saturated with outrageous claims of numerous sexual partners, partying nonstop and having no plans to become a hardworking, contributing member of society.
It's about popping bottles in the VIP section at the club with your crew, flying first class and wearing all the latest and greatest apparel. Utter nonsense.
Let me see your grill.
Minaj also let this endorsement slip because it's another grasp for attention by a woman who regularly dons neon makeup, costumes and wigs. Hello! Hello! Look at me! I'm a walking, talking gimmick. And, also, to get attention so people buy the mixtape she's selling.
In the song, Minaji goes on to say, "Out in Miami, I be chillin with a zombie." So ... there's that. She's obviously a deep-thinking, political mind in the body of a disturbing muppet character. Maybe that's a way to get the youth of America interested in politics. Oversexed muppet characters ... like "Sesame Street" using puppets to interest children in reading and learning.
My main issue over Minaj is she's irresponsible, especially if the rumors are true and she is an unregistered voter and an Obama supporter.
She has Tweeted @BarackObama: "Just give FREE health care to all" and "I wouldn't mind the millions they took if it was going to healthcare. Why should a poor person struggle to pay for MEDS sir?"
Yes, it's sad there are thousands out there who will listen to whatever this celebrity or that celebrity says like lemmings but it's the truth. We are knee-deep in a culture of worshipping reality stars and singers instead of Nobel Prize winners, authors or scientists. We are breeding a race of morons (watch "Idiocracy," it's hilarious and also eerily frightening).
Why couldn't Minaj include a couple phrases about getting a job, having self-respect and self-esteem, not bullying others, studying hard in school ... you know, anything productive! Sounds like some Will Smith lyrics, the fresh prince of politeness.
Yeah, here I am with a blog spouting blubbering cynicism but I'm not a celebrity with millions listening, eager to know who and what I endorse. I'm a sarcastic tomboy trying to vent.
Speaking of Minaj, don't get me started on Hank Williams Jr. and his absurd, irresponsible claims. Just shut up and sing your silly songs about smoking, drinking and being a country boy. The scariest part is there are Americans drinking his Kool-Aid. Yikes. Hide yo kids, hide yo wife!
Also, Chuck Norris and his wife, Gena, created a YouTube video encouraging evangelical Christians to vote for Romney. Apparently we are on the brink of Socialism or something worse (couldn't think of another fear monger word Chucky Boy?) and our children will be sentenced to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness (quoting a 1964 speech by Ronald Reagan).
Cue the circus music.