Lessons I Learn So You Don’t Have To

If you have a tendency to get a little down when the Butcher is out of town and thus spend your Friday night (which is usually spent hanging out with him) watching television alone and feeding your dog pigs’ ears while you tell yourself it’s fine to eat one million Reese’s peanut butter cups as long as you only eat them five at a time and get up and walk to the fridge every time you need to get your handful, do not then lay there in bed in the morning because you have no reason to get up.

You do have a reason to get up, remember?

Pigs’ ears.

Dogs love ’em, but they go right through Mrs. Wigglebottom like butter.

Luckily, we made it outside just in time, but not without having to endure looks of complete disdain from the cats.

Now, I know, cats have a tendency to give you looks of complete disdain all the time, but trust me, this one was a look of “You know, when that other mostly bald ape is here, shit like this never happens.  Now, where’s our food?”

What Would a Sex Advice Column in Nashville Look Like?

I think the going opinion is that it couldn’t be done; you couldn’t have a sex advice column geared to Nashvillians and other Middle Tennesseans.  I’m not so sure that it couldn’t be done.  I’m just not sure how long a life it could possibly have.  It seems to me that there are probably only three basic types of questions Nashvillians would ask a total stranger about sex and once you cover those, there’s not much more folks would share.

Those questions are:

1.  Where do I put my eyes?

“When driving around Musica, is it worse to look at the naked people and thus see, you know, naked people who are not my spouse, or to not look and never know what the fuss is about?”

“I think I saw my pastor’s car parked outside of the Hollywood Hustler.  Should I have slowed down to take a closer look?  And, if it is him, what do I say to him at church on Sunday?”

“My neighbor sometimes takes her pitbull out in the morning wearing nothing but her nightie and some really crappy sandals.  When she says ‘Hello’ is it okay for me to check out her tits?”

2.  Can this make me gay?

“I refuse to have a prostate exam because I don’t want anything up my ass, because, what if I get turned on?  Will that mean I’m gay?”

“My wife stuck her finger up my ass while she was giving me a blow job and it was so awesome.  Does that make me gay?”

“Sometimes, I look at the penises on the Musica statue.  Can that turn me gay?”

3.  Who is it okay for me to heap scorn on in public?

“My church group often protests outside the Hollywood Hustler.  When the clerks there come out to bring us water or to ask us if we’d like to use their restrooms, is it more appropriate to call them sinners who will burn in Hell before we take the water or after?”

“My neighbor is a whore.  She’ll sleep with anyone.  Shoot, I’ve even slept with her a couple times.  I think having her around is a bad influence on my kids, but, if I call her a filthy whore in front of my kids, what if she tells them about what I did with her?

“I am a bleeding heart liberal gay man.  I only sleep with straight Republicans.  How can they fuck me and still be so homophobic?  I have half a mind to go into his office and tell everyone what a hypocritical cocksucker he is.  Is that so wrong?”

See?  Once you’ve covered that stuff, what’s left?

Edited to Add:  El gato is completely right.  I forgot the fourth type of question:

4.  I do this, but I’m still a virgin, right?  Because, I signed a pledge.

Someone Alert Radley Balko!

Vanderbilt University has a SWAT team.

I have no words.  Didn’t they just get permission from the city to be real police recently?  It’s been since I’ve been here.  Shouldn’t there be more than a handful of years between becoming a real police force and getting a SWAT team?

Does Berry Hill have a SWAT team?  What about Belle Meade?  Shoot, let’s all get SWAT teams.  I want to be the person who yells, “Go, go, go, go, go.”

Thinking Out Loud

So, I had to go to this meeting last night, but I couldn’t get to the elevators.  The building was set up kind of like a “C” with offices all along the curve and a huge glass wall up the gap and to get to the elevators, you had to walk out to them on a little walkway, because they ran up the middle of the open part of the “c”, which was open up and down a number of floors.

Even telling you about that makes me feel stupid because there are two levels of things I don’t do.  Things I’m afraid of because I’m a giant baby (like riding on the four-wheeler or whatever) and things I just can’t do, like go to the elevators in that building.

And they’re very different feelings.  One is I’m just afraid, like you would be at a scary movie or on a roller coaster, but I can physically do it.  The other has all that body rebellion tied into it.

I consider things in the first category to be charming quirks and they don’t bother me because I know that, if I just stopped being a baby, I could do them just fine.

But the things in the second category really upset me, not just because they happen, but because, more than anything, I want to believe that, if I just stopped being a baby, I could do them just fine.

In other words, as usual, I really want to be normal and this just reminds me that I’m not.

But I hadn’t really made that connection for myself–that there’s a level to the ridiculousness of this whole thing that is about me feeling bad that this means I’m some kind of freak who can’t just buck up and get with the system–and so I’m starting to wonder if that’s not making these incidents worse for me.

And so, that’s what I’m going to work on–just accepting that this shit happens and that it is a charming quirk (or somewhat debilitating phobia, whichever), and to just be upset at that level–that the panic is setting in and that I either have to find some work-around or just not do the thing in question–and then let it go, instead of the incessant scab-picking I tend to do instead.

I have never been a “cutter,” myself, but I think I’m starting to understand part of the impulse.  Here’s this thing I can’t control that freaks me out, so, instead, I focus on the familiar nonsense of how this makes me a freak no one could possibly love, and instead of being the freaky fear that just wigs me out, I’ve channelled it into a familiar kind of pain that, though pain, is something I know well and can function with.

That’s the detour I do have some control over and that’s what I need to work on stopping.

It’s funny.  I don’t have any problem telling people that they’re going to have to slow down if they want to walk with me and explaining about all my breathing issues, but god damn if I can learn to accept this mental quirk on the same level.

I still do think that, if they made a Valium inhaler, so I wouldn’t have to take it all the time, but could just take it when I felt a panic attack coming on, I’d be set.

Once You Bring Dairy Queen Into It…

Okay, so maybe i has a hotdog is slowly finding its own voice.  I laughed at this anyway.

When I lived in North Carolina there was a billboard for Dairy Queen that said, “Kids, Holler ’til your Dad stops!”  Which, in retrospect, seems a little nefarious, but at the time, I thought it was very cute.

Did I ever tell you about the vacation we took where, for three days at the end of it, we stopped at every Dairy Queen we saw?  You’d think a person might never want to see a Dairy Queen again (it was years before the Butcher could eat Oreos again after the weekend he ate 40 pounds of them), but you’d be wrong.

If you have to ask yourself how a person such as the Butcher eats 40 pounds of Oreos in a weekend, you haven’t been reading this blog very closely, that’s all I’ll say.  Now, if you excuse me, I think the Butcher left his Bob Marley record playing…

Just Tell Me Now So I know

Do the ways you’re screwed up get worse as you get older or will they eventually start to mellow?

I had a bad bit this afternoon, then drank too much to recuperate, and I still feel weird about it.

This whole heights thing has for sure gotten worse as I’ve gotten older and it interferes with my life in ways that deeply trouble me.

Who Owns Tennessee’s Women?

Campfield says that the current discussion about abortion boils down to “Who should make the laws about abortion? Should it be the state legislature or should it be the courts.”

Hobbs says it’s about “abortion-on-demand and public funding of the slaughter.”

But really, it’s about who owns Tennessee’s women.  Do we have the right to decide for ourselves what happens to our bodies or are we just walking condos, with the State acting as mostly-absentee landlords.

Katie Granju and Rachel both direct our attention to these frightening facts.

•According to data from the CDC, maternal mortality in Tennessee is especially high.

•12 percent of pregnant women [in Nashville] receive late or inadequate prenatal care. That’s the 4th worst score in our survey, compared to an average of 5 percent.

•Nashville-Davidson has only 3 licensed home day cares for every 1,000 children under 4 years, the 3rd lowest in our survey. The average city in our survey has 13.

•Nashville-Davidson’s violent crime rate is 49 percent higher than average, the 9th highest in our survey, in fact.

•According to data from the CDC, maternal mortality in Tennessee is especially high.

•The CDC reports very high infant mortality rates for Tennessee.

•Memphis babies are 34 percent more likely than average to be born with low birth weight.

•20 percent of pregnant women here receive late or inadequate prenatal care. That’s the 1st worst score in our survey, compared to an average of 5 percent.

•There are no state laws requiring day care workers to undergo special SIDS prevention training. Many other states mandate such training.

•Memphis’s violent crime rate is 94 percent higher than average, the 3rd highest in our survey, in fact.

•Memphis has a 51 percent higher property crime rate than average, the 3rd highest in our survey.

•Babies here are 25 percent more likely than average to be born prematurely.

To put it frankly, women who are pregnant or might become pregnant in this state should be terrified.  This state might as well just put pregnant women in a pit, throw some leaves on them, a couple of boxes of Twinkies in after them and say “Fend for yourselves.”

But rather than deal with these real problems, which are all a consideration when a woman is deciding whether to bring a pregnancy to term, the Senate is just strutting and preening around talking, yet again, about protecting unborn children from evil, evil women.

We know what works to lower abortion rates.  Shoot, we have here a list of stuff we can get started on.  Add to that teaching comprehensive sex ed in schools and making birth control available and its use wide-spread and we’d see abortion rates sink without having to hurt women or compromise their citizenship.

Voters, I hope you remember that, that these legislators have options available to them that would have a positive effect on women and reduce abortions without stepping on anyone’s rights and they’d rather do this shit.

Will It Be $300? Will It Be $800?

I’m trying to follow diligently this talk of a tax rebate. I’m still not sure how much money we’re talking. Will we get $300? Will we get $800? I’m hoping for $800, only because I’d like to put it towards my medical debt, which will stimulate the economy by… um… okay, I’ll put some towards my medical debt and blow some at Amazon.

Or on yarn, for the TCP afghan*.

But, if it’s $300, I’ll buy groceries and gas and that will probably be the end of it.

Anyway, so, yeah, here are a couple of people saying smarter stuff about it than me:

Say Uncle–“So, here’s the question: If the government can stimulate the economy and that is allegedly good for the economy, why don’t they do it every day?”

Jackson Miller–“This country is like a bunch of crack addicts chasing a high that we will never attain until we let our supply build back up.”

And one saying much stupider stuff:

John Aravosis–“The Republicans want to help the big pharmaceuticals and the big business hospitals, while the Democrats want to help uninsured poor people and kids. […] The Republicans ONLY want to help the rich, and the Democrats ONLY want to help the poor. Screw everybody else. I am so sick of these people.”

*Yes, I get it. No one is as excited about this as I am.

Lie To Me and Tell Me You Care How the Bright Afghan Is Coming Along

I’ve only got fifteen more tiny squares to go and I have decided to do them only with the variegated yarn because otherwise I’d be stuck with like nineteen squares with orange circles in the middle and frankly, I’m not that big a fan of orange.

I like how it’s looking and I have some ideas for my next afghan, which will be given away right here on Tiny Cat Pants in a contest I haven’t yet thought up, but which is sure to be biased and unfair and riddled with corruption.  What can I tell you?  I was raised an Illinois democrat.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, if you want the afghan, you’d better get some dead people to be ready to vote for you right now.

Not that the contest will have voting.

I don’t know what the contest will have.  But hey, a contest with a blue afghan at the end of it.  So, that will be fun, right?

Become Like Us

Y’all, it’s probably terrible form to take a rough draft of something and quote from it like it’s the complete intention of the author, but I read something from the Professor today that I wanted to share with you.

In brief background, the Professor’s work is (or I think it’s on this subject.  I guess we’re about to find out if I’m understanding her when she tells me what she’s working on.) on the necessity not only of marginalized people being able to speak, but also on their ability to be heard.  To be heard, she argues, is to be recognized as being a person.  And so, she’s all about making people into just listeners (“just” in the “justice” sense not in the “only” sense) so that people can be heard.

Okay, so in this part, she’s talking about how there are few people left who still actively work for the exclusion of marginalized people from the public sphere, few actual white supremacists or full-blown women-as-property misogynists or whatever, but many people who still end up excluding marginalized people from the public sphere because they are not just listeners, not into, as she calls it, “epistemic openness.”  Instead, because they aren’t listening to what the marginalized people need, they’re still advocating a mode of social justice along the lines of “just become like us and all your problems will be solved.”

Much of this resistance to change is not active and deliberate, not motivated by desires to continue exclusion or even segregation; or rather, it is done more by habit, or dependence on existing, unexamined ways of thinking, than by the few who actively defend practices of mainstreaming as the only acceptable method of inclusion and who fail to see mainstreaming as an active inattention to the testimonies of the people of color, poor, queer, women, and the like.–The Professor

This idea–of mainstreaming being an active inattention–is something so profound I about want to just tilt my head back and let the idea roll around in my brain for a little while.

Because, isn’t this the way we do it?  We refuse to pay attention to what folks are telling us about their experiences, convinced as we are that we treat everyone the same, completely willfully unaware of how assinine that is.

People don’t want the right to be like me (or you, rather, because, let’s be honest, sometimes it’s good fun to be like me).  They want the right to be respected on their own terms for being themselves.

Breaking News! Hillary Clinton is a Woman

citunnottim.pngAnd women have vulvas, which are sometimes called cunts and cunt can also mean a woman who’s a bitch but worse! So, if you call Clinton a cunt, it’s funny, see, because she’s a cunt and she has a cunt and you can reduce her to her cunt, because it’s so weird that she has one that it’s worth pointing out, repeatedly.

Get it?

This news brought to you by Republican operatives (and Shakespeare’s Sister).

[Plus, this is neither here nor there, but it pisses me off that I have a reputation for being vulgar among Republicans, and yet I have never created a t-shirt or a 527 Organization designed to mock anyone’s genitals or their bad attitudes.]

Prayer Warriors & Black Magic

Busy day, folks.  Sorry.

I just want to point you to this article about the growing Christianist movement in the military and to this analysis by Jason over at the Wild Hunt, which, I think, is spot on.

It never ceases to amaze me how this strain of Christianity, so bent on believing that anyone who’s not a “good” Christian (and note how this includes everyone from Methodists to Southern Baptists to Catholics, as well as non-Christians) is going to burn in Hell seems more than happy to practice what is clearly a form of black magic.

I mean, I don’t know how what they’re doing with those phone calls can be seen as anything other than spell-casting intending to result in the death of Michael Weinstein.

They certainly can’t believe that those are prayers any sane god would pay any attention to.

Urban Coyote

I just saw a coyote in the back yard!  I was taking the dog out to go to the bathroom when out from the bushes along the train tracks came this big reddish-brown thing that, at first, I thought was the world’s most enormous mutant fox, and I watched it just trot back behind the neighbor’s fence and I called Mack and I was all like holy shit how big do foxes get and he asked me to describe it and he said it sounded like a coyote and I was all but it was kind of reddish but I looked on the internet at some of them are kind of reddish and it was right in my back yard like it owned the joint, just jaunting along like it had some place to be and Mrs. Wigglebottom didn’t even notice it and it was just at the other end of the yard from her.


That was really cool.

Hey, NM (and, fine, the rest of you)!

Mark your calendar.  Tuesday, February 19th, 6:30, Fisk library by the stairs.  The premier of the John Work III traveling exhibit.

I don’t know if the Work sons will be there, but, if there’s even a slim chance they are, it’s worth coming out for (but I have a soft-spot in my heart for smart men who tease each other).

I don’t have any other definite details yet, but I’ll be there and the display will be interesting, and if you live in Nashville and you don’t know who the Works are, now’s a good time to bring yourself up to speed.

(Wikipedia has a run-down of John Work’s life and the important roles his family has played in Nashville history, leaving out at least one important contribution made by John Work III’s son Frederick, who was one of two men to desegregate the Vanderbilt Law School.)

(Incomplete disclosure, my friend Bruce has been nominated for a Grammy for the liner notes he wrote to go along with some field recordings Work did.)

Blogging for Choice

I have to admit that I’m kind of done with all these blogging for this and blogging for that days.  I’m especially disheartened by blogging for choice day because the folks who are for making abortion illegal just don’t believe that women should have control over our bodies at all times and are never going to believe that, I don’t think.

But I wanted to talk about something else Representative Bell was getting at–how the children of illegal immigrants are taking up space in our schools and costing the school systems money because they have to hire ESL teachers.

These kids are, by and large, American citizens.

Representative Bell is complaining about school systems having to meet the needs of the children in those school systems.

Let that sink in.

And then, mull over with me this comment by imfunny2:

just one more knot in the rope of “anti-choice except when it’s not my gender,ethnicity,social class or ability level..”

I think the problem is that we want Roe v. Wade to mean something more than it does.  We’ve pinned our hopes on freedom coming from bodily autonomy as represented by our ability to choose not to carry a pregnancy to term.

And that’s an important component.

But I don’t think that we can forget that there are other important components.  Do I have the right, at any time, to decline sex?  Am I free to initiate sex?  Can I get the medicines and medical treatments I need without having to ask anyone else (aside from my doctor) whether or not I can have them? Am I safe in my own neighborhood?  Can I have children when I want them?

Right now, elected officials in our state feel free to openly complain about women choosing to have children when they want them, without first considering its effect on the state.  And people see that as a reasonable complaint.

I bring that up because abortion is still legal and has been for 30 years and it hasn’t magically convinced everyone that women belong to themselves, not the state.

In fact, so deeply ingrained in us is the idea that complaints about children in our schools is an immigration issue (even though most of these children are U.S. citizens and so there is no immigration issue as far as they’re concerned) we fail to see it as an equal rights issue, even when Bell does us the favor of linking it to abortion.

But it is.

We are, first, ourselves and not the state’s.  And any time we see the state complaining about our failure to put its needs first, we ought to see it for the anti-woman bullshit it is.

Arts & Crafts, With Woo-Woo Thrown In

I was trying to explain to Malia’s husband, DB, how much of paganism, especially when you’re bringing folks of a lot of different backgrounds and beliefs together, involves ritualized arts and crafts.

This post, I think, which isn’t even pagan, illustrates precisely what I mean.

I tease because I love, but I do wonder if people who are crafty are more predisposed to being Crafty.

Which Would Be Worse?

Being the model who had to get and keep an erection while posing for the vasectomy brochure or being the fluffer of the model who had to get and keep an erection while posing for the vasectomy brochure?

I can’t decide.

Both, it seems to me, have a monumental task.

Also, nothing tickles me more than seeing Say Uncle blame the patriarchy, even if only in jest.

Good luck, Uncle.  I’ll raise a toast to many years of unprotected, worry-free sex in your honor.

John Lamb Uncovers Secret Plot!

John Lamb over at the Hispanic Nashville Notebookhas a piece about how local hospitals are saying that local Hispanics, especially undocumented ones, are not hurting the hospitals and Lamb makes mention of the fact that there’s no wide-spread TennCare fraud perpetrated by undocumented Tennesseans.

I think this only goes to show how nefarious this Mexican plot against our state is.  First, we learn that Mexicans are plotting to come to Tennessee and get jobs and fall in love and get married and have children, not because there are jobs here and folks tend to fall in love, get married, and have kids, but just so that their children can take school desks away from the other native-born real Tennesseans who would have needed them had they not been aborted.

And now we learn that Mexicans are coming to our state in order to steal our health care and ruin our hospitals, which they will accomplish by not using our heathcare providers in problematic numbers.

Now, you may ask yourself how it can be that Mexicans sneaking into our state and not being a drain on our hospitals can lead to the ruin of our healthcare system and I’ll admit, I’m not sure, but I’m confident there’s something nefarious at work here.


I think I’d make a terrible nativist.  It’s hard for me to even get through that much with a straight face and I’m pretty sure that to be a nativist, you have to be willing to go on for pages and pages, each post a thinly veiled account of your fear of having to live and work with non-white people.

I’m not sure why people feel that they have the right to live in a world unchanged from how they imagine their childhoods were and I’m not sure what we can do to overcome that.

I feel like one effective strategy is to try to meet them somewhat on their level (despite what Slarti thinks–I do get why people disagree with me.  I just think that in some cases, they’re so fundamentally wrong I don’t have to do them the favor of pretending like I see any validity in their point.) and I know a lot of folks who are worried about “the future of America” are worried about the country their children will inherit.

And so I try to say, look, here we have all these children, who are American citizens and we’re talking about either sending them to a country they’ve never lived in (in order to get rid of their parents) or separating them from their parents.  Isn’t it unacceptable social policy to heap suffering on American children?

But damn if they don’t turn around and try to argue that these kids aren’t really American children or that we should strip folks of birthright citizenship–because who still needs those Reconstruction era amendments anyway?–so that we don’t have to be troubled by those issues.

And I’m not trying to argue that the only problem is these waist-high Americans, you know.  That’s my starting point–to say that, hey, if you can see that these little guys need to be considered, can’t we also consider the little guys brought here as babies?  Can’t we consider the people who were themselves once children?

And maybe that’s too 1970s Sesame Street, but that’s kind of the shape of my argument, to say, hey, we’re talking about people here.

But it seems like we never get that far.

So, here’s this article saying, hey, that fear-mongering about folks ruining the healthcare system is just that, fear-mongering and you and I both know, sure as we’re sitting here, me on this side of the screen, you on that, that it’s not going to be good enough.

At some level, you have to address their talking points, but at some other level, you have to be aware that even if you could disprove every single point they have, they wouldn’t care.  They’d still be all “These people are here illegally and we must have rule of law.”

No matter how much you can show that these folks are not the aggressors, but instead are trapped between economic necessity and laws designed purposefully to exclude them from coming here legally, it’s not enough.

And, as the economy worsens and people become even more unsettled about their job security, we’re going to see even more outright hostility towards Hispanics (undocumented or U.S. citizen), I predict.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do in the face of that.

It’s like seeing the start of a landslide and feeling like all you can do is try to help some people, knowing that folks are being hurt and that it’s going to get worse.

Sometimes it feels like all you can do is say, “I see what you’re doing and it’s wrong.”

It’s not enough.

Today I Got My First Hit for CPAP Porn!

That tickles me a great deal.  I am overcome by curiosity wondering what other hits one might find when one searches for CPAP porn, but I’m afraid to look and I’ll tell you why.

Once, when I was a young lass, just starting out on the red blood trail that is life as a menstruating woman, I awoke in the middle of the night at my grandma’s house to discover that I was in need of some feminine protection, which was located in the room in which my parents were supposed to be asleep.

I say “supposed to be asleep” because, as you can guess, dear readers, they were not.

And they were not playing a lively game of euchre.

Fifteen years later, I still can’t get that image out of my head.

The types of people who need CPAP machines are people such as me and, more importantly, my dad.  So, any amateur porn being made out there somehow involving the CPAP machine is going to involve folks like my dad.

I cannot risk seeing anything like that ever again.  I don’t have time for the intensive therapy it would take to get over that.

My Day

I was having the kind of day where you discover that your webhost hasn’t uploaded the five photos you have to give them to upload because they believe that you are too stupid to do it yourself, nevermind that kids on that MySpace do it all the time, and it’s been a month.

But then something happened.

I don’t know what.

I got in the elevator and it was like a weight lifted and so, even though I spent all day wanting to just hide under my desk, now I’m in a great mood.

“Those Who Essentially Pay No Tax”

My brother is probably one of those people who “essentially” essentially pays no taxes.  At the end of the year, he gets back pretty much everything he’s put in because he makes so little.

And yet, every paycheck, the government still takes out a chunk of money he could have used that month and he’s got to make do without it.

Meanwhile, the government gets to do with it what it likes.

My brother doesn’t get his money back plus interest for the time the government had it until it figured out that my brother didn’t owe it to them.

No.  He just gets back what they took out of his check.  The interest goes wherever it goes.

He doesn’t deserve any relief from that?

God, really, it’s as if conservatives cannot stand the idea that someone, somewhere, might not be suffering as much as possible.


Sorry.  I’m just fed up today.  My whole google reader was full of stuff from those on the other side of the aisle which could be summed up thusly:

First Post: Hey everybody, think on these wise words of Rev. Martin Luther King

Next Post: Those dirty, nasty brown people are sneaking into our country to hog our jobs and make it so my efforts to move out to the suburbs to get away from the non-white people is thwarted by the brown children my children have to go to school with.

Over and over and over again. 

I just about am sick from the cognative dissonance.

Not Tonight, Honey, I Want America to Be a Self-Sustaining, Sovereign Nation

I admit, I’m developing a purient interest in the sex lives of Republicans.

I have, in the past, assumed that Republicans have sex for the same reasons the rest of us have sex–because it’s fun, because it brings us closer to the people we dig, because we were drunk and it seemed like a good idea, because we didn’t want to seem uncool at the orgy, whatever–and that they had kids for the same reasons we have kids–because we want them, because we fell in love with someone and want to expand our family, because we feel a religious duty to not deny children when they come, oops, etc.

But I read posts like Huddleston’s here, where he’s floating this idea that people are deliberately sneaking into this country with the plan of having kids once they get here on purpose.

And it just makes me wonder what sex in households like the Huddlestons is like and how it gets negotiated.

For me, it usually goes something like this:

Person with dimples: Hey, I noticed you and think you’re cute and…

Me: Um, yeah, so, do you want to fuck or what?

But I am forced to imagine that for conservative it goes like this:

Mr. Conservative: Darling, would you care to join me in the bedroom where I may know you in the Biblical sense?

Mrs. Conservative: Let me consult my calendar and an atlas.

[We wait while she does so.]

Mrs. Conservative (cont.): Darling, yes, I can join you in the bedroom, day after tomorrow.  I’ll miss you, though, when I leave Thursday to head to a state with better pre-natal care for all women than this one, just in case I become with child.

Mr. Conservative: And I, my dear, will miss you.  But I love your show of moxy.  Let us deny pre-natal care to other women while we ourselves make great use of it!

Both: Evil laughter.

I mean, seriously, are we really supposed to believe that people are sitting in other countries right now plotting what fucking they’ll do when they get here in order to undermine our country?

Just how devious are we supposed to believe that the rest of the world is?

A Small Mystery

I’ve only been to pick the Butcher up at work today and yet, somehow, I’ve lost my cell phone.

Edited to add:  My phone has returned, leaving me to believe that the Butcher found it.  Because we all know the Ghosts of the Civil War never return anything.

Work Continues on the Bright Afghan

I’ve started the small squares. I’m going to run out of solid colors before I run out of needed squares; that’s obvious. But I’m going to settle for some all variegated squares. That’s fine.

Here’s how the tiny squares are going:


I have enough tiny squares to piece together half the pattern. But you can see why I doubled it. Piecing it together reveals that 1/2 of the original pattern just covers one couch cushion. Even if that’s just a quarter of the afghan, it’s still going to be small for my taste.


I’ve got to tell you, I’m deeply tickled to be making an afghan from thread my mom and I dyed. I just can’t believe that I’m going to take this from white yarn to finished colorful afghan and that there will never be another one quite like it.

Edited to add:  The blue dye still rubs off when you crochet with it, so I clearly can’t avoid washing it.  The dye all claims to be colorfast, but is there anything I can do to protect the color when I wash it?