Sorcery at the Grocery Store

So, I needed a gallon of milk, because someone made a chocolate pie last night and used up all but a sliver of milk and then conveniently slept through my complaining about it this morning. Getting a gallon of milk on this side of town is kind of a pain in the butt because your choices are either expensive gas stations or the Kroger, which is always busy and the milk is clear in the far back corner, or the grocery store up the ridge, but then, by the time you’ve gone clear past your house to the grocery store, you kind of feel obliged to buy more than one thing. Or at least I do.

But strangely enough, there is a little grocery store in front of the Kroger. It’s weird, but true, two grocery stores on basically the same plot of land. I have only been into this grocery store one other time, to get cookies, I believe. But it seemed nice enough. It’s the kind of place with fifteen cent candy sticks and inch long sausages for sale at the checkout.

I walked in, or tried to, but walked in the wrong door. That’s when the bag boy spotted me. I smiled at him as I came in the right door, but he weirdly looked away from me, even though it was clear he was looking right at me.

Well, fine. You can’t be sexy to everyone.

I grabbed a gallon of milk and came back to the front. His was the shortest line, so I got in it. As I was paying for my milk, he raised his right hand, palm towards me, and began to mutter.  I looked over, but he didn’t seem to be angry or afraid of me or anything, but intent.

So, I didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a blessing, you know?

But then I got in the car and drove home and I started to get a little freaked out. Like, what if he had cursed me?

I was really wishing I knew some kind of good protection charm at that moment.

But all I could come up with is “I’m rubber. You’re glue. Whatever you did bounced off me and stuck to you.”

So embarrassing.

Ways to Help Immigrants this Christmas

Hey, y’all, I just heard from the folks at TIRRC and here is a list of organizations they know of, as of right now, that are helping immigrant families, regardless of their status.  It is NOT comprehensive, just a place to start. If we learn of more, I’ll add them here.

Catholic Charities

Metro Social Services

El Crucero

The Lay Pastor for Integrative Ministries at the West Nashville United Methodist Church (they also could use some volunteer help this weekend, if you’re bilingual).

And one of y’all told me about Rooftop, which helps people, regardless of status, with rental assistance.

I also want to mention that the Salvation Army in Nashville is very short presents. People who adopted angels have not turned their presents in and not all angels are adopted. I know, I know, but what can you do? The people who need them still need them. Which, I might add, is why the Salvation Army need to shape the fuck up. People are counting on them.

And if you took an angel and have not bought your presents yet? You need to shape the fuck up. People are counting on you.

She Wants to Give It a Try, So Let the Little Girl By

Before we get started on Ken Whitehouse’s genius piece of genius, can I take a moment to say that the end of this post reminds me why I love Sean Braisted? I know we have to have a boring, sensible race for governor this year, with actual candidates with thoughts and positions. But let me just float this out there for you to think about–2014 Turner/Braisted.  We’d have to revamp how we get Lt. Governors, or we need to create an office of Vice Governor pretty much immediately. But imagine it. It’d be bad for me, yes. I would regularly get angry phone calls and blog comments, I’m sure.

But let me just say, I would rather, all day, fight with a breed of Tennessee Democrats that will storm around, yelling and laughing loudly and wearing their heart on their sleeves, than a breed of Tennessee Democrats that’s all “Well, now, let’s all play nice and just do like we’ve always done. We mustn’t stray too far outside the lines.”  I’m not saying Turner isn’t an old-school Democrat.  I’m just saying that some in the Party want to be Tom Sawyer and some can’t help but be Huck Finn and, if the rest of us Democrats can’t convince them to come out of the 1850s, at least Huck Finn wasn’t a fucker.

Which, is more about Turner than Braisted, but I still like the idea of Braisted storming around the capitol cussing and kicking things over and calling Andy Sere a “gay-baiting lying piece of shit.”

Amen, Brother Braisted, amen.

So, where were we?

Oh, yes, Whitehouse. He’s written an obituary for the TNDP, which you should read, because it’s hilarious. And really shows the benefits to reading someone like him over reading someone like me. I’m all sass and snark, but he’s got the historical depth I only wish I had.

And yes, when it’s your party this stuff is written about, it sucks.  But folks, it is time to let the suck wash over us.  It is time to admit that the corpse is dead, kick it a few times for good measure, just to make sure it stays down, and then rebuild.

Move on. Make like a horror movie director and imagine Child of TNDP or, if you watch a lot of the Science Channel or Discovery, think of it as Anak TNDP, rising from the ashes of its parent, bigger, more powerful, ready to destroy…

Um, okay, maybe we shouldn’t make like a horror movie in this case.

But folks, the energy is here. The kids are excited. Things are bad, but the worst they can do to us is redistrict us, which they’re going to do, and then what?  It’s about to be tremendously freeing.

All that stuff we were afraid to do? Never had the nerve?

Well, let Anak TNDP through, she wants to pass by you.

Ha.

I’m Sure It’s Totally Normal for a Cat to Go on Dog Walks, Right?

I keep meaning to film this but it’s early and I’m tired and it only happens if the cat is already outside when we go for our walk, but the orange cat has taken to going on our morning walk with us.  Side by side, with the dog, clear over until we get to Lloyd.  Then he waits there for us to be done walking in the street and he meets back up with us and walks home.