Friday, July 6, 2018

Kale no!

I'm trying to get in my daily vegetables and now that I have to eat so much beef for health reasons, without just being constantly chewing (I know me, if I have to be eating so much I'll quit altogether, I've done it before and it only leads to further problems) so I turned to blended drinks. 

Bai 5 is pretty good, Naked Juice Green is the best so far, but I thought I'd try another one since it was $1 less, and I'm always trying to save a buck.

I won't say the name but it rhymes with Holthouse Harms and let me tell you something - I used to work in a restaurant that used kale as its completely inedible greenery around the hot food bar. By the end of the night the heat would have scorched what was already inedible into a dry burnt dirt mess. So naturally, hipsters and yuccies decided it is the perfect food, although I knew it to be foul before they were born.
But being cheap and needing the nutrients, after checking the ingredient list and noting the kale but seeing the other juices I tried it. 

If you were to combine the flat Arizona dust, the rich black soil of Alabama, and some lawn clippings from an overly fertilized Connecticut lawn, then pour tropical fruit juice over it and let it all meld together in the afternoon sun, the result would be this foul brew-do. And I'm no stranger to lawn clippings, I take kratom powder, ffs. I don't mind wheatgrass. This...

I can't get the taste out of my mouth but not for lack of trying.

Folks, those of us with sensitive or even barely functional palates are not meant to eat kale, and I don't care what nutrients it has or what fruity goodness you try to use to disguise the stench and automatic reaction to the taste of kale. That reaction is yark. I had just tasted the rich elixer of what may be the best gravy I've ever made, now this pollution of toxic waste has undone me. I try not to say something is purely awful, but I don't care what recipe you use to mask it, kale NO.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Primary South - Staying The Course

I voted today, in Alabama's primary elections.
"Big whoop," you say.
Damned right it is.
99 Years ago yesterday, the 19th Amendment passed, allowing women the right to vote, because of women like these:

And 2 years ago I earned back the right to vote after years of struggling to overcome errors from my past.

So, yeah, it's a big whoop. It's a giant honking whoop to be allowed a say in the way the world we live in is governed. 
Think it's just the primaries? 
Primaries determine which candidates are running for key positions of state government, and that determines the direction your state representation in Congress, and Governor's office go. 
But I'm a Democrat in the South. So voting is...different.

I pulled up to the National Guard Armory and the first thing I saw was 2 signs:



What?? Have you people not noticed that some of the elected officials are a gozillion times more dangerous to a large group of people than a whiff of secondhand smoke in the open air? But, whatever, I wasn't going to smoke there anyway, so I hobble on in through the giant sliding doors left open with a few fans going as allegedly adequate air conditioning. South Alabama in June, people. A few fans is not adequate for anyone who actually has a little bit of circulation, but as I was the only one there under the age of 80, and many of them were wearing sweaters and shivering, okay, again, whatever. 
Then I went up to the table to sign in. 
"Name and Party?"
I hand over my ID. 

You would have thought I said "Fuck" in church.
A pin dropping would have been a sonic boom in that silence. I think the fans even quit.
Grandma Moses handed me the sign-in sheet where I see I'm the 3rd person to sign in as Democrat, maybe for the whole county, hell, maybe the state. But I proudly picked my candidates, including one who has the nickname, "New Blue," and went to insert my ballot in the reader, with 70 pairs of ancient eyes disapproving of me the entire time. Grandpa ZekeJimBob grudgingly handed me a sticker, and as I hobbled my way out, head held high, I met the guy from last year's elections when we tossed Roy Moore to the curb - the one in standard overalls, hog shit caked on boots older than I am, but the minute he opens his mouth... he's one of my tribe. He walked straight up to me, we high-fived, and he loudly commanded,"Stay the course!"
I will, sir. I will.

Friday, April 13, 2018

She was the best of us all

I love her. 
That's easy to say. And I can't even believe how hard it is to express what I know/think/feel about her. 

I don't do eulogies. 


Not for my many relatives, friends, acquaintances, father, brother, a few husbands (pause for Cary's gigglesnortwhee)
but this one... yeah.

I'm a recipient. 

Of her excessive kindness, love, concern, commiseration, sacrifice, care.

Those things are not equal.

Nor were her physical lungs equal to her heart. She needed a lung transplant but wasn't even on the damn list yet, in spite of being a non-drinker/non-smoker but because of her weight. Big FUCK YOU to the ones who decide, on high, who is or is not qualified to receive life. This is body shaming fucking illustrated.

My late brother gave every bit he had that qualified to others.
Nothing of me qualifies, but I would give it now or after.

Cary was in my age range. And we used to laugh, as she talked me through an abusive marriage, a heart surgery, 2 brain surgeries, and fleeing with a dog & 2 cats cross country.

She was an active proponent of animal's rights; one of the first Panther Pals. 

Our last, 4 hour conversation, a few weeks ago, she laughed, that, "we'll be old wicked women terrorizing young orderlies in some tropical senior bitches' facility' laugh.

Some part of me knew it was our last. 
But she was and will always be, part of my heart.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

These kids today...

I've got more than 1 side to the "kids" today.

I have flu. But I'm also doing daily bloodwork to monitor my Coumadin levels for an entirely different issue, so I dragged my cooties-ridden butt out to get my daily bloodwork, then a lung scan.

I pulled in to the parking lot where I get my bloodwork done, and right next to me a guy pulled in apparently straight from Crazy Ed's World Of Really Big & Stupid Tires. It was so jacked there was a double drop step just for him to get in and out of it, and he was maybe 5'7'', 20 yrs old at most. It was Daddy Bought It.

Now, that's fine, I don't care, to each their own and all, but I kinda chuckled outloud, not even loud, really, and shook my head a little. But he flipped the frack out.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU LAUGHING AT, OLD BITCH??" And came running around like he was going to jump me or something. 
So, I leaned against my car, very casually, twirled my cane like the badass majorette I used to be but can easily be used in ninja warfare 🙂  and replied, "You. Look, if you don't run over me because you can't see over the dash without sitting on phonebooks in your I Have A Small Penis ride, I don't care what you drive, other than sucking up gas like mad, but best case scenario, you end up impressing a bunch of people who are easily impressed by oversized thing then get really unhappy when you bop out, Shawty."

I don't think he understood any of the insults, but somehow knew he was being ridiculed.

He said, "Just shut the fuck up, old bitch!" Then he bopped on into the next building.

So I went and coughed on his door handle.

All the children standing up, speaking out, marching, and demanding we "adults" get it right or they will be doing some serious voting out the ones who enable mass shooting by access to automatic weapons make me so damn proud.

Tide pod eaters and condom snorters and SWATTERS. I don't even have to say another word, you got me on this one.

But everybody was young once, and we did some truly stupid shit, too, and most of us came through when the clench was on, so let's cut the pod kids a break, listen to what the activists have to say, and remember this man, today, on the 50th anniversary of his assasination

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Trae Crowder, Buno Mars, and YouTube exist

I have had a shitload of mail asking why I haven't blogged lately. And the title says it all. 
I was in nowherenearadecentnetsville so long I had so much stuff to catch up on, other than politics, that I couldn't even take time to blog, but I didn't feel so bad because this guy 
 was saying everything I needed to say, and doing it nationwide to a much larger audience. Although, I've never actually said, "Meemaw," in my life.
Anyway, Trae had it covered, politically.
I've been through some stuff - finally able to flee Nebraska & hopefully get a continent away from the almost-ex, my doggy had lymphoma but nobody wants to hear about that & this isn't what this blog is about, I have avn and & nobody wants to hear about that because that isn't what this blog is about, suffice it to say  I made it past my 3 year mark on my heart surgery so YAY ME 
And Bruno Mars exists. I honestly had not gotten more than the odd snippet of his music before escaping Nebraska and getting back to the Land Of Net.
I had internet in Steele City, NE but I had to pay over $200/month to get spotty at best net. We had a pipeline that eventually will blow up (I know, because I knew some people who worked on it, and they were morons), but that was pretty much it. Township of 53 people, when I escaped.
Anyway, I did not have Bruno streaming there, or even know there was such a person, really, other than in credits of ,"Honeymoon In Vegas," which I, unlike the rest of the planet, bought because it starred Jimmy Caan. 
So I've been catching up, and adore this young man
and his music. 
But I've been playing it too much, and I know this because today when my doggy's treats came by UPS, and I gave him some, Geo slid across the floor and sang, "I'm a dangerous pup with some crunchy in my treat dish, KEEP UP,"
and one of my cats was in the background going, "Oh, so player."

Saturday, November 11, 2017

This one is for the nephew

Psssst! I'll tell you a secret! 

You're allowed to have bad days/nights, hell weeks, months, years! But you can find joy even in bleakness, light in dark. It's the moments of joy in the worst times that get you through. I think that is why I have funeral giggles, because humor, laughter, shows me moments of light to contrast how bad things can get.
I say humor is my defense mechanism, but it is an offense mechanism as well.
I'm in a lot of pain today, but I keep thinking about my nephew, Jason Johnson, now a brilliant journalist and married to a wonderful girl - it's his birthday today, born 11/11/88 so it's easy to remember. I was living in Ozark with my 2nd husband at the time, and I told my sister, Juli Parrish, the night before to watch The Cosby Show because Sandra was supposed to have her twins on that episode and I knew that 1 woman, even acting, in labor triggers another.
It's true, look it up, I'll wait. 

It took you long enough, sheesh.
Anyway, we got the call mid-morning - they waited until it was last minute to call and we set a land speed record from our townhouse in Ozark AL to what was then Edge Memorial Hospital in Troy AL, rushed to 2nd floor maternity just as my late brother Loren came out of those famed double doors to announce, "IT'S A BOY AND HE IS PISSED!"
And that is how I get through the dark.

Friday, November 3, 2017

Blog Blast for PEACE

"All we are saying is give peace a chance"