Men are oranges

Okay, I had this insightful bit composed in my head, but by the time I got my connection back, it was gone. Stormy.
I'm honestly wondering at this point in my life, how much tequila must be involved for me to get to numb. More than a fifth, but that was enough for me to totally lose my train of thought. Or maybe it was that it took more than 6 seconds. I've never been diagnosed with A.D.D., but I have 2 cats, which is kinda the same thing.

Same basic concept but hugely varying differences in peel, skin, taste, pulp... something along those lines. I've become a connoisseur of oranges. I started gorging myself on them, unabashedly, when a friend swung by with some that had been on trees in his family's orchard 2 days before he arrived. 

Yeah, *that* kind of fresh.

They triggered my highly sensitive metabolism, and I started ..oh! I just discovered if you're in a dark room with only cell phone light while peeling an orange, you can see the spray as you release the peel! You can't see that in normal light. Wait, what was I... *sigh*

Anyway, turns out oranges also have a bunch of potassium, but nobody thought to tell me because most people prefer bananas to oranges. See! I remembered the point this time! I just lost the in between stuff. And my original analogy.

What happens in Reno, gets temporarily stuck in Nebraska

Stephen Hawking isn't dead. Jackie Chan isn't dead. I'm not dead - to the point of it sticking.
I was reading the rumors of Hawking's death, and posted the snarky fb status, "You're nobody until false rumors of your death have circulated," then I realized, waitaminit, that happened to me.
I don't talk about it much. I'm still dealing with it, 7 years later.
Without revealing details upon which the statute of limitations would be called into play, I was murdered in 2008. Yes.
I've been shot 6 times, poisoned twice, stabbed, gassed, drugged with strychnine, been rattlesnake bitten, blown up (I swear I don't piss off that many people; I just end up in the weirdest circumstances, hence, Nebraska), 6 brown recluse bites (that came 2nd closest to killing me), 4 major car wrecks and 2 motorcycle wrecks from which no one else recovered, stabbed twice, etc. ad finitum, ad nauseum, and the only thing that really ever came scarily close was my own heart taking a powder last year. Except being murdered.
I was at Gold Dust West in Reno, having midnight supper with friends, and had to use the loo. I excused myself, was on the way to the ladies' room (it's all the flipping way across the casino from the restaurant) when I was urgently hailed by an acquaintance who had a faux-mergency outside. Normally I wouldn't have fallen for it, but I had dinner on my mind. And the bathroom.
His white van was waiting, and he urgently beckoned me over, exclaiming his 9 year old daughter (who was a great kid I knew better than I did him) need help. I stupidly fell for it.
I woke at a place I shouldn't mention, and wished I had never woken. I was tortured (No. Some things are still too painful) for what seemed years but I later learned was only 2 days - ONLY. Yeah, me too - then hotshotted with a gram each of heroin cocaine & meth, and left for dead as a supposed overdose (not well thought out considering obvious other injuries), in the middle of S. Virginia St. I'm told the paramedics argued over whether to transport me to hospital or the morgue. I wasn't actually alive, but I had no identification so no one could be called to ask for a decision about DNR. They put me on machines, keeping me going but with No brainwaves (shut-up) for 3 1/2 days until Reno's finest finally got around to running my prints and DING DING DING we have a name! They located my DNR, turned off the machines, and against anyone's expectations, I lived. Kicked back into play as it were.
8 days later I woke, with 2 name bands, 1 with the name I used then, and 1 that said, "Special Friend of S..... ......" I still have it. No, I won't talk about the afterlife, because I refuse to influence anyone's faith or lack, thereof, except to say, "You're all wrong."
My waitaminit comes from this: After I was out, I read my own obituary. Yeah, creepy factor 10. I saw a total stranger with a copy of 1 of my custom tattoos, with In Memorium Mama Vicky over it. I listened to people I'd never met tell anecdotes about my shennanigans down at the river, as I quietly absorbed healing sunshine. Want to know something about you that you never did? Be dead. It's bizarre. So I moved to Nebraska, for reasons that now seem equally bizarre. I'm out of here before the end of the year, thanks to Powerball.
What was the reason? I won't say. It isn't my secret to tell, not then and not now.
My point, and I do have one, is that... well, hell, I've forgotten my point. Maybe I am just rambling. Death is weird? Nope. It's totally gone.

Stage erm, blog fright

I got notifications that a few writers I really admire are following my blog, via twitter.  No pressure at all. And I was kind of (srsly) stressing, "what should I write? Should I go funny? Insightful? Profound?"
Yeah, my goofiness fixed that.
I was going to pee (lasix + way too much coffee + my daily recommended booze) when BratCat pulled a, "Oh? You need to get to the bathroom in a hurry? Remember how I wanted snacky treats? I'm a sudden doorstop!" and put on brakes in the bathroom door (for those who just got to the party, I'll cover 'steamies' another time. In the face of the CA drought, regardless of recent flooding here, it would just be mean. And I have the solution to that drought, btw, but no one has asked me. Yet).
Anyway, I had a beverage in my hand at the time (yes, I know. Still not as bad as the woman in the ladies' room at Eldorado Casino [next to the elephant's balls & if you've been there you know what I mean] in Reno, several years back who looked bleary-eyed at her bloody mary, slurred, "Fuck it, 'sgoin' there anyway," then poured her drink into the toilet), when I also had to slam on brakes.
The doorframe, Brat, gravity, and the beverage kicked my ass
I went in full Charlie Brown up into the air then OOF down, landing ass first, but with my beverage (Jack, since you ask) intact.
After that? Yeah, I'm kinda over blog fright.

Full throttle

Here a fun game I recommend most don't try, but I'm a trained professional:

Make a drinking game out of the internet. Everytime someone posts something so stupid you can't even explain to them why it's stupid, take a drink. I used to use tequila but the Cuervo people started actually worrying about how much of their product I was buying. They thought I was an unlicensed wholesaler. And I kept waking up in Nebraska, naked, and covered in kitty litter.
So now I stick to beer. Tip for the carb conscious - Miller Lite has the lowest carbs. See? Healthy lifestyle consciousness here.
I also recommend not going to any political, religious, sports, gender-biased, or news sites. Unless you want letters from Miller wondering if you're an unlicensed wholesaler. "But Vicat", you may gasp, "what does that leave me?"
Any other site not focused on anything. I don't care if they are discussing coffee, crop rotation, Galileo, the best kitty litter (Dr. Elsie's Precious), the temperature in Uganda, or the metaphysical aspects of Clive Barker's collected works, there will be somebody going full throttle twatwaffle to quench your thirst.
Cheers!

Obsession

I admit it, I have an obsession
It's a song. I play a few games online, and you do, too. Admit it. I don't care if it's Trivia Crack (I got bored with it after 18 questions about LeBron) or Words With Friends (Yeah, I can rarely think of the words or phrases I know are in OED, which is why I make up new ones all the time), or will my fb account be there today or will it get nuked again for no reason with no warning, if you're online, you play.
One game I play is DoubleU Casino. Don't judge. I lived in Reno a long time. This one is free, as long as you are smart, & patient enough to not spend real $. Anyway. The mobile version has this 1 game, Shooting Stars. When you get a "Big Win," it plays this funky tune.
That is my latest obsession. It has been haunting me for weeks. I hear it in my sleep.
I'll play the game just to hit a Big Win, then let it play for a while, until another bleep or blip requires me to stop it.
I don't know the tune
I feel like I should. Like I've heard it before, maybe on an outtake reel of a movie.
I've asked the DUC people and gotten no response, but you can hear it, briefly, on youtube. No, I'm not linking it, just Google it.
But.
In my mind, somewhere in New York, on a darkened stage with just enough light to make out the figure of a man...
"I haven't played one of these since... "
heard: (trombone)
🎵Buh.. buh.. duh duh... buh.. buh.. duh duh...🎵
Another figure, slips behind a drum kit, a little more light, almost revealing a man
"Hey, that's kinda..."
🎵snare in tempo with bass drum to trombone🎵
More light and 3rd figure
🎵Blues piano picks up beat🎵
4th figure
🎵Banjo🎵
rising light to reveal:
Bill Murray, Dan Ackroyd, Eddie Murphy, and Chevy Chase!! They finish playing the funkiest little ditty I have ever heard, a groovy rockabilly motown jazzy little jive tune, without ever saying another word, then the:
"LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE!!!"
And none of it is ever advertised before, nor mentioned during the show.
And that is what happens in my obsessive mind while I'm talking to anyone about anything, showering (because baths end up with concrete rash and me hiccuping in cheap wine), settling real estate issues, etc. Lately.
Obsession.
But play the damn game on mobile just to hear that song.

My defense mechanism - let me show you it

No, of course I don't have a gun. I'm a felon, and that would be illegal. And it definitely isn't pink. We criminal types are a law-abiding bunch. Right. Moving on.
My emotional defense mechanism is humor. I know you're terribly shocked. Try to gather yourself.
I have a lot to be defensive about, especially lately. My friend who's sister was dying of breast cancer? She died last night. Yeah. Damn, it got her fast. As another friend put it, "I really farking hate that we keep having people to walk for. And I hate that there's not a damned thing I can do to make the people left behind feel better."
It's also my late father's birthday today. He was born in '32 so...carry the 3... The math - it burns... okay he would have been 83. He has been gone for 21 years. Doesn't seem like it. But he is the one who taught me to never show when you're hurting. The man dropped a transmission on his face while working on his old truck - it was 3 shades of yellow; we called it "The Daisy" behind his back - you could see his teeth through the 3" gash in his cheek. He grabbed a shop rag, wiped some of the blood away, then continued working on the truck, only going to get stitched up (15 stitches) after he was through. There was no crying over anything after that. But he was wrong.
It's okay to cry. It's okay to totally lose your shit when things fall apart. It's also okay to laugh at funny things at funerals, because funny things happen in life whether it's the end of one, the middle of others, or the beginning of a new one.
And I know my friend understands that, so she'll forgive me if I continue to make jokes, share funny pics, and snark away.
I gotta be me!
Happy birthday, Dad. I'll eat cake for you.
And if I had a gun, which I don't, it isn't pink.

A question of coffee

"You talk a lot about coffee, so how do you take yours?"
Sheesh. You get 1 shot to ask me a question and that's what you ask? Fine. My 1st pot I take IV before getting out of bed. 

Okay - MY COFFEE - 1/2 cup plain old Folgers Dark and add 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon. 12 cups bottled water
- I am not drinking this foulness from here. When the past 4 years they keep sending out cautions to not boil the water or use it to make ice or drink it if you are young, elderly, or have "certain health conditions," which they never specify, because of illegally high nitrate levels in the water as part of the run off from the fertilizer plant and from all the farms but do they do anything about it? Hell no. Anyway. Where was I?
- 1 Tbsp vanilla extract (gets rid of bitterness - I should have drank some on Mother's Day!) added to the water. Pour it in except about 2 Tbsp water, leave that in the pot and add 1 Tbsp caramel extract. Flip switch. No not that switch. The On switch. The instant it's ready I pour a LARGE mug, with 1 Sweet & Low and just a tiny splash of real cream. Trust me. It's all about texture and richness of flavor - worth a few extra calories.
And yes, it's strong. Why the hell drink something that's going to fuel my lasix in a conspiracy to keep my a.m. mailing address as "Bathroom" if it isn't going to do it's real job of waking me up and getting me to function!
Then, I have coffee. 1/3 ea Bailey's, brandy, Kahlúa.
Next - Katie's gravy lesson.

The Pink Thing

C. The big 1. Not me this time, for which I am selfishly, guiltily grateful. 2 dear sweet friends are dealing with it, currently. 1 who caught it early and has an excellent prognosis. Good thing, because she is also pregnant. 2 lives. The other is losing a sister. Rapidly. There is no hope. Hospice starts tomorrow.
I'm not going to out anyone - they know who they are. My heart hurts for them all. I've been there.
It's why whenever I can I do the walks. Why I donate, when I can. Why I admire the shit out of people who do "The Pink Thing" every chance they get. It's why I'm angry as hell when I hear of bullshit government spending on million dollar vacations for polititions and a ton of other crap we don't need when a majority of breast cancer research comes from private funding. Yes. Look it up.
So do "The Pink Thing" every chance you get, because it could be your sister, or mother, or brother (yes, guys get breast cancer, too), or it could be you.
I know I'm supposed to throw in a snark or two here, because, well, I'm me. But I don't seem to have one.
I'm sure I'll make up for it.

Tolerance is intolerable

I hate the term "tolerance" when referring to sexuality. It's condescending. It implies, "We know you're wrong but we'll tolerate your little snit. For now."
Don't practice tolerance. Practice "Who cares?" or "So what?" or even better, "meh."
Nothing Miley Cyrus, Ru Paul, Ellen Degeneres, or the guy up the street does or says or thinks is going to affect me or who I am, or who I do *snicker* so why the hell should I care. I don't care if your thing is blind midgets in scuba suits wearing feather boas in the middle of the street, just don't block traffic. And no it does not undermine anything, and if you use that word in relation to anything but mining or construction I'll slap you with a haddock. I don't know why a haddock, it just popped into my head. Don't harsh my flow!
Sigh
What was I... damn, derailed by seafood.

Ungifting

Mothers' Day tomorrow. Another gifting day for most. I don't really think we should require a day to make us be pleasant to the person who gave us life but since this kind of thing seems to approved I won't buck the tide on it. Have more of them, though. 1 a week would be nifty. I don't like the gift part.
I have reason.
I married a man who was easily in the top 5 most self-centered creatures in this universe. His reign may have extended further, but since I have yet to travel beyond, I can't be sure, and I strive for accuracy. He was selfish, also, and petulant, mean, cruel, unfaithful, psychotic, delusional... but let's not go on about his good points. He was self-centered to the point that if he bothered getting me a gift for any occasion (during rare periods of work & if he hadn't spent every cent on meth yet), it was always some horrible tacky thing that I wouldn't have on a bet, didn't fit, didn't work, etc. that he wanted me to have. Not a single thing in all those years I actually wanted or needed or could use.
I won't even get into the whole birthday thing (what the hell is so hard about 9" & 3 layer round white cake, white frosting, pale pink roses from an actual bakery not the WalMart deli??? It's not like the damn date shifts, it's the same every year so no it did not "sneak up on you" you gacked fool!) .. okay I got a little into it, backing out now. Mothers' Day.
All I ever wanted for any day, socially mandated or not, was 1 day every now and then when he wasn't a total jackass to me, screamed at the kids & me, whined, got so high he lost things and blamed everything on me when I didn't have the vacant smile of the locals.
I was left bitter.
So I'd like to un-gift that bitterness.  I don't want to carry around this loathing for holidays. I don't want anyone to have the power to make me this angry at a day. Because I am.

Lost In Translation

I had this wonderful witty blog written espousing the cause of not relying on the internet to translate anything. I cited the exquisite Rosalind Chao, books, cultural references. Then furry interruption and all was lost.
I'm not going to try to recreate it. I'm going to drink tequila.
Srsly.

Inappropriate Muttering

I've been asked to leave yet another Bingo tournament. Same reason as always - Inappropriate Muttering. I can't help myself.
I'm the one who appreciates the brilliant irony of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick In The Wall" but simply cannot get past the double negative.
Some of you now know where I'm going with this.
B 8
"BE EATEN!" I thought I whispered. Evidently not.
They might have let it slide if I had stopped there, like the folks at the Sands back in Reno always turned a deaf ear to my mutters (except that 1 time when I accidentally leapt from my chair and screamed, "4 gold balls and I'm playing 50 cards but didn't have even 1??" They asked me to leave).
But when my B 8 trigger is flipped, I can't stop myself.
O 69 - snicker
B 1 - Zen bingo
I  19 - not for 70 years you old gink
B 4 - and during, and after
B 9 - lethal

I guess some find this disruptive. I call it responsive and corrective.
Maybe it's the use of the word "lethal."

Mawwiage

I'm a survivor. Of marriage. I won't say how many, but I have rice marks on my back and Elizabeth Taylor is nervous. I didn't want to remarry the last few times but circumstance and my own weakness of character prevailed. I'm not that weak anymore.
Dear What Doesn't Kill Me, you made me really strong!
And I know my own experiences, plus others', have made me cynical regarding the entire institution. Every time I see or hear of a wedding I long to scream, "DON'T DO IT! IT'S A TRAP! YOU'LL REGRET IT BEFORE THE HOUR ENDS!" But I don't because it is their choice to make, and affects me not the least bit.
Which is my point about gay marriage, everyone is in a snit about. Who cares what gender someone is? Anyone has just as much right to make each other miserable as anyone else and gender doesn't matter. I promise. If anything anyone else does or says affects "the foundations of marriage" for you, then the problem was already there and it's your mess to clean up. Clean it up & get out, stay, or shut up.
And that brings me to Ann Wilson of Heart. Didn't see that one coming, did you? She just got married to some finance guy. I don't remember his name or know anything about their courtship, and it isn't relevant (besides being none of my business). What is relevant is their occupations. She sings, and he diddles money (technical high finance term. Shh). But we all know at some point, he will whine, "You never sing for me anymore," to which she will reply in tears, "You only love me for my song!"
Or the other way around, "You never buy 3rd world countries for me anymore..." Okay maybe not.
But it will happen and you know what? Shut up. You were attracted by her singing, admit it, but that isn't why you claim to love her so shut up. And you have used his love of your music to get your way about something, don't lie, Ann, so shut up.
Yes, I do know. I'm an expert on what not to do in a marriage, remember?
But this really applies to everyone, regardless of gender (See what I did there?) or primary occupation. If you commit to anyone, legally or formally or simply by promise, and know exactly what they do and who they are, you have no right to whine when they continue to do and be that. If your ability to embrace that aspect changes, admit that and apologize, then bow out gracefully.
Srsly