The Christmas one

I wasn't feeling very ho ho. My friend committed suicide Saturday morning. I know, not the best opening, huh? And today I went with her husband & family to the funeral home. Still not putting the "fun" in "funeral," I know.
Then, the fender bender. It was really a paint scrape by an inexperienced driver on ice & snow. The guy, knowing where we were going and with 2 chihuahuas shivering their eyes out in his car, made us all wait 2 hours for cops to show up to write a report for the insurance company.
My BITCH kicked in. Hard.
This douchebag is keeping us from a funeral home to say goodbye to my dead friend and keeping these 2 babies shivering in a vehicle because he thinks he is getting a payday??? Fuck this!!
So I excused myself, went to the ladies' room which happened to be directly behind where he was standing. I may have had a whispered word with the gent. And a true Christmas miracle occurred! Within 2 minutes, he decided, in the true holiday spirit, to call the police & tell them it had been resolved to mutual satisfaction, and we left.
What a generous spirit.
Now, the funny part:
One friend sent me a lovely knife etc. (In PURPLE) as a gift, and said it, "better not end up as evidence!"
She knows me.
I hadn't even told her about my day.
It didn't (yet), and the best I can wish anyone for their holiday is friends like I have, and try to be.
They are the greatest gift.
And books. Lots and lots of books.

Here's what happened

A few weeks ago I was in the holiday giving spirit. I had just finished planning my personal charitable donations, everyone's gift was either ordered, bought, or at least selected and budgeted. I had a little left over thanks to Amazon. Not much, but a little. I remembered my nearly ex's daughter, who is fighting an addiction. Not always successfully, but still fighting it. It's rough. I've been there. And I knew she is always having trouble paying her phone bill. She had asked me for help before, so I still had her information somewhere. I decided as an unexpected gift I would pay her Dec. bill.
Couldn't find the info. Then I remembered, it was stored in the nearly ex's old phone, which had been left here.
I got it from the box o'crap I plan on making sure he gets the second the gavel falls on the divorce. I charged it, enough to turn on anyway, and began scrolling through the old texts, looking for her sign in & password, when I saw the text from his mother, a.k.a., lying evil manipulative control freak bitch mil from hell's asshole.
It was dated last year, but it chills me to the core.
"Call the cops and tell them she is threatening you with a knife..."
I'm a felon. Yes, I did what I was accused of doing, and would again every day, forever, because I did it in defense of a child. I believe protecting the vulnerable is a cornerstone of the social contract most of us abide by in order to occupy the same planet. No, I won't get into details.
But I've never threatened anyone in my life. I don't believe in threats. People who threaten rarely act, and are cowards who get off on inciting fear, which truly terrorism, in my not so humble opinion. I believe in doing, and shutting the hell up about it, and paying whatever price you must for your actions.
I don't threaten.
But it's the kind of thing cops love to get people like me on. "You are a violent felon? Well, let's take any hint of violence and use it to lock you up for life!"
And being female? Yeah. A guy with a violent felony in his past, most people say, "Oh, he was young and wild. I bet he was drunk or some woman done him wrong..."
A woman with my past? "That crazy bitch is gonna snap again some day!"
Or, as a fairly new friend put it, "I was afraid to tell you what happened. I mean, you are a murderer."
Ouch. No, I'm not. I exterminated a scourge on decent people, particularly children.
But now, I'm afraid. Every unexpected knock on the door, every unfamiliar phone number, every snap of a twig, I think, "This is it. And I did nothing this time but my freedom is going to be snatched away from me, this time for life."
I don't sleep well. I don't know how long before I will again. All it would take to collapse my life is him to remember that text, and say the wrong thing to the wrong Good Old Boy, misogynist cop who hasn't gotten laid in a while and... I just have to hold on until the divorce is final. That's what I tell myself a thousand times a day.
Just. Hold. On.
Then the boys and I sell the house and VROOOOOMMMMM down the road, never have to even be in the same state as the rat bastard ever again.
Just. Hold. On.

Sing-a-long!

,Here we go:

🎵 Dashing (creeping) through the snow,
In a 1 horse open (passenger side window perma-stuck 3/4 up) sleigh (Buick),
O'er the hills (flat as a pancake) we go,
Laughing (whimpering) all the way.
Now bells on bobtails ring (no idea what this means. My whole life I've heard this song, still no idea),
Making spirits bright (dismal).
What fun (srsly?) it is to ride and sing (KTGL is cranked up) a sleighing (slaying) song tonight (late afternoon)!

Bastarditis

I was getting dressed for appointments this morning, and waiting for the cat-sitter (BratCat is very sick, or I would just hire the dog to keep an eye on the cats as usual), when I got a phone call I absolutely hated. A neighbor died yesterday.
I was passing along word when I was asked, "What was it, cancer?"
In a way.
She died from Acute Selfish Bastarditis of the Husband. Oh, she had a lot wrong physically, major gastro-intestinal issues, bad heart, lungs, but nothing that in itself would have killed her. But her system was weak, and she needed long term loving care. She was married, so she should have had that, right? Not with her husband.
He was in the top 3 most selfish, inconsiderate, least nurturing men of all time. The #1 spot being up for debate, because I say it is my nearly ex, and others say Hitler. Her husband was #3. Seeing her wasting away in slow motion in front of him, all the man cared about what what he wanted to do - partying with his friends, his new truck, getting high, getting drunk, anything but what she needed. And we aren't talking newlyweds or 20/30/40 ages, he 60's, old enough to know better but selfish enough to not give a damn.
This hits me really hard.
It was very nearly me, and if not for a really wonderful friend, it would have been. Less than 2 hours from it.
"Aw, a little fun ain't never killed nobody!"
Yes, it did. And it happens far too often but I'll be damned if I'll ever even almost let it be me again.
Rest in peace, finally, peace.

Zaphod in the White House?

I am absolutely horrified at the notion of Donald Trump as president.  I, who cannot vote, seem to be the only one who recognizes Trump as POTUS to be the equivalent of Beeblebrox as Galactic president - I just know he is going to steal the White House and fly it off on some personal errand.
And exactly what the hell qualifies him to even run? His spiel has always been, "I'm rich because I'm ruthless and incredibly lucky, so pay attention to me!" Not a word in there about intelligence, strength of character, nor compassion, all of which are absolute requirements to be in a position of such power as President. This man has never eaten ramen noodles for 2 months and been grateful to have that. He has never even pretended to understand what the struggling poor go through every single day, and we are the majority. You cannot bestow power if not tempered with compassion and empathy, and he has neither.
And nobody has really thought this through. The name alone should disqualify him. We can't be saying, "My president Trumps your queen," because it would be too absurd. And he would probably want to build condos on the mall, guild Congress, add slot machines to the Lincoln Memorial, and have a line of Secret Service cheerleaders with pompoms precede him everywhere.
Yep, the Trumpettes, who form a kickline and dance to a custom all-Trumpet version of Hail To The Chief as he enters and exits buildings. I don't want to live in a world where pom poms are symbols of politicians.
Remember that great Adams idea, "Absolutely no one who seeks the job must ever be allowed to have it."
Here's the personification of that. Let The Donald go back to shilling real estate, and trying to convince himself he isn't a waste of space as a human being by having a reality tv series that more than 6 people watch, but stay the hell out of politics. We have enough to do trying to run a nation of broken people without adding massaging your tacky ego into it.
And I'm not that big a fan of pom poms.

Just... bullshit.

Yes, I call it.
Nobody should ever say:
You are strong enough; you can do this by yourself!
That is the worst thing you can say to anybody, ever.
And we all say it - especially to women friends who are suddenly going it alone.
You're all wrong. Well-meaning, but wrong.
I've been married, divorced, widowed, and just plain old don't want anybody, and I'm here to tell you, nobody makes it alone. Friends. The ones we call family, not mere relatives. Total strangers. They are vital.
Have them.
But never tell anyone they are strong enough to "go it alone," because nobody does, and that's just a shitty thing to say.
This post?
Was supposed to be about something else - why I'm not a writer - but stuff happened, and... yeah. Tomorrow. Or not.
Have friends. Be one.
Accept "The kindness of strangers," because sometimes, that is all you can get.
And by the way?
It's okay to need help, sometimes. It's okay to accept help. It's okay to ask for help. And when you can? Give it. Freely. Without expectation of return, in any way. You've probably been a jerk at some point in your life, so if you can't accept paying forward, then for fucks sake, pay it back.
And why I'm not a writer? Actually not worthy of a whole blog post. Turns out by the time I have the story (or blog post) clearly enough in my mind to put something into words, I know the story so I'm not interested in it anymore. I do better sitting down like this and just spewing out some things and hoping they make some sort of sense later. Very few writers manage to turn out anything worth reading this way. I don't kid myself I could do it for an entire coherent novel. So while I am not gifted with the ability, nor the self-discipline, needed to write for others, I am blessed with the ability to recognize great writing from others, and help coax it from them.
It's enough.

Curses! Foiled again!

I haven't posted in a bit, not from lack of anything to talk about, but from too much, and most of it was health stuff and since I talk about all that everywhere else, no need for it here. This started with my health and ended up with me still sneezing my fool head off, via Colorado.

Hippy Neighbor, or HN, got a credit card. I don't know how, but I suspect someone will lose their job over it eventually. It has a 25% interest rate. I know loan sharks who would cringe at 25%. HN didn't care.
"I'm going to Colorado!!!"
And she did. She didn't pack, didn't plan a route, just got in her car and left. She did call me from the road and ask me to take care of her dogs while she was gone, though.
She was gone for 5 days. She came back happy, and as stocked as they allow.
Included in this bounty was 2 of an item alledging to be chocolate taffy chew. 10% THC.
"I smoke weed all day everyday, and I've never felt like that in my whole life! I couldn't walk! It was wonderful. I know you can't smoke anymore, but you can have these..."
I thought about it a few days, I admit. Finally, not wanting to risk having it in my system in all the bloodwork lately, I decided against it. Then I happened to mention it to my doctor.
"You know, as long as you aren't smoking it so there's no damage to your lungs, I don't see the harm in trying it. It will be legal here next year anyway, and if there is something that can give you a little relief without affecting the medicine roulette we're working on, go ahead. If it comes up in a test, I'll tell them I okayed it. But just once for now; we don't need to mask any new symptoms or effects."
GASP
I had permission to get high

I waited a day. I planned around it, making sure I didn't need to go anywhere, had appropriate munchies, drinks, movies. Finally, it was tim. Nothing could stop me no, I was going to get high!
After struggling for 6 minutes, I gave up. I couldn't get the damned thing open. Sure, I could have gotten scissors or a knife to open it, but I realized - these things are made for people who have numbed or killed most of their brain cells and they can open them. I better not risk mine. They are in bad enough shape as it is.
So, I tossed it in a drawer, and maybe in a few months when it's legal, and we've gotten my brain back to whatever passes for normal in there, I'll revisit the cheeba chew. For now, I've still got all the munchies...