Embracing the Suck

I'm not going to lie. I hope this healthcare bill passes. I'm ready to embrace the suck just for the pure, evil pleasure of reveling in the agony of the blighted morons who voted for Obama, and the lazy-eyed douchebags who stayed home because McCain wasn't "conservative" enough. I'm going to enjoy watching your suffering, and you will suffer.

In a loosely structured order, here's what's going to happen:

1.) Nothing. For 8 years, nothing at all is going to happen, at least not in terms of tangible benefits. That's because the government is going to tax you like you've never dreamed, in ways you have never dreamed, before anyone will receive any benefit at all.

2.) In the meantime, the cost of private insurance will rise dramatically. If insurance companies are going to be forced to cover those with pre-existing conditions, you will pay mightily. Then you're going to waste all kinds of time trying to get government coverage that doesn't even exist. Then the feelings of dread will set in when you realize how utterly fucked you are.

3.) This monstrosity cannot be funded no matter how much they tax. The profits of every insurance company, including bonuses for their bigshots will fund this massive abortion of a plan for about 30 seconds. And if there are no profits, there are no insurance companies. So after paying exorbitantly for years, say good-bye to your private insurance. And in an economy that will continue to  suffer, don't look to other businesses to take on the burden.  And if there are no businesses to tax, say good-bye to the government plan. Get ready to be taxed for nothing, and then to pay out of pocket for your medical care.

4.) You will never qualify for the government plan. If they decide you can afford private insurance, you will not be able to get government insurance in 8 years. You're going to pay for it, but you will never benefit.

5.) Doctors will leave general practices for fields of specialty. There is no money in general practice. They already can't afford to take Medicare/Medicaid. No matter what insurance you have, you will have to wait months for an initial diagnosis and only then will you be allowed to see a specialist. God forbid you have cancer.  You have my full sympathy unless you voted for Obama or stayed home. Then I hope you don't ask me to care.

So there it is.  You can make your O faces and scream "Yes We Can" while you whack off to the Dear Leader's picture, or you can prance around with your conspicuously displayed firearms declaring you're gonna take back your country from fucking pussies like McCain.  Meantime, I'm going to sit back and enjoy the ass-pounding you all are going to give each other.

Jack's Back...

and he's responding to comments! Bloggyworld just got a little more interesting. Again.

School is still occupying my time, but I'm almost done, at least with the classroom portion. In the continuing, dimwitted saga, the round instructor's wife is leaving him, which is no surprise to me, but might account for the Inappropriate, which increases with regularity as does his lack of grooming. His head is shaved now and he looks like an escaped convict-monk. He's coming on to one of the ladies in my class with such zealous desperation and lack of skill that I am constantly reduced to a cringing mass of unwilling sympathy. I can't even look him in the eye anymore, although I did the other night when he suspended class so we could all have the opportunity to consult with his 12 year old psychic. I was furious, but held my temper in check so at least I could leave early.

On the plus side, I'm designing all my classmate's business cards. I'm doing it for free as a graduation gift, but hopefully they'll tell people about me. And it's fun. I'm having more fun with that than I am with massage.

But I did get to utilize my massage skills on Jethro's and my eleventh anniversary. We booked a hotel room and spent a lovely evening together. We brought the portable massage table we use at the clinic, and I did all the naughty things that massage therapists are never supposed to do. I don't like to brag, but Jethro said my $5,000 tuition was totally worth it.

So that's what's going on here. Not too much. But if anyone still reads this blog, go leave a comment on Jack's. He's in Iraq, so you're doing it for your country.

Snowboarder Complains About Peers' Pants

That headline just looked really odd. You can click on it for a link to the story.

And this video has nothing to do with it, but was too funny not to post. (NSFW)



Just a side note, this wasn't at the Olympics. It took place a couple of weeks ago.

PWN'D!!! (Or However They're Spelling It These Days)

Zelda: "My vertigo seems to be gone.  Sorry you had to take the kids in yesterday."

Jethro: "And I'm sorry I was so grouchy.  Don't take it personally, I'm just not a morning person."

Zelda: "I understand...."

Zelda: "Of course, you don't accept that PMS makes me grouchy, so I'm surprised at you using your aversion to mornings as an excuse ...."

Jethro: "Well I'll try to control it."

Zelda: "That wouldn't be good enough if I were saying it.   Somehow you're allowed to be grouchy and I'm not?"

Jethro: "Yes.  Because I'm the man."

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Zelda: "That's not what your mother said."


I love myself sometimes.

Many Thanks, Mr. Salinger

I wasn't exactly sad to hear of JD Salinger's death because if you've had the desire to hang on until the age of 91, you've probably lived a pretty good and fulfilling life.  But I felt an immediate sense of apprehension because I love Salinger and I've always felt  protective of him.  His reclusiveness never bothered me, having the occasional desire myself, and I always felt resentful on his behalf whenever anyone talked of it disparagingly.

Catcher in the Rye is one of my favorite books.  I read it when I was one year older than Holden and out on my own for the first time.  But I can't say I related to Holden exactly.  I didn't have anywhere near enough sense of self to judge anyone else a "phony."  But it also never occurred to me that exposing the phonies was the point of the book.

It seems that it's popular to dismiss Holden Caulfield as a spoiled upper class brat or an unrealistic purist.  Even the compliments reduce him to a rebel without a cause in the silly, over-glorification of teen angst, à la The Breakfast Club.

I never saw him as any of that and patiently waited to find out the cause of his disenchantment, which it seems was death of his little brother.  Of all the things that were causing him to despair, that one was the one thing he couldn't just leave.  Moving to that cabin in the woods would take him away from all the phonies, but it wouldn't take him away from that great pain.

An event like that would cause anyone angst, not just a sensitive teenager, so by the end of the book, it seemed that Holden was simply trying to find beauty and truth in a world that was so relentlessly unsparing as to no longer contain someone who had been so dearly loved, and the agonizing search was paid for with his sanity and to an extent, his freedom.  Whether he found enough beauty to redeem the world is irrelevant; it would seem that he hadn't by the book's end.  I think he showed it to us, but hadn't found it himself.  Truthfully, I don't think it was that important.  I think it was more important just to hear what he had to say while he was looking.  There's no reason to demand the character reach the same conclusions we have.

I also think it was important for Holden to be a teenager in the story because it's unforgivable for a rational adult to go 'round the twist like that.  A teenager is old enough to not need his hand held as he roams the city, and we are able to examine the intricacies of grief and despair and the psychological trauma surrounding them without having them filtered through the complications of adult responsibilities which easily stunt such an examination.  If Holden was an adult, inevitably we would have to see how his grief affected those with whom he was forced to interact, and we'd judge him harshly for not controlling himself for the sake of others.  But with Holden being a teenager, we can see that grief and the accompanying vulnerability as the intensely personal thing that it is.

But Catcher, even though it's one of my favorite books, isn't even my favorite Salinger book.  That would be Franny and Zooey.  This was the book I related to. Franny and Zooey are the youngest of 7 gifted and talented siblings.  One of the main themes of the book is confronting ego.  Too deep an analysis will not make a good blog post, but the request to "do it for the Fat Lady" made me want to cry. My love for this book is only heightened by the fact that I consider Franny to be a female literary creation on par with Brett Ashley from Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises.  I know I'm being enigmatic, but I don't want to rehash the plot, and would really just enjoy discussing it with someone who has read it.

I'm probably going overboard in the way breathless fans do, but it bothers me not.  I guess I'm too old to pretend to be unaffected by that which I genuinely love.

I'd welcome a literary discussion if anyone is up to it.  If not, I'm sure I'll have sex soon or find myself in an awkward situation.  I'm very much aware that literary criticism is not my true talent...

For Sale: One Asian Doctor Husband. Cheap.

Jethro's killing me.  I suffer from hypochondria.  It's genetic.  So when I become afflicted with an ailment, it is the perfect time to take advantage of me.  Case it point.

I have vertigo.  Right now.  I think it's inner-ear related, but that doesn't mean I couldn't have had some kind of head trauma in my sleep.  Shut up.  So I go to my husband - a doctor - for reassurance.   This is his purpose in life.  He solemnly conducts several tests and then says he's going to test my gag reflex.  I dutifully open my mouth and he unzips his zipper and laughs at me.

And a couple weeks ago, I asked him to work on my arm.  He stood behind me to the right and kept pumping my arm up and down and telling me to relax.  I tried for about 5 minutes before I realized he was rubbing my hand vigorously against his crotch.

He's killing me.

I'll Spare You Further Sight of the Testicles

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

(NSFW)Hey Obama

                

                  OPEN WIDE

Sad Subjects

Jethro posted. It was one of the saddest stories I've ever heard. She had 4 children and three of them were killed in a car accident that occurred because her friend fell asleep at the wheel. Her oldest wasn't in the car.

I don't know what I'd do. I really don't. I'd want to kill myself, but I wouldn't want to leave the surviving child without a mother. It would be easier if everyone was gone just so I could slit my wrists and be done with it. I like to think I'd have the strength to go on, but I really don't think I would if I lost my children. I see every bit of good in the world in them, and if they were gone, there would be nothing. I would be nothing. I love my husband, but our kids are the best thing about us. I can't lose the best thing.

I watched Steve Harrigan break down in Haiti while showing a mom who had lost all 5 of her children in the quake. Usually I'd hold that against a reporter because they need to be brave and get us information. But in his case, I don't blame him much.

Anyway, dreary subject, but it's that kind of day.

Bits 'n' Pieces

I've been forced into a blog update by multiple circumstances. It's okay, but with my schedule, it will take awhile to get my blogroll back and a design that will make me happy.

My husband finally gave in and said we could have a threeway, but now I don't want one anymore.

Here is a song I like:



And finally, Jim Treacher got himself a sweet gig in D.C. at new website launched by Tucker Carlson called The Daily Caller. He's now in charge of that blog, which is known as The DC Trawler. I wonder if he's tired of bow-tie jokes yet? And I wonder if he'll write another review of The Aristocrats? Anyway, it should be enjoyable and I am already enjoying it.

Haven't Laughed This Hard In Weeks

Happy Holidays Folks, Wherever You May Be

Sorry for the belated holiday wishes, but I haven't had much computer access, and if I were to be completely honest, when I did, I just didn't feel like writing.

It was a psychotic tempest of a holiday for me, but what else could it be? At least it wasn't like the Worst Christmas Ever - a post which I feel the unhealthy need to read every so often.

We have been in Houston since Christmas Eve and just came back tonight. No major family feuds or anything, but definitely some interesting turns of events, one of which I will blog about at a later date, and another of which was Jethro's mother springing upon us the news that she was going to have a complete hysterectomy the day before she did. The girls and I stayed in Houston after Christmas while Jethro went back to New Town to support us. He came back in on New Years Eve and we went to a party at a friend's house.

Now that was a bloggable event.

Our friends are great. They just bought a new house and they quite understandably wanted to throw a New Year's party. Jethro and I arrived around nine. The karaoke machine was just getting revved up and a drink of pomegranate champagne punch combined with some pseudophedrine was enough inducement for me to sing Angel of the Morning in a duet with some chick who's name I still don't know. I sang harmony.

I wish the other guests were as cool. Sadly, one of our friends from college, who was a last minute invite, decided to bring two of the most wretched humans on earth. They didn't know anyone, but had no problems asking where the beer and the refrigerator were (because they didn't like any of the food that was set out). They were already pretty drunk when they arrived (or high, or quite possibly just very very slow-witted). I don't know. I didn't care. I just wanted to not talk to them, but who gets buttonholed? Me. The wretched humans were a couple. And the female of the species kept me for 5 whole minutes of my precious life to tell me about a money-making scheme involving our friend sexually assaulting me, which would invite my husband to punch his lights out, which could net us some cash by betting on the outcome of the ensuing brawl. Maybe this made more sense in her head, because I couldn't see the point of organizing a betting event where the only thing we knew for sure was that I would have my boobs manhandled. I mean of all the variables, that was the only sure thing. This just strikes me as witheringly bad logic. But just so you know, this is why the poor stay poor. If anyone tries to tell you differently, punch them in the face for the backwards, incompetent, malcontent, communists that they are.

And just for the record, I was not in bad form that night. I wish I was thinner, as always, but hair was good, make-up was great, boobs were buoyant. I was feeling pretty hot until that very weird interlude.

But still in all, it was a fun night. There were tons of fireworks (which I don't actually like much), my friends' house was beautiful, and I got good and buzzed. So mostly a win.

I hope everyone else had a fantastic holiday. I'm sorry I didn't get around to the blogs, but I hope to make up for it by visiting more this year.

You know you might be overwhelmed by the holiday when you are having relations with your husband and visions of sugar plums (and christmas wreaths and candy canes and wrapping paper) start dancing in your head......and they get you off.

Joys and things

Oh how my little blogs suffers. Boring life has taken over this rich, colorful tapestry of imagination and progress.

First off, my massage class of all women and one rotund, progressively slothful instructor is going only as well as can be expected. I stuck my neck out for one of my classmates whom I don't even like, but was being mercilessly picked on by the fat, annoying classmate who didn't like me. And now Fat Girl is gone, so it was much ado about nothing. How I managed to get involved is beyond me. I yearn for a simple life which includes no cunts, male or female, and yet I find myself surrounded. Did I tell you my non-sexy instructor told us all about how his testicles had not descended when he was born? It was all I could do not to sarcastically ask if everything was okay now. And he is shaving less and less. I think he is being overworked, but it could just be that he feels comfortable enough to not bother trying to impress us with minimal hygiene. And he's becoming increasingly inappropriate. My classmates can be pretty crude (there is something about putting your hands all over other people late at night that lends itself to the unseemly), and I admit that I indulge as well (although I try to be as clever with my vulgarity as possible), but I expect my instructors to have some control in this regard, or at least be wittier than the average slattern. But the non-sexy instructor, or the NSI for short, is somewhat slower with the banter. Yes, yes. I did know that head can be a double entendre. Perhaps it is hypocritical of me, but I feel an instructor should rise above, or sink so far below that he or she cannot be touched in any way. Which brings me to inappropriate touching. There is a girl in class who is pregnant. She's married and this is her second baby, but the NSI is always touching her stomach. I find this squirmingly uncomfortable to watch, mostly because he reminds me somewhat of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. Pregnant Girl is polite about it, but I have to look away so I don't vomit. I guess it's just weird because his stomach is bigger than hers which causes me to wonder why if a belly is so fascinating, he doesn't just touch his own. And then I remember that he does and I have to look at the pictures of the STDs so I don't think about it.

Other than that, it's going well.

I feel that I have a handle on the Christmas shopping, except for one present. We draw names in my family because no one can afford a present for everyone even if they're cheap, and I ended up with my sister's girlfriend. On one hand, this is impossible. But on the other hand, it's a challenge. And sometimes I enjoy a challenge. However, all I've got so far in the way of ideas is a customized t-shirt stating: "Carpet Ninja." But I think that might be in poor taste.

George Soros???

If the press is going to quote this man as if his unelected, unsolicited opinion means something, shouldn't they be revealing his ties to the Democrat party and his other organizations each and every time? Shouldn't they reveal his notoriety in wreaking havoc on financial systems the world over?

This man is corrupt to the core and we are now being given his point of view without any kind of counterweight.

Check out all the AP and other press articles quoting and aggrandizing him while barely touching his political affiliations.

George Soros Urges Use of IMF Gold-For-Green Loans

George Soros Warns Against Rebuilding Same Humpty Dumpty Financial System

With Big Money and Brash Ideas A Billionaire Redefines Charity

(check out the bizarre correction at the end. Since when is the Times that detail oriented, especially when the story wasn't initially wrong? It would appear someone's taking marching orders from the subject.)

Stimulus Thinking, and Nuance

This last one is mind-blowing. Check out the headline. Nuance. That holographic code word. The article actually defends fascism (think of it as a governmental system in terms of the economy, not concentration camps) as implemented by the NAZIS and quotes Soros in defense of it. Even if Germany never started its genocidal death camps, fascism is still a terrible form of government.

This is the one article I found that gives any real information on this man. In spite of the headline, it's actually quite balanced and informative. Of course it was published back in '98 when the press wasn't his bitch...

He's Seen The Enemy. It Looks Like Him.

These paragraphs cut right to the heart of the matter:

"Still, many observers wonder about Mr. Soros' straddling of so many fences in the worlds of finance, economics and politics.

''I think there's a built-in conflict between making money in public markets and improving the world,'' said James Grant, editor of a newsletter, Grant's Interest Rate Observer, and the author of several studies of financial markets. ''Soros is out there telling you what he's done, what he's going to do and how he'll save the world. I think there's a conflict because those goals seem at cross-purposes.''

''It raises questions about inside information when you're able to talk to central bankers and policy makers at the same time that you're involved in financial markets,'' Mr. Grant said.

For his part, Mr. Soros, dapper and attentive, defended his probity in a wide-ranging interview last week, saying he has always strived to keep separate his roles as a hard-nosed trader placing global bets and a financial guru able to rub elbows with the highest of the high and mighty. Though he had run-ins with American regulators in the 1970's and 80's, he has never been accused of insider trading or similar financial wrongdoing." [emphasis mine]

He's "tried" to separate his roles? Tried? Come on. If Martha Stewart went to jail, I'm guessing there's about a billion ways to send Soros there, not that I'd necessarily advocate that.

But how about letting in the sunshine? Let's pretend this is '98 and Soros hasn't bought off the press. Let's find out more about him and his intentions for our country. He has billions, his influence is everywhere, he sponsors the left-wing, free speech/information squelching orgainzation "Media Matters" as well as the highly partisan, left-wing MoveOn.org (among others), which the mainstream media quotes without fact-checking, he is being quoted willy-nilly in the press without question.....something is very wrong with this picture.

Zelda...

....briefly considered mixing the scotch in her mouth with soda directly from the bottle, but in gazing upon her husband's stern, somewhat nauseated visage, thought the better of it.

The Tale of Two Rabbits

Wow. It's been a long time since I posted. And I was just starting to get back into the swing of things too. All I can say is that I've been busy. I'm still working on the house, I'm still in my massage classes, and I'm trying to get ready for the holidays.

But I have loads of stories, and I did want to tell of the rabbits.

Our friends gave the girls one of their rabbits. His name is Phillix. He has brought much joy and cooperation in the mornings, as in the girls no longer meet their day with groggy thrashing at the unkind morning world and instead leap from their beds to care for their silent, cuddly friend.

The second rabbit is not so cuddly. And it belongs to me.

The august Trashman made contact to let me know he had a present for me. Jethro and I picked it up from his place of employ - a convenience store directly off the freeway. He was busy with a short line of customers when we walked in, and it gave me time to reflect on just where life's path had led me. If anyone were to have told me it would lead to a convenience store off 35 to pick up a bright orange sexual accoutrement, I would have.....well....probably believed them, but it doesn't change the delightful absurdity of the situation.

When he was through with the customers, we went to his car where he presented me with a multiply layered package. Had this been witnessed by law enforcement, I'm sure I would have had a far more exciting tale to tell.

Now I think I'm supposed to give a review. Trashman has heard of women leaving their husband's for this inanimate object. But I think I must disagree. Since it vibrates, I'd be hard-pressed to call it inanimate. I don't know how interesting the porny details are since we're just a married couple doing what married people do, so I'll give it my patented 9 word review. "It can go ahead and quit it's day job."

I really didn't like The Virgin Suicides. My parents were exponentially more strict.

Ft. Hood Shooter Paralyzed From Waist Down

Good. Now he'll die a contemptible virgin.

Happy Veterans Day...

...to all our vets. I'm alive and happy and free in a wonderful country because of you. Thank you.