May the 4th Be With the MFing Resistance

I am not sure how much more we can all take, those of us that want and expect decency to prevail in this Upside-Down we are in right now.  It’s all so gradual, right?  I mean, everything that’s happening may not have really touched you or a person you love yet.  You have health insurance from your employer.  You are in good health.  You are not an immigrant.  You are not a Muslim.  Or brown, for that matter.  Or a woman.

But there’s going to be a time when a category rolls around that hits you.  Because they are gunning for everyone that is not rich and white and male.

The Republicans of the House of Representatives, save 20, voted to repeal the Affordable Health Care Act today.  They have passed the American Health Care Act, which will leave millions of people without access to medical insurance coverage.  It also guts Medicaid.  While this bill would still have to go to the Senate, to committee, back to the House, blah blah blah before it passes, the point is:  Republicans cracked open a few cold ones to celebrate making dying for millions of people a more affordable option than paying for health care.

So I hope that goes down realllly smooth for ya, fuckers.  Come on back home to your constituents.  We are waiting for you.  If you want a class war, you might just get it.  The poor, the elderly, the women, the immigrants, we are all waiting for you.  Come back and face us at town halls.  Come back and hear more of the complaints that you’ve been hearing for months, except now they will be louder.  More vehement.  More desperate.  If you didn’t like it when women cried at your town halls or children questioned you, prepare yourselves.

I mean, what difference does it make?  You’re winning, right?  That’s what matters.

For everyone who is empathetic out there – for those of us who know in a short time, we too will feel the long poking stick of GOP “justice” and “freedom” – man your battle stations.  The sound in the distance is sirens.  If you have just been thinking all of this is a bad dream, now is the time to wake the fuck up.  There are elections for mayors and city council places happening right now.  Get educated about the candidates.  Vote.  Write letters.  Use Resistbot.  Run for office.  Do anything except think this is all going to go away.   Do anything except wait for someone else to save this particular princess, that statuesque lady in the Harbor that other countries used to look toward in order to find safety.

It happens gradually.  The Death Star wasn’t built in a day.


Eating Like a Toddler, or How Not to Diet

I don’t care what anyone says.  I was done with trying to lose weight because it seemed like the harder I kept trying, the worse it got and the more I totally did NOT lose weight.  AND THEN, a friend had me read this book:



So far, it is working like a champ in that I have stopped the following actions:

1) Obsessing every day about what the scale reads

2) Weighing at all pretty much, for that matter

3) Without weighing, my day cannot be ruined

4) Only eating certain foods.  There are no more red light foods.  Awesome.

5) Eating when I’m not really hungry



Yeah, I am eating apple pie for dinner.  Oh, and some hummus.  And maybe I had some breakfast sausage.  Whatever.  I feel fucking great, have lost 6 pounds, and actually am getting better at realizing what “hey ok ok ok you’re full stop eating” feels like.


My lunch today was mini-pancakes and some rice with broccoli.



But the big news is this:  There’s just nothing fucking wrong with me, despite what society tells me, despite what people I know tell me, and despite what I tell me.  My doctor has confirmed that all my fancy blood work is STELLAR and MAGNIFICENT and lots of other words like that.

So suck it.  I’m technically overweight.  I jog around my kitchen.  I eat weird food combos.  And I AM ACTUALLY AWESOME JUST THE WAY I AM.

Life’s too short to be miserable about who or what you think you’re supposed to be.  Go out and be what you are, right this minute.  And only this minute.  Because the last one is over, and the next one, well, it will be along directly.




Sanity Check: Are We Just Doing Whatever Now?

So last night, a really disturbing scenario unfolded as I tried to enjoy delicious Indian food at a fine local establishment.

While already seated with my friend, a couple walked into the restaurant with a small dog.  The small dog had a large tag on, and it had the appearance of a luggage tag.  I’ve seen these before and recognized it as possibly a service animal.  I could not tell from observing the couple what the dog was doing as far as service, but that doesn’t matter – I don’t go by outward appearances and I’m fine with a service animal anywhere and pretty much everywhere (maybe not in the wading pool at a spa, but also, if it’s necessary, I probably would not lose my shit.  Dogs are awesome, especially service dogs.)

My friend and I continued to enjoy our delicious meal, chatting all the while, until suddenly there was quite a commotion at the table with the dog.  I didn’t see exactly what happened, but from the angry way the man was speaking and the calm, rational tone the server was using, I ascertained that something was amiss with his meal.  Upon further “discussion”, the man began yelling – I mean YELLING for the check, and the restaurant got very quiet.  Apparently, the couple had put a CHINA PLATEFUL OF DELICIOUS INDIAN FOOD ON THE CARPETED FLOOR and proceeded to feed the dog with it.  When the server asked the couple politely to not do that as it was a health violation, the guy got furious.  He spoke to the server quite aggressively, and another patron of the restaurant came over to defend the servers and said that it was not necessary to treat the servers in the manner that the service-dog-man was treating them.  The couple with the dog got the check and left angrily.

Later on, another table closer to us was getting ready to pay the check and leave.  But before they left, they let the servers know that they had lost 3 more customers because they didn’t allow the dog to eat off the plate.  In the restaurant.  Where people eat.  They were also pretty rude to these poor servers who had done nothing untoward and had never raised their voices (oh, and hey, it was their freaking restaurant.)  This other table of people just insisted that they should have let the dog eat and then thrown their china away.


Do not get me wrong.  Both me and my friend are avid dog lovers, rescuers, and advocates of animals in general.  However.  I draw the fucking line at so many things in this scenario.  SO.  MANY.

1)  This restaurant did not refuse the couple and actually can’t by law refuse them if the dog is indeed a service dog.   They also can’t ask, and didn’t, whether or not the dog is a service dog, which, alright.  Understood.  They CAN ask if the dog is needed for a disability and what type of work for which the dog is trained.  These servers took the couple on good faith that the dog was a service dog.

2)  According to Texas law, the dog must be controlled by the owner at all times.  This dog did wander the restaurant on more than one occasion.  The couple was not asked to leave.  I also verified with several people I know who have extensive knowledge of service dogs that these dogs usually don’t eat OR wander while working.  Service dogs usually sit quietly directly next to the owner and don’t really move at all.

3)   Apart from the issue that feeding your dog Indian food might not be a logical choice for the dog’s digestion, there is nothing in the law that states whether you can or cannot feed the dog – however, the plate did not belong to the dog owner, and as far as I’m concerned if the servers asked for that action to cease politely and courteously, the couple could have either complied or paid and left.  They did the latter, but angrily and not without insult to servers who were merely looking out for the other patrons and for their property.

3) What the fuck ever to the table of angry people who clearly go about their lives eating off the same plates as their dogs and throwing their Flora Danica in the trash like common refuse.  First of all, they can feel however they want, but ultimately, this is not their circus, not their monkeys, and definitely not their restaurant.  What level of apology does the server or restaurant owner owe to these people?  We’re sorry your experience was unpleasant.  Which is what these ladies did, and did it with class.  Yet, the table of people would not let it go.  It was just…a shitty way to treat others.  And completely unnecessary.  I realize everyone wants to shout their opinions from a mountaintop these days, but seriously folks, you could have just left.   I’m glad I know you are batshit crazy now.  So glad.

I know this post is without my usual humor so far, but here’s where I lose my logical, calm demeanor.


I don’t have a problem with your dog being here, sitting quietly, under a table.  You know, under your control.   I don’t have a problem with your dog eating leftovers out of a styrofoam container directly outside the restaurant.  I DO have a problem with you being fucking disrespectful when a business owner asks you to stop an action they perceive as distracting or non-compliant.  I also have a problem with your dog wandering about this classy joint.  We’re not on a patio.  And even if we were, how do you know if I do or do not have a fear of or allergy to dogs?  It is just disrespectful to treat this establishment as you would, say, your living room.

I love dogs.  I love people.  I firmly side with the restaurant.  They had every right to ask the couple to not feed the dog in the restaurant off of their plate.  They had every right to act calmly and be assertive when it came to their business.  This couple was completely out of line.

That being said, I will be taking everyone I know to this restaurant to make up for the customers they may have lost due to THIS INDIAN RESTAURANT NOT BEING YOUR HOUSE.


And now, one of my all-time favorite memes from the interwebs:

Dogs gotta be dogs.
Dogs prefer shoes anyway.









Happy Bullshit Holiday: Let’s Discuss Personal Space

This will be brief.  But first, enjoy your many flowers and chocolates on this most holy of fake days.  I’M HIGH ON LIFE AND DON’T NEED GIFTS.

Thanks, work.

Now that we’ve established my superiority in the face of a table full of ridiculous confections, let’s talk about why you people feel the need to be on the same side of my desk as I am.  I’d like to point out a few things:

  • I keep it dark in my office on purpose.  It is not only much more soothing than giant-ass fluorescent lights, it is to KEEP YOU OUT.
  • I keep it approximately 85 degrees in my office on purpose.  It is not only much more soothing than the 60 degrees the office normally is, it is also designed to KEEP YOU OUT.
  • The space heater is firmly planted in between me and your path to get to me.  Why you feel the need to step directly over it and talk to me is beyond my comprehension.  WHY HAVEN’T YOUR ANKLES CAUGHT FIRE YET??

Look, I like many of you.  But today and every day, I’d like you to respect my area.  There is about a 4 to 5-foot diameter in which people who are not my close friends or my husband should see and actually FEEL.  I am trying to push you away with my mind.  It’s not because I dislike you.  It’s because no one has taught you not to be that person.  Please consider this a lesson.  You are most welcome.

Now go forth and hug everyone.

Outwitted: A Cautionary Tale

Stay in school, kids.




10.  *Some* resealable bags

9.  The Invisible UPS delivery guy

8.  My new car stereo

7.  Depending on the time, my Houdini wine bottle opener

6.  The “Premium Toppers” section at Sweet Tomatoes

5.  Genghis Grill’s new “pay at the table” system

4.  Genghis Grill’s new “write your name on this card and we’ll BRING YOUR FOOD TO YOU” system

3.  Cage-free egg containers

2.  Unfamiliar ATM machines


1.  This piece of shit fancy bike pump

Schwinn 5-in-1 bullshit pump
Fuck you, man.

Let Me Entertain You

A conversation between my husband and I the other night: 

Him:  Did you just take a shower?  Didn’t you take a shower 2 hours ago?

Me:  Yes.  But it’s easier than washing my face in the sink.


A conversation regarding watching television: 

Daisy:  Have you watched Community or some other network show I can’t remember the name of right now?

Me:  Nah.  I don’t watch network TV.  Ever.

Daisy:  You should.  You are missing some good shows.

Me:  I refuse to FF through the commercials.

Daisy:  That statement alone makes you the laziest person in the entire world.


A text conversation between an unnamed friend and me that JUST HAPPENED:

Friend:  I’m drinking by myself now.  I’ve turned into you.

Me:  …


Pegleg: Slower Than You!

As I hobble to my makeshift workstation at the kitchen table with a pan of Stove Top in one hand and a shredded facial tissue in the other, I ask myself:

Self, am I depressed?

I mean, a broken fibula can mean many things to many people, as I have learned on, but the bullshit that you go through on the day-to-day while cooped up in your house can feel slightly oppressive at times.  When the only audience you have for your outbursts are a overly-hyper dog and a lazy motherfucker of a cat, the feedback one gets is somewhat lacking.  Between the blank stares of the cat and the constant gnawing of the dog on his magical rawhide bone, far too busy to look up, I’m not sure they even know I’m here.

Oh, I’m working.  This working-from-home thing is a blessing and a curse.  Besides that, who only takes off one day for a broken leg?  Me, that’s who.  Who is also severely lacking in judgement?  OK, don’t answer that.  I’ve been stuck in an uncomfortable stabilizing boot for 3 long weeks and if I’m lucky, I’ll get out of it next week.

Week 1:  I was totally putting on makeup and dressing in real-ish clothes every day.


Week 2:  Attempting and failing at looking normal, I instead just stayed angry at my laptop.

Learn to write an email, assholes.

 Week 3:  Complete Decline of all Civilization.

Who the fuck cares anymore. Not me. I look awesome.

And I guess that’s what really makes being broken, in its own way, a little beautiful and somewhat bittersweet.  I may be eating a pan of Stove Top for lunch, but trust me, you’re sleeping better than I am.  Plus 1 for Stove Top, minus 1 for no sleep.  I may not be able to outrun you for your candy, you don’t have Norco.  Minus 1 for being slower than a 90-year old, plus 1 for drugs.  I may be a completely miserable bitch 99.9% of the time at present, but I get to be that way in a robe at 2pm while drinking IF I WANTED TO.  Minus 1 for miserable bi-…

wait, there’s no minus there.

Werdz: Not Rocket Science, NPR

The other day, I was driving home listening to NPR as I am wont to do on most days.  I listen to NPR because honestly, all the other news radio sucks even worse than theirs does.  I try to mostly listen to the BBC (usually always error-free because they are BRITISH) or the non-news programming, whatever.  I don’t need to explain away my shameless abuse of public radio to you.  I had a giant meltdown with NPR 3 years ago and our relationship has never been the same.  But I digress.

I am listening to NPR, and I SWEAR TO BABY JESUS, the reporter says this word:


At least I think that’s the word she’s trying to say, because she pronounces it like this:


Long i sounds on the last two syllables.


Look, I’m not an asshole.  That’s a word with which not everyone is familiar.  I’m not going to hold a normal person responsible for maybe never having seen that word before, and having trouble their first go-round with it.  But you are a reporter, ma’am.  Saying words can be possibly difficult at times but aren’t you supposed to practice that shit?

Let me just list the words that radio and TV people get wrong all the time:

ET CETERA:  It’s Latin, folks.  Quit fucking it up.  A dead language cannot rise up and defend itself.  There’s no ECK.

HEIGHT:   It is always this word.  There is no “th” on the end.  Ever.  EVER.

MOOT:  Moot and mute are two different words that do not mean the same thing.  Stop it.  It drives me absolutely batshit crazy.

ORIENTATE:  Not. A. Fucking. Word.

RESPITE:  Again with the long iiiiiiii’s.  Noooooooooooooo.

and last, but oh, not least, and the timeless classic:


Just, uh, insert mushroom cloud here.