Color Printer Speaks

All I ask of  my electronic devices is that they are respectful of the person who swiped her Am Ex card in order to give them a nice home.

Greedy, with bad attitudes, color printers are  the divas of technology. Mine does not have a whisper of gratitude for joining the groupies in my little slice of techie heaven.

Like a naughty tyke who refuses to finish a glass of milk, it never uses every drop of  ink. It whines for new ink before the wrappers hit the recycle bin. It doesn’t buy into the guilt trip of starving children in China. It came from China and knows there are no starving children there.

I didn’t realize how bossy mine was until the other day when it  demanded  yellow ink.  The cyan, magenta and black ink were humming right along with a reasonable level of saturation.

The printer screamed for me to open its ink chamber. After three broken nails and a skinned knuckle, I disemboweled the yellow ink cartridge. Confident in my progress, I charged ahead and zipped open the new cylinder of yellow ink. Big mistake. The printer refused to accept its hierarchy in my realm of devices. It launched a full-scale rebellion by screaming “please shut the door”.  An ominous warning that I must use the name brand ink flashed repeatedly across the LED screen of the printer.printer


Printers are as snobbish as project runway models. They refuse to perform if you  install ink other than their “recommended manufactured brand”. Well, it didn’t know who it was dealing with.  I had  refused to buy designer jeans for teenagers. There was no way I was buying brand name printer ink.

I knew it was holding out for the designer ink, but I was in no mood for challenges from a machine. After much jiggling, rattling and adjusting,  I jammed the cylinder into its appointed slot.

I guess I showed it. The printer prints and offers no resistance to the “off label” ink it is forced to use.

Devices should never argue with a woman who refused to buy designer jeans for sulky teenagers.


How Cloop Bands ruined my life

This week’s guest blogger is Sybil M. Katz


This is a public service announcement to all felines.

I had a  wonderful life ruling my humans until they bought Cloops.

It was so much fun to swing from the maze of wires that connect the human’s computers to the internet and printers. Watching them as they try to figure out what happened when stuff doesn’t work was a blast.

Humans aren’t smart. They don’t look for the obvious. It took them forever to figure out their machines were not connected to anything.

It was fun watching them put all that stuff back together. This gave me time to perfect my trapeze act soon as it was all re-connected.

Wireless is  an oxymoron. Nothing comes without a wire these days, even the smart television. The wires that come out of the back of that device are an acrobats dream. I could swing all day.

I moved on to the lamps. This requires a level of skill that few felines acquire, but I am the exception. I can swat the electrical cord, tilt the lampshade at an alarming angle and still not overturn the lamp. That requires finesse.

I should have realized I was pushing the envelope when I moved on to the bedroom. The cords to the electric mattress warmer proved to be my waterloo. I managed to knock the connection loose and voila no warm bed. My favorite human’s face turned red and I was afraid he was going to forget my bedtime snack.

I overheard the humans talking about some gadget called a Cloop . My control freak human loves them because the Cloop keeps everything organized and she is a control freak. My favorite human likes them because they work so much better than Velcro or duct tape. That man loves his duct tape.

The Cloop ruined my life.



Protecting Men’s Health

Congress has obsessed over women’s health  for the past eight years. Their failure to address men’s health issues is appalling.

Not one single congressional representative has taken the initiative to protect the health and welfare of men. So far, the attention in congress has focused on women’s health issues. Keeping men safe is just as important. Isn’t it curious that men aren’t protesting this inequity?

Even pro-lifers might agree that “life” actually begins with men. Without their contribution, nothing is going to take place in the uterus. Don’t men deserve the same reproductive rights that women enjoy?

I believe a logical first step is to ensure the male contribution is worthy of propagation. Before turning those little swimmers loose, check ’em out. A sonogram could determine those that are fit for travel. We all know a sonogram isn’t that big a deal, right? I’ll bet Carly Fiorina would be willing to make a public service video.

What if the swimmers prove too defective to travel?   virus-312663_1280

This is where the life issue gets murky. We are talking about potential personhood. A man and his doctor aren’t the best qualified to determine the appropriate course of action in this situation.

Who would decide if a vasectomy was in order?

Where would the procedure take place?

Where would poor and uninsured men seek treatment?

There is nothing to protect men from rape/incest accusations. The obvious answer is a microchip. Yes siree, plant that device you know where and baby daddy can’t hide.

I am surprised Ted Cruz or Mike Huckabee hasn’t been all over this.

Email Inbox Suggestions

Snowden may have been right about cyber spying. My email inbox is crammed with  suggestions that range from How to Get Rid of Trapped Belly Fat to preventing dingy everything. How do they know my belly fat not only is trapped, it does not intend to vacate the premises. Lord knows I’ve sent it eviction notices for years but it refuses to leave.

Our wine glasses may be dingy, but I figure if you put enough alcohol in the glass by the time it is empty its consumer doesn’t care. Plan B is if I drink enough wine, then I don’t care and problem solved.

My issue is how does someone know about my perceived shortcomings? I don’t use my web cam, so no one can see my belly fat or dingy wine glasses.

I really got creeped out when I saw the email about sagging underarms from a plastic surgeon in LA. How did he know? Then there was the missive regarding crepey skin. (I wonder if the doc in LA would do a twofer.)

I am getting suspicious about my online shopping suggestions from the grocer. They seem to know when I am running out of items and bingo – I get an email. How do they know how much olive oil I use and when I need to purchase more?

There are emails that want a bazillion dollars for a subscription to their site so I can keep my brain active. My brain is active enough to recognize when a snake oil salesman is attempting to fleece it.

Almost daily I receive an email warning. Genetically modified food scares me, the other stuff does not. (I wonder if GMO’s are the reason I have belly fat, sagging underarms and crepey skin.)

I have unsubscribed to every newsletter I can think of, but they still come in waves, overloading my inbox, There is the pitch for must-have items for carry-on bags, policy updates from Paypal, propaganda to upgrade cable service.

I don’t require email suggestions as there are other options for discovering my imperfections. I was standing by the Halloween display at Home Depot waiting for my beloved. Some kid walked up, tugged on my shirt and asked his mother if they could buy the chubby witch.

I’m getting a haircut and emailing the plastic surgeon in LA.

Fall Returns with Squirrels, Nuts and Fashion

Ted Cruz, our neighborhood squirrel has returned to the cypress tree outside our patio.

Like his namesake, he has been absent from the workplace collecting nuts.

He promised to keep the grackles away but abandoned us for more lucrative opportunities. This week he returned to his location in the top of the tree assuring his dominance over the morning doves who stuck it out during the heat.

The squirrel’s return is a signal fall must be on the way.

Daylight savings time will end soon (although not soon enough) and Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday is in sight.

The calendar designates January 1 as the beginning of the New Year. But my new year begins with the first day of Fall. There is a sense of anticipation that something exciting is about to happen. Maybe it is an anniversary phenomenon of recalling the first day of school and new beginnings.

Fall is time to inventory the wardrobe. I have zero interest in current fashion trends. I don’t like the schizoid merchandising that arrives each year. The combination of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah and Kwanza displays are over the top. Vowing to escape retail ugliness, I turned to the internet and hit pay-dirt my first Google search.

Forty-three style lessons learned from Carrie Bradshaw o.k.’s wearing pj’s in public:

I wear them to take out the garbage. The next suggestion was wearing pants under a dress. I haven’t done that since first grade. Girls could wear pants under a dress only if snow was six feet deep. AFTER arriving at school, we removed the pants until it was time to go home. (And no, this was not during the Civil War). When slacks became acceptable attire for women I ditched dresses. Since I no longer own a single, solitary dress, I moved on to the next search.

Fifteen denim outfits you’d better make sure you have in your closet for fall:

Sounded like a winner. I was wrong. $1000.00 for a pair of culottes is insane. Name one person who looks good in culottes. They look like costume rejects from the movie Tobacco Road. I did not look at the other fourteen outfits.

Twenty-four fashion hacks every woman needs to know:

Lame. For instance, moleskin for under-wire bra poke out. Just yank out the wire and you’re good to go. It got worse; how to remove oil on leather pants. Oil and lots of it is the only way I would ever get leather pants ON.

I am reverting to my tried and true fall wardrobe. It never fails me. A trench coat, a scarf and a huge pair of sunglasses hide sweats and wireless bras.

While I sit on the patio and watch the leaves turn I may even toss Ted a peanut or two.

Back to the Fifties

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.  (George Santayana  12/16/1863 – 10/26/1952)

I grew up in the south during an era when children were cautioned not to speak in the presence of adults. Violations of that rule brought forth a swift reminder that “Children are to be seen and not heard.” I discovered that years later the same rule pretty much applied to women.

In the fifties, high school home economics promoted the domestic arts for girls. It covered all areas of domestic drudgery, cooking, cleaning and sewing. Civic and social science classes did not cover the history of the suffrage movement.

Women’s magazines filled page after page with cooking and house keeping tips. In our spare time, we could find ways to be more beautiful, more interesting and focus on the man in our life.
Television comedies featured a hapless woman involved in a domestic crisis. The plot line usually fell along the lines of the woman getting into a jam and preventing her hubby from finding out about it. Programs like “Father Knows Best” reinforced the concept that the male was the authority in the household.

The same limits that ruled our behavior as children followed us as adults and our opinions counted for little else other than amusement. We had babies, cooked, cleaned and supported our spouse’s efforts.

If our spouse’s behavior was not within the confines of the marital agreement, somehow we were inadequate or failed to hold his interest. Options for escape were limited and often resulted in deprivation for our children.

Women discovered an unequal workplace balance sheet. Men who were outspoken and opinionated occupied the home court position as go-getters. Women with those qualities were smart asses or ball busters. Human resource departments waltzed around anti-discrimination laws with a wink and a nod from management.

Many of the benefits women enjoy today are the result of those who worked to bring about change. We are in danger of losing many of those rights. Elected officials demonstrate an overwhelming desire to return to the fifties. Potential candidates’ platforms almost exclusively focus on limiting women’s rights.  Lack of participation and apathy mark us as easy prey.

In Texas, one-third of eligible voters vote. We are not likely to find  a candidate who fulfills all of our requirements, but we must support the one who will defend our rights.

Aside from poodle skirts and rock and roll, there isn’t all that much about the fifties most women would care to revisit.

Southern Food and Dr. Weil

Dr. Weil declared southern food safe! I knew it was only a matter of time before a medical expert confirmed what southerners already know. Our food is exceptional and just as healthy as other regional cuisine.

Dr Weil sanctioned fried chicken. It’s about time. Fried chicken is addicting. Only a hard nose whose taste buds have rigor mortis can resist it.

Southerners are not backwoods hillbillies tooling around Walmart with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a moon pie in the other. Most southerners today have never tasted possum, squirrel or other members of the rodent family.

As a lifelong southerner, I question the character of anyone who turns up their noses at grits. People who refuse to eat grits have a serial killer or worse somewhere in their family tree. Who can pass up shrimp and grits? Spicy foods have health benefits. Just douse those grits with a healthy dose of Tabasco and you got health food.

Chicken fried steak is awesome. But, a southerner would never serve it with the strange white glop that restaurants pass off as gravy. Steak gravy is always brown and served over mashed potatoes and biscuits.

I’ll bet  the snobs who turn up their noses at collard greens are closet junkies and eat them with the lights off and blinds pulled.

I will go on record and state ribs are healthy. Mostly bone, a person would have to consume pounds, and pounds of them to get that cholesterol jacked up. Besides, they are protein and lord knows our bodies need protein.

Don’t even get me started on chili. No one who lives North of Texarkana, Texas should ever attempt chili. Chili made with beans is heresy to a Texan.

Dr. Weil did not offer  “healthy” versions of our cuisine. Southerners know that substituting ingredients  to make our comfort foods healthy always succeeds.

And the reason is – no one will eat it.


I wonder about some strange things.  For instance:

What happened to natural red heads? You rarely see a red head anymore.

Why do homely people have beautiful children?

Why do beautiful people have homely children?

When was the last time you saw a kid with freckles?

Why do all cars look alike?

Why does the car stop making ratchata ratchata noise the minute you drive in the repair shop?

Why does the supermarket jack up the price of healthy low carb bread?

What happened to fireflies?

Why does your hair turn from wonky to perfect the day you have an appointment to get it styled?

Why does the Doctor weigh you fully dressed then give you the stink eye when you explain you weigh less at home?

Why is the pool at the gym empty on the day you don’t bring your suit?

Why do white slacks make your butt look like a cruise ship?

Why does the dinner entree that got rave reviews from family, turn out not to be fit for dingos when you prepare it for guests?

Why is there never a cop around on the days all the loonies are out in force?

Why do  smart ass comments hide when you really need one, then show up when you are home alone?

Why is it so hard to come up with a good lie when you don’t want to accept an invitation?

Why am I ashamed to admit sometimes books on the bestseller list don’t interest me?

Why are books at the Dollar store often  page turners?

Why aren’t bodice rippers  taught in  tenth grade literature classes? They would cover history, sex ed and literature.

Why does Ted Cruz sound like he snorted helium?

Why do politicians turn to crap the instant they win the election?

When Hell Freezes Over – First Edition

The debate participants wearing blue ties are undercover Democrats.blueties

Texas lawmakers declared the state a gun free zone.

One hundred dollar bills feature Eleanor Roosevelt.

Congress passed a bill prohibiting GMO foods in the US.

States that proximate hell in the summer outlawed daylight savings time.

Reality television ceases mainstream broadcasting and is available only on pay per view.

Republicans shifted their focus from women’s uteri to concentrate on men’s health care.

Donald Trump shaved his head.

Fox News folded due to major credibility issues.

Ken Paxton and Rick Perry begin serving time in a supermax facility.

The Pro-Life movement updates its agenda and emerges as Pro Birth.

Mike Huckabee completes his high school education.

Politicians are restricted from campaigning anywhere except YouTube.

Supermarkets fire baggers who are discourteous to customers who use cloth bags.

Koch Brothers announced they will no longer finance politicans. They are diverting their funds to Planned Parenthood.

Television commercials will appear in their entirety at the beginning of the program.

Automobile manufacturers produce a safe recall free car.

The house of representatives declared Obamacare a winner.

And—–hell just froze over.

Congress Playing Chicken with Women’s Health

Never in the history of our country has congress devoted  their attention to women. Under the guise of protecting women’s health, which in reality is a ploy to limit reproductive rights; they are willing to play chicken with a government shutdown.

Wow. Our infrastructure is crumbling. Climate change dangers are on our doorstep. We are good to go to consume unlabeled genetically modified food. Unauthorized drones threaten air travel and congress is burning up daylight to protect women.

If their intent is to protect life, here’s a shocker. In terms of reproductive issues, there is the ethical dilemma of unused embryos. Across the country a staggering amount of unused embryos rest in liquid nitrogen. There isn’t a single medical ethicist among the lot in congress to sort out this mess. Aside from the absence of intelligent life among the lawmakers, one can’t help but wonder if there is an incentive that supports ignoring this situation. The very thought of Mike Huckabee, John Cornyn or Ted Cruz proposing legislation for this situation is beyond scary.

Mike Huckabee, supports defunding Planned Parenthood but avoided answering if he’d shut down the government. He’d consider using federal troops and the FBI to stop women from having abortions. Huckabee, is a relic that harkens back to the Comstock days.

Sayeth John Cornyn, “In my state, there are eight times as many community health centers as there are Planned Parenthood facilities. I have every confidence they can absorb the legitimate health care needs of women for purposes that we all agree on, the primary health care.” The devil is in the details. The operative phrases are “legitimate health care needs” and “purposes that we all agree on”. Proof positive congress is hard at work taking care of women, if you read the small print. Cornyn failed to mention Planned Parenthood has been legislated out of existence in many communities in Texas.

Texas teabilly Ted Cruz has been campaigning for the presidency ever since being elected to the senate. His absence from congress is a gift except every time he hears the word “uterus” he races back to Washington to impress his following of crazies.

Six years of the current congress protecting women is enough. We’ll be lucky to retain our right to vote before the last of these troglodytes leave office.

The Millennials Got it Right

Born too soon and most of the time a misfit in the workplace, I finally figured out——I am a millennial.

They did not exist during my tenure of the nine to five drills. If they had, I’d have become a charter member.

A physic told me I was born under a zodiac sign that gave me the ability to work with the insane. The problem with that was the employment God selected me to work FOR the insane. At the time, Dale Carnegie was the lone self-help guru. He didn’t address surviving bosses who practiced radioactive toxic management.

A recent article in the local news addressed toxic bosses and the stress they cause. Reflecting on my checkered employment history, I had a total of  two bosses (both female) who were outstanding leaders.

The writer’s examples of a toxic environment in the workplace were lame. Wish she’d have called me.

I survived:

• The real estate company whose owner made Leona Helmsley look like the Virgin Mary. Leona went to jail. The owner of the real estate company qualified for criminal misconduct, but escaped the slammer.

• The director at a major retail establishment with an off the chart case of OCD. She cursed and flew into a rage if her documents were not type set. The fact that Microsoft offered no such software eluded her comprehension.

• The attorney who wrote briefs on the back of envelopes. Adding machine tape had to be rewound to use the back side. (And no, this was not the Victorian era.)

• The ad executive who had body odor so vile it qualified for chemical warfare. Department meetings held in his office with the door closed constituted unreasonable restraint.

• I hit the jackpot with yet another real estate owner. He also had OCD so bad he required sedation to look at a spreadsheet.

Today there are seminars on how to work with millennials. They challenge the butt-in-chair mentality and draconian rules.  It’s about time someone challenged the workplace in corporate America. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I am coming back as a millennial.

The Confederate Flag

Mary Margaret has some interesting observations about the the confederate flag.


I am a lifelong southerner, but the confederate flag holds no sense of pride for me. I am not nostalgic about the civil war.

When the confederate flag became a major news event, broadcast journalist selected the most brain challenged representative of southern culture to interview on the ten o’clock news.

These two prong fork types blather about their southern pride and the blood shed by their ancestors during the civil war. They provide evidence that some folks should never reproduce.

A Yankee wrote the tune “Dixie” in 1859 for a minstrel show in New York City. The ditty tended to romanticize daily life for all southerners. Life was anything but romantic.

Most southerners were farmers and not planters.There was nothing “civil” about the war. The southern belle image was a myth. Most southern women married farmers and lived in log cabins, not plantations. They lived in greater isolation than their northern counterparts. They were less educated, married younger, bore more children and died younger.

During the civil war, poor and working class Southern women faced starvation and begged their husbands and fathers to return from military duty.

Confederate authorities turned a cold shoulder to these requests and accused the women of a lack of patriotism. Many women took to the streets protesting the war with signs reading “Bread or Blood”.

Today Southern women are grateful we don’t have to bear the hardship of a war on our doorsteps. If steel magnolias had been in charge, we may have avoided war. Women who reared children in the wilderness, grew their own food and managed livestock were smart enough to find a work around.

If you’d ask most southern women today about the confederate flag they would agree it needs to find its place in a museum, as do those who support flying them.

The Hummer in the Waiting Room

I hate what is ghoulishly referred to as “drawing blood” when I go to the doctor. Calling the process “having labs drawn” fools no one. Even a two year old knows that is doctor speak for having some masochistic deviate plunge lances into your veins.

The lab technician begins patting and probing but my veins know what is coming and hide. The tech acts as if it’s my fault my veins won’t come out and make nice.

Lab waiting rooms are grim, dim and inhospitable. The atmosphere is reminiscent of a cattle vaccination run. Over crowded with people squished too close together, seated in chairs that belong in the middle rung of hell.

A tattered copy of People magazine is my guilty escape. Who will ADMIT to wanting to know Who doesn’t want to know how much money George Clooney’s new wife is spending on designer duds and if she signed a prenup? It is a trashy Zen pleasure that diverts your attention from what is about to happen.

I settled down into heretofore-mentioned hard chair with trashy publication in hand. Poised to check out the index page and get to the ugly stories first, I detected a humming sound. Thinking my ears were having an out of body experience, I strained to determine the source.

The woman seated to my right was completely captivated by her ability emulate the sound LED light bulbs make. It was like sitting next to a giant mosquito, the annoying kind that flits around your ear and manages to escape air slaps and taunt you with their mini buzz.

A polite cough failed to halt her monotone buzz. A carefully executed half turn in the chair with my use-in-public stink eye scowl was wasted. Murdering her with a room full of witnesses did not seem prudent. The vampire beckoned to her just in time saving me from committing a felony.

I think diagnostic lab waiting rooms should offer flavored water, soothing music and leave me to discover George Clooney’s new wife’s decorating extravagance hum free.



How Do Hipocrites Behave When No One is Looking?

Hipocrites and Duty
Hipocrites and Duty

Elected officials who refuse to issue a marriage license based on their religious beliefs are grandstanding, intolerant hypocrites with a huge dose of ignorance tossed in. Aside from refusing to perform the duties of the office they hold, they illustrate what happens without the practice of separation of church and state.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and hypothesize if their religion doesn’t support same sex marriage, there’s a good chance they take that admonition in Leviticus literally and avoid gay people like the plague. Out of sight of demographic pandering  how far will these wannabe zealots go to support their “religious belief.”

If the hillbilly county clerk in Knee Jerk, Texas is as religious as she claims what are the limits of her comfort zone in adhering to her religious beliefs?

Can we assume she refuses to patronize businesses owned by those same people she won’t issue a license. How much of a vetting process does she do to avoid commerce with gay people? How does she handle her religious beliefs when no one is looking?

Gays are sitting ducks when applying for a marriage license, not so much so in commerce. In order to be  true to her religious beliefs, does she limit her accessibility to fashion, entertainment, cosmetics and literature, art and  restaurants?

Is she willing to query healthcare providers such as dentists, eye care professionals, hospital caregivers and physical therapy? Let’s say she finds herself in the emergency room with a big old heart attack. Is she going to inquire as to the Doc’s sexuality prior to consenting to treatment? I’m betting no siree bub.

If your behavior denies someone his or her rights because of your religion, then at least be consistent.

Otherwise, it’s simply an exercise in petty wielding power and religion has nothing to do with it.

Chronology of the Uncommon Cold

I passed by the mirror and there appeared a vision resembling W.C. Fields in drag. It had a large bulbous red nose and baggy eyes. Its hair resembled the mop that Crazy Eyes talks to on oitnb (Orange is the New Black). Closer observation revealed the vision was me—day four of THE UNCOMMON COLD.

Day one: Noted slight tickling sensation in the back of the throat. Evening ration of adult beverage quelled tickling sensation. No further attention required.

Day two: Throat felt like I had swallowed a bucket of rusty nails followed by a kerosene chaser. Favorite coffee beans yielded beverage that tasted like Worcestershire sauce gone bad. Evening ration of adult beverage downgraded to surefire cure of turmeric and garlic soup.

Day three: Early morning wake up due to lack of oxygen. Sore throat is gone; replaced by totally blocked nasal passages. Turmeric and garlic soup tossed down garbage disposer. Hang head over steaming teakettle. Gasping for air; head to shower to steam; mixed results. Resigned to spending day with neti pot and Vicks.

Day four: Two AM wake up due to lack of oxygen accompanied by wracking cough. This cough brings new meaning to having one’s lungs turned inside out. Three childbirths and two root canals pale in comparison to the agony of this cough. I am certain in the annals of coughing no one has ever experienced this degree of cough pain. Whoever said, “Things look darkest just before dawn”, flat out lied. By dawn, my outlook turned darker – my chest felt like demons had used it for a punching bag.

Hubby moved to the other bedroom. The cat refused to look at me as she drug her scratching post to the darkest remote corner of the house.

Medical science can treat STD’S in nanoseconds. A heart attack can be diagnosed in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. It’s 2015 and there is no cure for the UNCOMMON COLD.

Texas Open Carry Nuts

I’m not supposed to say this, but I believe Texas open carry proponents are proof positive the state needs to do more about caring for people with mental health issues. Some people may have a legitimate business reason to carry a weapon, but most of the ammo nuts do not fall into that category.Gun Nut

When the new gun law goes into effect in 2016 a trip to the mall will present challenges. People who insist on packing heat while shopping are more interested in making a statement than making a purchase.

What will a  gunslinger wear to the mall? Louis Vuitton and Armani offer shoulder holsters for the well heeled. Budget minded shoppers who are more familiar with the blue light special shopping experience can buy one online from Amazon for $10.60.

Imagine driving into the underground parking garage of a giant shopping mall and find yourself in the midst of folks totin’ guns.

  • Will retail associates start wearing flak vests?
  • What’s a personal shopper to do when confronting a difficult client who is a pistol-packing mama?
  • Will there be signs on the dressing room doors asking customers to remove firepower before trying on the St. John Knits?
  • Will folks hauling a Smith and Wesson get a table faster at Maggiano’s?
  • Will those who work in the Baccarat crystal department receive combat pay?

The paranoia of people who rant about their 2nd amendment rights and are too afraid to leave their house without a gun need therapy, just not the retail kind.

Two Sides to Every Story and Other Clichés

When I  have suffered an outrageous injury I vent to someone I believe will be supportive of me. I don’t expect, nor want to hear, “There are always two sides to every story”. My first instinct is to agree, “you are correct, MY side and the WRONG side”.

The holier-than-thou  goes on to offer some lame explanation of what caused the behavior/action that is supposed to absolve the perpetrator. Or, rattle off the old saw about ancient history and letting go.

Rather than argue the semantics of bad behavior attributed to alcohol/drugs/ignorance/poverty/entitlement, I grit my teeth. Some actions are so egregious they don’t pass the smell test for “the other side of the story” consideration.

The two sides blah blah blah theory is usually offered by someone who isn’t directly affected by the actions of the offending party. If you don’t have skin in the game, it’s easy to be generous with theories.

When tides turn and crapola visits the holier-than-thou, sensitivities change. Their altruistic theories reverse. They are oh so eager to tell you their side of the story.

This is an  opportunity to be generous and turn the other cheek. The problem with that is even as a wee child I had a huge problem with turning the other cheek. It’s weak and lame and why would I do that? I have zero interest in being saintly.

Sometimes the universe presents us with the opportunity to get even, or  I prefer to think of it as what happens when the shoe is on the other foot. The  cliché I  believe in is paybacks are hell. Forget what your mom told you about turning the other cheek. Listen to that devil sitting on your shoulder.angel-489524_1280 (2)

Remind the former holier-than-thou, “There are two sides to every story.”

I Gave a Driver a Middle Finger Salute

I knew it was crude, rude and WRONG, but I did it anyway. I gave the other driver a middle finger salute.

It all started when I dropped off a friend at the library. I paused in the left-hand turn lane, waiting for either the oncoming traffic to subside or the arrow to turn green. Neither was happening quickly enough for the driver behind me.  The youngish women in the Volvo convertible leaned down on the horn, and as I looked in the rear view mirror, she gave me the hands up shrug, a major eye roll and pushing sign. She assumed I am blind and hearing impaired.

I drive a Honda. By external appearances, I appear to be and, in fact, am, someone’s granny. Dwelling in a demographic group that is pigeon-holed as no longer prime, I’ve become accustomed to faces registering apathy. I don’t mind the checkers at the supermarket assuming I arrived in the van  with the group from the retirement center, but I draw the line at another driver browbeating me into making an unsafe driving decision.

At that moment, I came to understand road rage. I really wanted to get out of my car and bitch slap her stupid, but instead I did something stupid and flipped the bird.

The light changed, I turned and pulled into the library parking lot and wouldn’t you just know it…..she did too. Then a strange thing happened, she completely disappeared. She must have morphed into a puff of smoke and wafted into the library. I didn’t plan to confront her, but I wasn’t above giving her a Lady Violet stare down. She totally vanished, probably cowered behind the trashy novels.

The obvious question is what I would have done, had the rude driver behind me been driving a behemoth pick up truck, Hummer or an Escalade with dark tinted windows.

I think if I’m honest with myself I have to conclude I’d have done nothing, which is what I’ll do next time.

Right-Wing Insanity Brought to You by the Loons in Texas

Due to right-wing insanity brought to you by  loons aka the Texas Legislature, we can rest assured we are safe from them aggravatin’ wimmen and gays. We got guns!

A measure that would forbid state or local governments from using public money to issue same-sex marriage licenses failed. Underscoring  the state of Texas views, the Senate passed a resolution reaffirming the state’s opposition to same-sex marriage.  How’s that for keeping government out of folks business?

A priority item that  sped to Gov. Abbott’s desk was  banning the trade of shark fins in Texas. One legislator noted shearing shark fins for sale as “the worst thing you can do to this animal.” I agree with the person who stated its passage was a professional courtesy.

Texas women rank somewhere below sharks and prisoners. Republicans were successful in ousting Planned Parenthood from the Breast and Cervical Cancer Services program, which provides cancer screenings for uninsured women. Take heart though; the Gov reiterated  Texas will work hard  to follow the federal prison rape law.

Texans may now rest easy secure in the knowledge, folks can haul shootin’ irons in plain sight to Kroger and scare the hell out of the Monday shoppers from the retirement home.

If you are a student or thinking about going back to school, campus carry passed but is restricted to certain areas. One individual (whose I.Q begs the question how did he qualify for college) complained he would have to leave campus and go to the parking lot between classes to fetch his gun several times a day.

Not to worry;  Abbott earmarked forty-million dollars in the state budget to attract major researchers, including Nobel laureates, to our state’s public universities.

Texans rejoice! We can watch the electric meter continue to spin in the 9 PM daylight blazing heat. We can text while driving, with our holstered Smith and Wesson provided we don’t suffocate breathing unsafe air and our levees  don’t weaken and whisk us away in the flood waters.

An Open Letter to a Jackass

The Jackass
The Jackass

Dear Jackass:

You thought no one saw you as you walked your dog without its leash violating city and home owner association codes.

When you took a green poop bag from the dispenser, did you believe it relieved you from  PICKING UP the poo?  You forgot to whistle as you casually scoped the area to see if you were observed when you stuffed  the unused poop bag into the farthest reaches of your cargo shorts.

Striding forth, confident in your ability to deceive, you were positive no one saw your dog making deposits all over the common areas of our neighborhood. The dog’s stance indicated it was not eliminating liquid waste.

You had no concern for the  curly-haired tot who followed shortly behind you and the remnants of your pooch.

Toddlers can overly excite animals. What would you do if your unleashed dog decided to attack? Would you have relinquished the beverage that you were  guzzling in time to save her from harm?

At neighborhood association meetings, you steamroll other members citing your overblown security fears. You have a self-absorbed sense of entitlement that is patently offensive.


Do you believe none of your neighbors has the technical savy to record and post a video of you and your pooch online?

Well, maybe not this time……….

I wouldn’t have to post your name and doggie DNA is unnecessary.

The entire neighborhood recognizes your worn out topsiders and tacky, white shirt with the black palm trees on the back.


Body Parts Stage Revolt

Each passing year my body parts stage a revolt. This happens like clockwork after each birthday.

Every year shortly before my birthday, my assorted body parts have a planning meeting to determine who is staging the annual revolt.

It goes something like this:

Chin: I am not budging another inch. I gave birth to twins four years ago. Count me out.

Neck: I have to hide from November through the end of December every year or risk being mistaken for a featherless turkey. I’m applying for the witness protection program.

Boobs: We’re not participating. There’s a shortage of wire and the lingerie sales clerk at Macy’s runs when she sees us coming.

Upper arms: We are tired from all that flapping in the breeze. She’s started to lift weights and we hurt. We’re claiming a medical exemption.

Abdomen: I retired after the birth of the third child. Take me out of the loop.

Butt: Don’t look at me. I slid halfway to her knees two years ago.

Thighs: Well I’m not leaving the house wearing all this cottage cheese.

Hair: Damn, It’s my turn. I can make life interesting for her.

Sure enough, the day after my recent birthday, my hair turned on me.

I don’t mind having white hair and I suppose I should be relieved I’m not bald, but I have curls!

I could do without the curls. I’m not a curls type of woman. Curls are not becoming on women of a certain age.

I purchased hair products Justin Bieber would kill to own. None of them solved my dilemma. In desperation, I went to my hairstylist who threw up her hands and informed me I’d just have to go with it.

My coiffure resembles a chrysanthemum.

I look like Mrs. Santa Claus in drag. I already had her shape.

I’ll bet my ears are just hanging around growing and growing and waiting for next year.

Car Seats and Free Range Parenting

I watched the young mother put her two toddlers into their van. One is walking and the other travels via mom’s hip. Her silhouette indicates that soon there will be another tyke to haul to the car.

The amount of baggage required to take two small children in the car is enough to make going anywhere an epic event. Two small children require two car seats and an automobile large enough to accommodate them in a rear seat. Once they arrive at their destination, the tots are unstrapped and transferred to a two-passenger stroller confined by a safety strap. Only after a fold up buggy is unfurled from the trunk of the car are mom and kiddos ready to shop. The family added a larger SUV most likely to accommodate the anticipated bundle of joy.

It’s too much. An ordinary trip to the supermarket today requires an itinerary. It’s a wonder kids today see the outside of their home until they start school.

Back in the seventies and eighties, our kids’ traveled and their guardian angels popped valium like candy.

The baby’s car seat perched in the front seat, next to the driver. The kid that got carsick and vomited if seated in the back seat had to sit next to the baby to keep her from howling. The oldest sat in back.

Seat belts were science fiction, but we had the next best thing. The long arm of Mom automatically thrust across front seat passengers to prevent them from hurtling through the windshield. Not only did the long arm of mom protect front seat passengers, it could reach all the way into the back seat to thump an unruly small passenger on the noggin. Back seat entertainment consisted of an etch-a-sketch and a book.

A trip to the supermarket was an exercise in endurance. We did not have the cute car carts for tots. The baby sat in the grocery cart and drooled on the celery. The other two walked on either side of the grocery cart. A gentle pinch (there is some disagreement about the torque of the pinch) reminded them not to snack on unwashed produce or sneak junk food in the cart.

As a special treat, the kids got to ride in the back of granddad’s pickup truck (The guardian angels doubled the dose of valium on those days). They bobbled up and down like Fisher Price Little Peoples. We did not worry because we told them we’d kill them if they didn’t hang on for dear life.

Somehow we all survived. The concept of free-range parenting pales in comparison.


Texas Impressions


Online comments in response to recent editorials and articles about highly publicized events make it difficult to debunk the ill-conceived impression that all Texans are inbred illiterates, with three teeth and third-grade educations.

We managed to advance our smarts percentage a notch or two. One hundred and twenty days into his first term, Gov Abbott managed to do the impossible; make Rick Perry look somewhat intelligent.

Abbott is trotting out the guard to monitor military joint training exercises in Texas. Perry told reporters before a luncheon for the World Affairs Council of Dallas/Fort Worth, “I think it’s OK to question your government — I do it on a pretty regular basis. The military’s something else.”

Chuck Norris, better known as Walker, Texas Ranger, is not Texan. He’s from OKLAHOMA. He campaigned for Governor Abbott and was compelled to join the Jade Helm 15 fustercluck. “Concerned Texans and Americans are in no way calling into question our brave and courageous men and women in uniform. They are merely following orders. What’s under question are those who are pulling the strings at the top of Jade Helm 15 back in Washington. The US government says, ‘It’s just a training exercise.’ But I’m not sure the term ‘just’ has any reference to reality when the government uses it.”

We have had military training exercises in Texas since God was a boy. Thus far, the feds have not confiscated clubs, bow and arrows, Bowie knives or rifles. The rumors were so pervasive Walmart had to issue a statement denying a conspiracy theory that the military had created a system of underground tunnels below closed Walmart outlets. Considering some of the photos of people O’Walmart, underground tunnels might not be a bad idea for all of the locations.

Texas has become fertile ground for every loony conspiracy advocate as evidenced by attendees at the American Freedom Defense Initiative. Founder/hate monger Pam Geller is from New York. The keynote speaker Geert Wilders is from the Netherlands.

We do not require outside assistance to promote lunacy. We’ve got our own set of homegrown intelligence challenged folks.

  • The Open Carry idjits defy description (see first paragraph).
  • Ted Cruz is Texas’ McCarthy wannabe. Ted may have some ‘splainin’ to do to his wing nut constituents. His Dallas campaign office neighborhood is located in a neighborhood renovated back in the 70’s and 80’s primarily by the gay community who populate most of the area.
  • Matt Schaefer, Texas Republican Lawmaker Wants Women To Carry Nonviable/Deceased Fetuses To Full Term. Ignoring the fact that a deceased fetus could have the potential to be unsafe for the health of the woman, Schaefer replied, “That’s part of the human condition when sin entered the world, and it grieves us all.”

A small amount of lithium occurs naturally in El Paso, Texas water system. Wonder if they’d share.

Birds, Squirrels and Politicians

You Know Who

Whoever came up with the term “bird brain” was way off target.

When we decided to feed the birds this past winter, we had no idea a squirrel would attempt to dominate the food supply. We named him “Ted” (as in Cruz), not very original, but apt.

Humans don’t have a monopoly on self-serving, but the birds handle it more effectively and with greater dispatch than we humans do.

The cardinals obviously consider themselves the upper one percent. They watch for the seed refill and then swoop in to scoop up the choice bits first. They must contribute heavily to Ted’s squirrel PAC since he allows them unlimited feeding at the trough. They never show up when Ted is working the feeder; guess they are ashamed to be seen in public with him. It’s fairly obvious they have a back room deal with him to keep the other birds at bay.

On a couple of occasions, Ted has failed to show proper respect to his donors and the cardinals gave him a sharp peck or two as a reminder.They don’t like it when Ted fails to act on important missions, such as keeping the sparrows away and disappears for extended periods of time.

The most gracious of our recipients are the morning doves. They wait for others to finish and don’t take more than their share.

The sparrows are diligent workers. There are many of them and they work very hard to build nests, take care of their family and keep the bugs away from the plants. They are the hard working middle class of the bird species.

Ted gets agitated when the sparrows visit the feeder. They do not contribute to his PAC and he chases them away. One or two feisty little sparrows attempted to confront Ted, but he hijacked the feeder and refused to budge.

The sparrows met in a closed-door session and developed a plan. One by one, the sparrows gathered on the patio fence in battle formation. As Ted planted his fat bushy ass squarely in the middle of the feeder, the sparrows united in a strike force initiative and took turns nipping at him.

Ted was last seen scurrying across the rooftop and there is peaceful co-existence at the bird feeder.

Maybe we need more sparrows in congress and fewer squirrels.

Change of Attitude Regarding Anti Aging


The term “Anti-aging” is tantamount to a slur. It reinforces negative perceptions and makes millions for companies that shill everything from face cream to stem cells. You never hear “pro-life” associated with the aging process. It is a subtle form of discrimination and women buy into it. Why relegate yourself to the status of a container of yogurt with a “use by date” emblazoned across your chest?

Refuse to participate in the “anti-aging” myth and accept the fact that in many instances you are going find yourself residing out of the land of the mainstream. Through no fault of your own other than tenure, you suddenly become a target for diminished expectations.

Re-allocate your resources both monetary and personal. Refuse to waste money on plastic surgery. Don’t waste YOU on anyone who attempts to marginalize.


Take advantage of the new status and age outrageously. Let your freak flag fly.

Let the wrinkles and arm fat flap. Wear tacky shoes. Wear elastic waist Capri pants. They may look like ship sails, but what do you care.

Go to the early bird dinner and ask what time the bar opens.

If it’s raining and you absolutely have to go to the mall, park in a handicap spot and limp as you drag one foot behind you. If you look ratty, most likely no one will stop you.

Reinvent history. If you have been the soul of propriety, create a different background for yourself. If you have not engaged in salacious affairs, invent some. (You might want to let your spouse in on the subterfuge lest you spend your twilight years sleeping single.) What do you care about propriety? Your in-laws always suspected there was something a bit “off” about you. At least you will have done one good deed in your lifetime and confirmed their long held beliefs.

When the sales person in Macy’s lingerie department automatically directs you to the granny panties, ask if they carry a thong in a plus size. Let ’em figure out a politically correct response to that.

When the pharmacy tech calls you “hon”, ask if female Viagra is available yet. Responses should provide entertainment to those waiting in line. No one respects the privacy boundary and everyone eavesdrops. I guarantee you will never be addressed as “hon” or “sweetie” again.

If some nut at the gym doesn’t want to share a lane in the pool, (it’s always a man) move his lap markers to indicate he’s finished because he IS.

Anti-aging is anti life.



One for the Money and a No Show for Women

One for the money, two for the show….

One for the money, two for the show is a chant used when kids start a race.

It’s the title of a movie.

It’s the first line of lyrics in a rock and roll song.

In the United States, “One for the Money” is spot on as there are only dead American presidents on our currency.

Even SYRIA has a woman on its currency.

All we got is Susan B. Anthony and Sacagawea on coins that no one remembers. Alabama put Helen Keller on the back of a 2003 quarter. Martha Washington appeared on the one-dollar silver certificate in 1886, 1891 and 1896.

Some writer commented thus far no women in American history measured up to Alexander Hamilton or Benjamin Franklin. He advocates waiting until a woman is elected president, proves she is great and dies. Neither Hamilton nor Franklin served as president proving once again women are held to different standards than men. Did I mention the writer is a nut job?

This omission reinforces gender bias, adds additional height to the glass ceiling and speaks volumes about income inequity.

Women drive most of the daily purchase decisions. According to 2012 data, fifty-seven percent of us were in the workforce and yet, not one female face graces the bacon we bring home.

President Obama said he thought it was a good idea to put women on currency. I think he should make this happen post haste and who gives a damn if John Boehner gets all bent out of shape.

There has been discussion about putting a woman’s picture on the twenty-dollar bill. Considering how long we’ve had to wait to even have a discussion about women on currency I think they should grace both twenty and one-hundred dollar bills.

My nominees would be Sacagawea, Margaret Sanger, Harriet Tubman, Susan B. Anthony and Eleanor Roosevelt.

None of these candidates were elected to any public office, but they all proved they were great and that is more than we can say about some of our presidents, dead and living.

I Survived Being Embarrassed in Neiman Marcus

Ever had that nightmare where you appear in public in your underwear?   John Hain

My nightmare occurred fully dressed in Neiman Marcus’ downtown Dallas store.

At the time I worked there in cramped quarters sequestered away from the main store. Our department’s function was to make sure Chanel looked like Chanel and the store maintained its elegant ambience.

My boss was the devil who didn’t wear Prada. Arriving to work in her Jaguar, she swept into the office swathed in mink. What she lacked in status she excelled in her ability to kiss the behind of whoever was in charge of the store.

Two men and I served as her staff hostages. She had zero common sense, even worse communication skills and no reservations about throwing us under the bus. She was mean as a badger and thrived on belittling and humiliating her staff.

On her weekly jaunt to inspect the various departments of the store, it was my job to follow her and take notes. The salespeople had no clue I disliked her as much as they did and damned me by association. Shopping in the store required nerve, but arrogant salespeople were no match for a sale combined with the employee discount. I ignored the eye rolls as I ran my fingers over the Bottega Veneta tote I would have sold the cat to own. I avoided the associate in the shoe department who behaved as though he descended from the monarchy.

Our department was not required to participate in the annual inventory, but our leader never passed an opportunity to suck up to upper management and volunteered her staff to help. The guys were assigned to inventory the shoe department and I got the Baccarat crystal.

Glass shelves lined the walls displaying acres and acres of crystal. The manager of the Baccarat greeted me with the same enthusiasm he’d extend a dead mouse.

I approached a shelf, removed a piece of crystal to note its vital statistics. In slow motion, a domino effect complimented the thunderous symphony of each glass shelf floating to the floor, sending thousands of dollars of Baccarat crystal to shards. As I stood in the middle of the sparkling, expensive volcano of crystal, I could feel every eye in the store on me. Fate could have smiled on me and rendered a sympathy inducing bloody gash or two, but I did not receive so much as a scratch. A prayer to vaporize went unanswered and I was stuck at the scene of the crime.

Investigation revealed the display was improperly mounted. It was an accident waiting to happen. It could have happened to anyone, even my evil boss, but no one other than the employees within earshot would ever know this.

The next day I dreaded going to work and facing the devil and her scathing review of the inventory caper.  When I arrived at work, a basket of broken glass topped by a big bow sat on my desk, along with an invitation to lunch from my two work companions. Our boss did not utter a word.

Showing up in public in your lingerie ain’t that big a deal.





The Church Lady

The current flap in Indiana and Arkansas reminded me how easy it is to offend everyone. This  post offended everyone in July 2010, and again in 2013 .


A church lady in DC requested her donations be returned because the church she attends permitted a gay wedding. She defended her position citing biblical admonitions. Bibliophiles gnash their teeth when the Old Testament has rules and the New Testament has loopholes. 

Can you imagine God calling Moses into his office and saying, “Hey Mo, didn’t I tell you to leave out that controversial paragraph in Leviticus, because one day we might have to spin it?”

Demanding refunds could establish dangerous precedents. I foresee a church financial failure requiring a government bailout.

Some people might want a refund for their donation if:
         The Village People Sing the Processional

The homophobes may cease to support their financial pledges.

 ·         The Church Contributes to the Homeless

They don’t work, why should they receive assistance?

 ·        A Funeral Service is Held for a Fallen from the Flock

A dead non-believer is a huge financial drag in lost revenue.

 ·         The Pastor Does not Maintain Parity with the Members

He should keep a tally of the member’s contributions and adjust his time accordingly.

 ·         Someone from a Different Denomination shares Communion

They don’t contribute. You don’t know what they believe, so why should they get to dip into the host.

 ·         Someone Does not Wear Their Sacred Undergarments

Have an usher at the church entrance do a quick booty check. If someone is caught with naught, they gotta ante up to cover the cost of refunds.

 ·         Someone is Discovered Dancing

My deceased Southern Pentecostal auntie predicted dancing would lead to wearing shorts, mixed bathing would soon follow and a speedy trip to hell a certainty. 

The church lady in DC is working with an attorney to see if She can file retroactive claims.