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Month: February 2018

Not Feeling The Love At the Supermarket Check Out

The courtesy clerk a.k.a. bag person at the supermarket appeared organized and efficient as he gathered extra plastic bags and placed them on a stand ready for use.

My first thought when I observed a mature worker was, at last, an employer who does not practice age discrimination. (Recent demographic publications state the term “matures” is less offensive than “senior citizens.”)

My admiration was short lived.

I handed him my cloth bags and in return received a withering look that would have sent a less mature woman slinking away to the self check-out line. He was a total jackass.

I picked up a bag and began helping. Most sackers, sack personnel, bag people or whatever their title is are jovial and appreciate the help. This dude made a hand gesture for me to speed up my operation.

First of all, he hurled a shrink-wrapped bundle of paper towels into the bottom of the buggy and placed a gallon of distilled water in with my seafood purchases. During the entire checkout process, he muttered, groused and shook his head.  I needed a linebacker to carry the heavy bags.

He was the most disagreeable person I’ve encountered since yesterday when the right wing jerk at the gym gave me the stink eye.

Age and life experience are supposed to bring a certain measure of grace and tolerance. This person was living proof of why older people are sometimes avoided. Maybe age had nothing to do with it and, he was always a jerk who had perfected his skill.

Or possibly the supermarket job was beneath his level of expertise. This could be a survival job for him. Survival jobs for the young and hopeful turn into something quite different for older folks. Had the universe had been unkind to him?

Still, I was proud of myself when I decided not to roll the grocery cart over his foot as I left the store.

Karmic justice can be rough. If trickle down economy fails AGAIN, I want positive vibes should I find myself sacking grocers or ahem…..a courtesy clerk.

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Not Ted Cruz Again

We finally foiled our resident squirrel, Ted Cruz who resides in a tree by our patio. A wire cage over the bird feeder thwarted his attempts to raid, befoul and gorge. The squirrel was named for his nemesis in Washington as they share many of the same qualities.

I believed the events of the past year exhausted my capacity to be shocked, angered and dismayed. I was wrong.

I hope Texans limit the number of squirrels we send to Washington in the mid-term elections.

A thoughtful, well-written piece by Todd Gillman appeared in the Dallas Morning News today.

Give it a read.

Washington currently is overrun by a squirrel population. It’s time to do some pest control.

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We’ve Seen Enough-It’s Time to Say Something-Loud and Clear

If you see something, say something…..

Open Carry/Concealed/Carry is a huge mistake; should have never become law.
Guns should be restricted to one’s dwelling for those who feel they must have them. Few individuals have a legitimate business need to carry a gun outside their home.

If you feel you need to carry a weapon to feel safe, you are screwed up. Enjoy your special challenge in the privacy of your home.

Amazon can provide most of life’s necessities. There are a variety of multi-lingual spiritual advisors on television 24/7. Stay home so the rest of us can get on with our lives without fear.

There will never be a way to exclude mental health risks from purchasing firearms.

There are far too many people who fall under the radar; those considered eccentric, different, aloof, or the nutty relative who talks to the television. Treatment for diagnosed mental illness in this country is spotty at best and the uninsured can go suck wind.

Our commander-in-chief barely satisfies the lowest common denominator of decency. His appeal and support are from that same quarter. He has done nothing to discourage gun violence.

Texans John Cornyn,  a lackey for the NRA, and Ted Cruz are a disgrace.

On the Sutherland Springs massacre, Ted Cruz quoted one of the members as saying they left their guns in the car out of respect for the church.

Cornyn’s lip service for taking some action to ban bump stocks and hold government agencies accountable for uploading relevant information to the federal background check system is laughable.

This helps exactly how? It is blatant BS band-aid treatment for a life or death issue in our society.

If politicians believe guns are necessary to carry; then they should feel fine with  citizens bringing guns into government buildings.

Let them see how comfortable they are with their distorted second amendment rights. Most of them are putting their mouth where the NRA money is.

As a sixth-generation native Texan, I have gun owner ancestors. My grandfather provided food for ten children hunting wild game. Were he alive today he would be appalled by gun owners carrying weapons for anything other than shooting deer or killing rattlesnakes. Anyone who needs an assault or high capacity loading weapon to shoot wild game should consider becoming vegan. What’s next – a rocket launcher?

Where does this senseless insanity end? Early voting in Texas begins February 20th. Do your homework. Vote out legislators who are supported by the NRA.

We need new solutions. Our generation has created a huge mess and it is killing people.


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Don’t Cry When Things Go Wrong-Do What Men Do-Head For the Nearest Bar

 Southern women were taught that crying is therapeutic; sit down and have a good cry. Get it out of your system when things go wrong.

Mary Margaret
Mary Margaret
Crying was the only option women had before Xanax therapy they could drink in public.
Duped into believing a little cold water splashed on their face concealed the ravages of a crying jag. No one mentioned the afterglow of the ugly cry; a big red nose and bloodshot eyes.

After much deliberation, I decided I’d as soon someone see me rip-roaring drunk rather than bawling like some misbegotten female in a bad soap opera. Crying is a sign of weakness and women have evolved beyond sniveling and whining.

Crying is what men expect us to do when we get upset.

No one would dream of telling a man to have a good cry and everything would be fine. Do what they do and head for the nearest bar when things go wrong.
You are going to look as awful from drinking as you would crying so you may as well drown your sorrows in an adult beverage.

After three martinis my eyes turn red. Two Irish coffees and my sinuses decongest. After four tequila shots, I start to sing and THAT sounds like the neighbor’s cat in heat. I look as bad after the booze as I do after the ugly cry.

Forget about wailing when thing go wrong. Drinking is a therapeutic option; may even prevent Alzheimer’s.

       Note: Originally published by Mary Margaret in 2014


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Little Known Facts About How To Survive When You Work For a Crazy Boss

If you think your job is crappy, how’d you like to have Sarah Huckabee Sanders job and work for a high profile crazy boss?

Sarah Huckabee Sanders deserves a break.

Think about it. She leaves three toddlers every day to go to work for a crazy boss with toddler mentality. Diapers, cheerios, and tantrums left at home, she arrives at work to grapple with poo duty, greasy KFC, and twitter tantrums.

photo by Geralt

Managing an overgrown toddler’s outbursts without the authority to enforce a timeout requires skill and cunning.

Only the fortunate or self-employed have escaped working for a crazy boss. There is no gender exception for a crazy boss, they come in both.

I’ve had a couple of bosses so unhinged I learned in order to survive, you have to do a work-around.

Heavy demands on staff, require good teamwork so that a crazy boss doesn’t screw it up for everyone. Ingenuity is essential in determining how to avoid involving the non compos mentis in charge.

Must be on good terms with the in-house tech department to ensure deleted emails get lost forever.

Outside connections are vital when the crazy boss needs to leave the premises to avoid a major screw up. A phony request for a television interview works magic. You can deal with the fall out later; it’s called taking one for the team.

Then there is the art of code language when there is no option to exclude the nut in charge. When the situation requires a diversionary tactic a raised eyebrow or a tug on the ear sends the message.

Politics and religion aside, you have to give Sarah credit for doing a difficult job. It’s obvious she has developed strategies for handling her crazy boss.

She doesn’t blink, lose her cool or hesitate when answering questions.

If she ever decides to use her powers for good and leave the forces of evil behind, think what a powerful voice for the women’s movement she would be.

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The Term “Senior Citizen” Is A Double Dealing Attempt At Political Correctness

Ban the outmoded demographic senior citizen. Ditch sleazy politicians who use the phrase as a term of endearment during an election year, then do an about face regarding “entitlements” once elected.

The phrase finder says, the American term “senior citizen” came to life in the 1930s as a euphemism for “old person.” The substitution smacks of patronization combined with a snarky attempt at political correctness.

Life expectancy in the USA in the late 1930’s was 63 years of age.

Since then older people changed.

If sixty is the new forty, then seventy must be the new fifty and eighty would be the new sixty. If one follows this logic, at what age does the dubious distinction of becoming a senior citizen kick in?

Someone recently stated ages 55 to 64 is an uncool demographic. If numbers are uncool the term “senior citizen” is way behind the times.

Sidney Poitier once told someone “I’m not who you think I am. I’m who I think I am.”

He was referring to racial profiling but the comment goes to the core of perceptions about aging.

 The new sixty hits the gym several times a week. Involved, engaged and interesting;  may still be in the workforce or have a hobby they have monetized.

Women are not decrepit, demented or dependent. The “Aunt Bea” look for mature women is dead. We are confident and fashion choices reflect that confidence.

Computer literate; we pump our own gas and are comfortable dining alone. We may or may not have grandchildren; don’t make assumptions either way.

Previous generations may have embraced senior citizen as cool, but this ain’t your mama’s retirement.

Note: Originally published October 2010



Stop Accepting "You Don’t Look Your Age" As a Compliment

It’s nice to hear “You don’t look your age,” but on reflection maybe not. The person offering that observation may have unrealistic expectations about someone’s physical appearance at a certain landmark.

A ten year old most likely believes thirty is ancient.

I don’t mind telling my age, depending on who is doing the asking and if they are on a “need to know” basis.

Others who are insensitive enough to inquire, earn a place on my “idiots and asshole prayer list,” and I give myself permission to respond accordingly.

I am eternally grateful for modern medicine, exercise, and good genes, but what am I supposed to look like at my age?

The advent of Botox and plastic surgery gives women options, adding a dynamic that makes it difficult to tell which digits one’s age reside in.

In the land before time, I remember being insulted when someone asked how I liked taking care of my baby brother when it was my first born, dangling off my bony hip. That’s almost as bad as asking a woman who ate too many potato chips when her baby is due.

I tried to remember when I first heard that comment. Was it in my late forties when my first grandchild was born? I was too thrilled over becoming a grandmother to give any thought about my age. And, I hadn’t yet experienced age discrimination in the workplace, but it would soon find me.

Who gets to decide what we are supposed to look like at any given time?

I say no one.

We have self-appointed gurus in the form of mass media marketers who hawk everything from cosmetics to geriatrics. If we permit them to be the arbiter we will continue to have unrealistic standards that inaccurately portray women in ways that range from unbelievably youthful to doddering beyond belief.

The next time someone says “You don’t look your age,” don’t be too quick to reply “Thank You.”

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