Category Archives: Mental Health

It Actually IS a GOP Sh*t Storm

We all knew it would be a shit storm when the GOP got together to nominate Donald Trump in Cleveland.  But even I didn’t think it would actually turn into a a convention hall where folks would be running for the bathrooms instead of the exits.

Apparently, though, they are.  Because the GOP doesn’t just have a shitty candidate, they have norovirus:

The virus can be caught through contact from infected people or surfaces, or through consuming contaminated food or water. Norovirus inflames the stomach, the intestines, or both. Symptoms include stomach pain, nausea, diarrhea and vomiting.  (Washington Post)

 

Of course, their candidate has been producing shit from his mouth and making the rest of the world vomit and crap their pants in fear since he announced he was running last year.  And then again each time he speaks.

But with the norovirus taking hold of the delegates, I’m wondering if Mr. Trump needs a new form of transportation to make sure those delegates fill the convention hall to listen to the crazy line up of misogynists, racists and fear mongers.

Don’t you think that they should be riding in this fine vehicle:

Stool bus from father kane

Picture Credit:  Father Kaine’s The Last of the Milleniums.  Where else?  He finds the best things.

Elections matter. 

Register. 

Vote. 

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I LOVE this Woman

I have written many posts about my heros.  Political heroes like Adlai Stevenson and RFK.  People who have spoken up and made a difference.  But my current, live version of a hero is Senator Elizabeth Warren, Democrat of Massachusets.

 

 

Run Donald run.  And I don’t mean for office.  I mean head for the hills.  I imagine there is some real estate for sale somewhere they allow misogynous white has-beens.

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Vote Out These Cowards

You’ve no doubt heard the news from last night.

The GOP voted down four different measures designed to protect you and me.  Designed to keep folks on the terror watch list from getting assault weapons.  They did this in spite of the fact that:

A new poll from CNN shows 92 percent of Americans support expanded background checks and 85 percent support preventing those on terror watch lists from buying guns. As we’ll explain in the post below, though, none of the below proposals aimed at these things are likely to pass. (Washington Post — https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2016/06/20/the-senate-will-vote-on-4-gun-control-proposals-monday-heres-everything-you-need-to-know/Emphasis added.

Senator Chris Murphy, who I am proud to say represents my home state of Connecticut in the Senate said the following:

“We’ve got to make this clear, constant case that Republicans have decided to sell weapons to ISIS,” [Senator Chris] Murphy said, using an alternative term for the Islamic State militant group. “That’s what they’ve decided to do. ISIS has decided that the assault weapon is the new airplane, and Republicans, in refusing to close the terror gap, refusing to pass bans on assault weapons, are allowing these weapons to get in the hands of potential lone-wolf attackers. We’ve got to make this connection and make it in very stark terms.” (Daily Kos — http://www.dailykos.com/stories/2016/6/21/1540914/–ISIS-has-decided-that-the-assault-weapon-is-the-new-airplane).

Senator Murphy made clear that he will look to November, to make sure that those opposed to gun sanity don’t return to the Senate.  That’s just what I’m going to do.  So here’s where to start:

All Democrats favored the Democratic version of a bill to restrict assault weapons from folks on the no fly list except the following:  Joe Manchin of West Virginia, Jon Tester of Montana, and Sen. Heidi Heitkamp of North Dakota.  ALL Republicans voted against sensible gun laws except Sen. Mark Kirk (R-Ill.)  who backed it; he voted with Democrats on all four measures.

Elections matter.

Vote the bastards who refuse to protect us

OUT OF THE U.S. SENATE

Photo from NBC News

Senator Murphy, talking about Dylan, one of the 20 6 year olds who died in Sandy Hook, CT.  Photo from NBC News

 

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This Really Gets My Goat

Do you ever want to pack it all in?  Shed these mortal coils?  Have an out of body experience?  Do you get so bored that you fantasize foreign travel, hanging out with a group of friends who won’t pester you with questions, eating a steady diet of fresh picked food, and drinking water from a mountain stream?

My inability to do that for a whole host of reasons, well, it really gets my goat.

But I think I can honestly say that when I consider having out of body experiences, when I think of packing it in, and when I contemplate shedding these mortal coils, I can’t even approach, neigh, fathom what Thomas Thwaite did.

Part of me sees the attraction.  After all, remember, I spent five years living in Switzerland.  And when you climb those mountains, your heart and soul expand.  You have what I dubbed Julie Andrews Moments where you want to sing with joy.  I can honestly say that I’d love to go back and spend some time there in those mountains.

But there are limits to how I’d like to go.  With whom I’d like to spend time.  And what I would like to wear when I get there.

For example, I do not want to imitate Thomas Thwaites.  He became a goat hung out on a mountainside.  With a herd of goats.  Eating grass.

There’s an article in the Washington Post about Thomas the Goat Man.  How he developed a prosthesis that enabled him to walk like a goat.  The challenges he faced.  The cold.  How he felt that human kind was progressing towards robotics, and he wanted to go a different way.  So he became a goat.

This video, read by a robo-caller, tells the rest of the story.  You can watch it and hear the story for yourself.  Or you can mute it, and watch a man in weird costume eat grass.  Your choice.

 

I can’t help wondering if the little goats used to laugh and call him names.  Did they let poor Thomas play in any goatherd games?

 

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I Found My Donor!

Well, it’s been a while since I discussed the topic that is near and dear to my, ummm, heart.

Poop transplants!  — The ultimate solution to my Crohn’s disease woes.

OK, it’s nearer to my hiney, but you can’t claim you weren’t expecting that.

Earlier today I was discussing my future poop transplant with my boss.  (It’s true, I have no pride what so ever.)  She’s very interested in the idea.  She wants me healthy, of course, but really, I think she wants to see what happens from a scientific perspective.  And, frankly, I can’t blame her.  I want to know what’ll happen from a scientific point of view, too.  And from the perspective of a toilet paper consumer.

You may recall that  I’ve mentioned that you have to be very choosy when choosing a poop donor.  If the donor is fat, or depressed, or psychotic, well, the recipient can become fat, or depressed or psychotic.  I haven’t researched what happens if you choose someone immature, though.  Perhaps I should.

Anyway, the issue was on my mind tonight when I began reading the news. And I found my donor!

He is young and healthy, albeit a little younger than I was thinking of;  he’s living in Florida with his mother.  In fact, it was his mom who brought him to my attention.  Well, and to the attention of people with a deep seated interest in poop.

One day Katy Vasquez discovered that the Lord moves in mysterious ways.  And goes into mysterious places.  Because, You see, one day when she was changing his diaper, she saw this sign that things were going to get better.:

Halla-Poo-Yah

This picture was taken by my donor’s mom, Katy Vasques, and posted to Facebook and the Huffington Post (where I saw it).

It’s Holy Shit!  What more could I ask for from a donor?

HALLA-POO-YAH!

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The NRA is Concerned

The National Rifle Association is concerned about your safety and well being.

It’s true — really!  I just read all about it!  Forget all that other stuff that I’ve said about the NRA since you’ve known me.  My bad.

In recent years, they’ve become terribly concerned about injuries from gun shots.  Or, let me hit this target here closer to the bulls-eye:  they are concerned about injuries from shooting guns.

Injuries to the shooter.  They still don’t give a shit about the jerk who got in the way of the bullet.

But they’re really worried about the eardrums of the guys and gals pulling the trigger.  Because:

bang-148261_960_720

Heck!  Those things are LOUD!  (Google Image)

So the NRA wants to enact legislation to allow silencers to be used on guns.  They were outlawed in the 1930s because of mob violence.  The NRA calls them”suppressors.”

Know why they want them?  To protect the ears of “gun enthusiasts.”  Because we wouldn’t want the gun enthusiasts’ ears to ring now, would we.  How would they listen to Rush Limbaugh?

I’m sure the NRA is also working on products and legislation to suppress the screams of victims of gun violence, too.  Because we wouldn’t want the ears of them 2nd Amendment types ringing from that, now, would we?

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Oscar and Me. And Oscar.

As a young woman, I dreamed of being an actress.  So today/tonight, it is only fitting that I tell you this story.

You know how they say that life is what happens when you’re making other plans.  It’s true.  I’m living proof.

I had everything it takes to be a fine, award winning actress.  I was talented, pretty, had good comedic timing, and a voice that could be heard in the cheap seats.

What I didn’t have was guts.  Good guts.  My GI tract erupted in high school leaving my future in the hands of jobs that offered health insurance instead of fame and glory.  Damn.

Oh, and I lacked the guts to go for it anyway.  Once I made a wrong exit and  my acting career died in a broom closet, that is.

But even after leaving my dream in tatters with the mops and brooms, I continued to pipe-dream.  That’s different than the real thing, and you don’t have to remember lines, or stage directions or what to do with props.  It’s actually much easier.  You get to keep your privacy, too, which is nice.

Most of my friends are aware of this fantasy of mine, and of my need to, from time to time, stand on a table (instead of a stage) and tell a story.  It often involves alcoholic beverages.  The table standing, not necessarily the story.

Right now I’m going to tell you about the night I received my Oscars.  [Feel free to stop here if you’ve heard this one.]

It was an incredibly special night for me.  An honor really.  Well, actually, two honors.  Two Oscars.  Two Awards.  But I only got to make one speech.

It was 1983, and some really fun people worked in my office that summer, one of whom, Jon, was from the area.  Carol, Mike, Jon and I all went to Jon’s house one night.  You see, 1983 was still in the Bronze Age, and Jon’s parents were on the cutting age of technology, because they had a VCR.  And Risky Business had just come out on video.

In the middle of the movie, we took a beer/bathroom break.  And guess what I spotted, casually stuck on the bookshelf in the TV room of Rob’s house.

Oscar 

And Oscar

It turned out that Jon’s father was a filmmaker.  Documentary films.  My pals presented me with two Oscars for Documentary Filmmaking.  Sadly, not one of us had a camera.  Probably just as well, because not many stars accept wearing blue jeans.

Receiving Oscar, and his twin, Oscar, was a special honor to me, since I had neither made, nor been in any documentary films, nor even fetched donuts and coffee for the real filmmakers.  Regardless,  I got to hold Oscar and Oscar, and I got to make a speech accepting my Academy Awards.  So I am in an unusual club of people who have never actually acted or contributed in any way, shape or form to a movie, who has been presented an Academy Award.

Yes, I’m that good.

[Yeah, it’s a repeat.  But one can never have too many Academy Award stories.  Amirite?]

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