*facesmacks*

Another good reason to be glad AOD was last weekend. There's no way I'd even consider flying for the next six months. Fuck them all.

*thinks* No, I didn't take anything liquid on the flight - neither of us did, come to think of it.

Hello, these guys are smarter than the people you hire to get by when you say you're providing "security." Asswipes.

I'd say camwyn has it in one - we should all fly naked - but the idea of stripping (literally) my last bit of defenses away in the sake of sheer, fucking laziness on the part of the FAA and "Homeland Security" (fucking joke) just chaps my hide.

Or is Joe Lieberman just being a sore loser? I understand Karl Rove contacted his office yesterday and offered any and all support the Bush camp can throw him. Wonder if he said yes.

That, would make sense.

*facesmacks*

Another good reason to be glad AOD was last weekend. There's no way I'd even consider flying for the next six months. Fuck them all.

*thinks* No, I didn't take anything liquid on the flight - neither of us did, come to think of it.

Hello, these guys are smarter than the people you hire to get by when you say you're providing "security." Asswipes.

I'd say camwyn has it in one - we should all fly naked - but the idea of stripping (literally) my last bit of defenses away in the sake of sheer, fucking laziness on the part of the FAA and "Homeland Security" (fucking joke) just chaps my hide.

Or is Joe Lieberman just being a sore loser? I understand Karl Rove contacted his office yesterday and offered any and all support the Bush camp can throw him. Wonder if he said yes.

That, would make sense.

*facesmacks*

Another good reason to be glad AOD was last weekend. There's no way I'd even consider flying for the next six months. Fuck them all.

*thinks* No, I didn't take anything liquid on the flight - neither of us did, come to think of it.

Hello, these guys are smarter than the people you hire to get by when you say you're providing "security." Asswipes.

I'd say camwyn has it in one - we should all fly naked - but the idea of stripping (literally) my last bit of defenses away in the sake of sheer, fucking laziness on the part of the FAA and "Homeland Security" (fucking joke) just chaps my hide.

Or is Joe Lieberman just being a sore loser? I understand Karl Rove contacted his office yesterday and offered any and all support the Bush camp can throw him. Wonder if he said yes.

That, would make sense.

Something to see -

Someone is celebrating an anniversary. He's verbose, witty, funny - and honest. Today's post in particular is one I think needs to be more widely circulated.

Mom suddenly appeared at their doorstep, asking me to go for a drive with her.

I don't remember everything that was said, but there are a few things from that long conversation that I remember vividly. First, we left when the sun was still up but it was dark before we got back. Second, she parked by the side of the road after it got dark, next to a clif beyond which could be seen the night lights of much of the city of Spokane, and I remember looking at the light cast on the street by a streetlamp maybe half a block ahead of us. I remember thinking even then about how that moment was etching itself into my memory, forever and ever, something that will stay with me as long as I live no matter how shitty my memory gets.

"Is this a coming out?" is what she asked me.

And, ultimately, yes it was. I told her then that my black hair and makeup had nothing to do with it (what-ever), but I had made a decision. And when I told her about the letters I was going to send out, what she told me was classic: After telling me her cousin is gay, she said, "And as far as I know, when he came out of the closet he didn't send out announcements."

And that was before the worst of her ridiculous fears came out. She kept telling me how my lack of being forthright with her made her worry about all sorts of terrible things, and I asked her, "What's the absolute worst that could've happened, Mom?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"It would have killed me if you were a Satanist."

I've known lots of people. Lots of people who really really aren't anything like me, and it just makes it all the sweeter. Life would be one dull place if it were populated by the likes of me exclusively, lemme tellya.

I really AM pretty simple, comes right down to it. About the only rule that I have is - try to get along. Just...make your best effort, but at least try it out for a change. If it doesn't impact you directly - and it does no harm (and remember, what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms is in the privacy of their own bedrooms first and foremost) - what harm is it to me?

You want to be an ass to me, well - that's something else. Your simple being born with green hair isn't going to faze me.

Something to see -

Someone is celebrating an anniversary. He's verbose, witty, funny - and honest. Today's post in particular is one I think needs to be more widely circulated.

Mom suddenly appeared at their doorstep, asking me to go for a drive with her.

I don't remember everything that was said, but there are a few things from that long conversation that I remember vividly. First, we left when the sun was still up but it was dark before we got back. Second, she parked by the side of the road after it got dark, next to a clif beyond which could be seen the night lights of much of the city of Spokane, and I remember looking at the light cast on the street by a streetlamp maybe half a block ahead of us. I remember thinking even then about how that moment was etching itself into my memory, forever and ever, something that will stay with me as long as I live no matter how shitty my memory gets.

"Is this a coming out?" is what she asked me.

And, ultimately, yes it was. I told her then that my black hair and makeup had nothing to do with it (what-ever), but I had made a decision. And when I told her about the letters I was going to send out, what she told me was classic: After telling me her cousin is gay, she said, "And as far as I know, when he came out of the closet he didn't send out announcements."

And that was before the worst of her ridiculous fears came out. She kept telling me how my lack of being forthright with her made her worry about all sorts of terrible things, and I asked her, "What's the absolute worst that could've happened, Mom?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"It would have killed me if you were a Satanist."

I've known lots of people. Lots of people who really really aren't anything like me, and it just makes it all the sweeter. Life would be one dull place if it were populated by the likes of me exclusively, lemme tellya.

I really AM pretty simple, comes right down to it. About the only rule that I have is - try to get along. Just...make your best effort, but at least try it out for a change. If it doesn't impact you directly - and it does no harm (and remember, what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms is in the privacy of their own bedrooms first and foremost) - what harm is it to me?

You want to be an ass to me, well - that's something else. Your simple being born with green hair isn't going to faze me.

Something to see -

Someone is celebrating an anniversary. He's verbose, witty, funny - and honest. Today's post in particular is one I think needs to be more widely circulated.

Mom suddenly appeared at their doorstep, asking me to go for a drive with her.

I don't remember everything that was said, but there are a few things from that long conversation that I remember vividly. First, we left when the sun was still up but it was dark before we got back. Second, she parked by the side of the road after it got dark, next to a clif beyond which could be seen the night lights of much of the city of Spokane, and I remember looking at the light cast on the street by a streetlamp maybe half a block ahead of us. I remember thinking even then about how that moment was etching itself into my memory, forever and ever, something that will stay with me as long as I live no matter how shitty my memory gets.

"Is this a coming out?" is what she asked me.

And, ultimately, yes it was. I told her then that my black hair and makeup had nothing to do with it (what-ever), but I had made a decision. And when I told her about the letters I was going to send out, what she told me was classic: After telling me her cousin is gay, she said, "And as far as I know, when he came out of the closet he didn't send out announcements."

And that was before the worst of her ridiculous fears came out. She kept telling me how my lack of being forthright with her made her worry about all sorts of terrible things, and I asked her, "What's the absolute worst that could've happened, Mom?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"It would have killed me if you were a Satanist."

I've known lots of people. Lots of people who really really aren't anything like me, and it just makes it all the sweeter. Life would be one dull place if it were populated by the likes of me exclusively, lemme tellya.

I really AM pretty simple, comes right down to it. About the only rule that I have is - try to get along. Just...make your best effort, but at least try it out for a change. If it doesn't impact you directly - and it does no harm (and remember, what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms is in the privacy of their own bedrooms first and foremost) - what harm is it to me?

You want to be an ass to me, well - that's something else. Your simple being born with green hair isn't going to faze me.

Another cross-post -

Because if you thought I'd ever forget, you'd be wrong.

Nearly thirty years ago I was a single mother of three. Since getting child support orders enforced was damn near impossible I applied for and qualified to receive food stamps.

I would take the three kids (by bus) to the grocery. I had a list of what I needed to buy to feed them for the next 2-4 days, that being the limit I could carry by myself and still manage the kids. I knew, to the penny, how much I could spend.

I would shop, check out and count my change. My food was bought with the change.

One day a cashier sneered at me for being so ‘dis-organized’ I always came through the line twice. I lost it. I told him, at some length and with considerable volume, what my reason for coming through his line twice each trip was and ended up sobbing.

In the utter silence that followed an older woman stepped forward and began putting items on the belt; fresh fruit, chicken, bakery bread, band aids, and shampoo. She looked at the man behind her.

“What you got in there this child and her babies can’t afford? Thank your Maker and ante up. I’ll drive her home, don’t be shy about it bein’ too much. All of you, lookin’ down your noses at her, what you got she can’t afford? Try sparin’ a little somethin’ besides a nasty look.”

I ended up taking home nearly two hundred dollars in food and sundry items. I cried all the way home, while she drove. My kids ate grapes out of the bag like they were candy. I tried to tell her thank you and she shook her head.

“Just you promise me you won’t ever forget what that felt like, to have somone look nasty at you for bein’ poor. I kept that promise myself today. You keep it in your turn.”

--

I'm the third of four children raised by one parent, after my father accidentally killed himself before I seven years old.

Mom got her nursing credentials during WWII. She went back to school, renewed her nursing license and went back to work. She was lucky. So were we.

I grew up wearing anyone's hand-me downs that fit, came home from school to find the power turned off (gas, electric or both) and I stepped inside clothing stores twice a year. Once at back to school (and some years, not even then) and perhaps before summer began. Toy stores? Not at all. We would truck into Fedco in San Bernardino, and since Mom had tapped out the checking account (I don't know how, buying food d'ya think?), we often went home without anything because they wouldn't approve her checks anymore.

Mom had a job. She didn't qualify for any assistance. There was SSI and VA benefits, which probably kept a car in the garage. Barely.

My sister felt deprived; I just found ways around it. I've been complimented on my ability to "think outside the box." Frankly, every time I went to the box it was empty; why would I keep trying to work with an empty box?

The first two got scholarships, by the time I got there, most of them were gone. (Thank you, Reagan.) But we do have a doctorate, three master degrees and four bachelor degrees among the four of us. We drove cars that were only jettisoned when they caught fire or froze in place and wouldn't move any more. I've lived in some pretty "interesting" places, lemme tellya.

Complain? Well, you could, I guess. Wouldn't have changed anything. It was what it was.

..

People wonder why I pick up the check so much. And pass my good luck with shoes along.

It's not much. But when you have nothing - the little things nobody cares about can mean so much if somebody thinks of it.

Another cross-post -

Because if you thought I'd ever forget, you'd be wrong.

Nearly thirty years ago I was a single mother of three. Since getting child support orders enforced was damn near impossible I applied for and qualified to receive food stamps.

I would take the three kids (by bus) to the grocery. I had a list of what I needed to buy to feed them for the next 2-4 days, that being the limit I could carry by myself and still manage the kids. I knew, to the penny, how much I could spend.

I would shop, check out and count my change. My food was bought with the change.

One day a cashier sneered at me for being so ‘dis-organized’ I always came through the line twice. I lost it. I told him, at some length and with considerable volume, what my reason for coming through his line twice each trip was and ended up sobbing.

In the utter silence that followed an older woman stepped forward and began putting items on the belt; fresh fruit, chicken, bakery bread, band aids, and shampoo. She looked at the man behind her.

“What you got in there this child and her babies can’t afford? Thank your Maker and ante up. I’ll drive her home, don’t be shy about it bein’ too much. All of you, lookin’ down your noses at her, what you got she can’t afford? Try sparin’ a little somethin’ besides a nasty look.”

I ended up taking home nearly two hundred dollars in food and sundry items. I cried all the way home, while she drove. My kids ate grapes out of the bag like they were candy. I tried to tell her thank you and she shook her head.

“Just you promise me you won’t ever forget what that felt like, to have somone look nasty at you for bein’ poor. I kept that promise myself today. You keep it in your turn.”

--

I'm the third of four children raised by one parent, after my father accidentally killed himself before I seven years old.

Mom got her nursing credentials during WWII. She went back to school, renewed her nursing license and went back to work. She was lucky. So were we.

I grew up wearing anyone's hand-me downs that fit, came home from school to find the power turned off (gas, electric or both) and I stepped inside clothing stores twice a year. Once at back to school (and some years, not even then) and perhaps before summer began. Toy stores? Not at all. We would truck into Fedco in San Bernardino, and since Mom had tapped out the checking account (I don't know how, buying food d'ya think?), we often went home without anything because they wouldn't approve her checks anymore.

Mom had a job. She didn't qualify for any assistance. There was SSI and VA benefits, which probably kept a car in the garage. Barely.

My sister felt deprived; I just found ways around it. I've been complimented on my ability to "think outside the box." Frankly, every time I went to the box it was empty; why would I keep trying to work with an empty box?

The first two got scholarships, by the time I got there, most of them were gone. (Thank you, Reagan.) But we do have a doctorate, three master degrees and four bachelor degrees among the four of us. We drove cars that were only jettisoned when they caught fire or froze in place and wouldn't move any more. I've lived in some pretty "interesting" places, lemme tellya.

Complain? Well, you could, I guess. Wouldn't have changed anything. It was what it was.

..

People wonder why I pick up the check so much. And pass my good luck with shoes along.

It's not much. But when you have nothing - the little things nobody cares about can mean so much if somebody thinks of it.

Another cross-post -

Because if you thought I'd ever forget, you'd be wrong.

Nearly thirty years ago I was a single mother of three. Since getting child support orders enforced was damn near impossible I applied for and qualified to receive food stamps.

I would take the three kids (by bus) to the grocery. I had a list of what I needed to buy to feed them for the next 2-4 days, that being the limit I could carry by myself and still manage the kids. I knew, to the penny, how much I could spend.

I would shop, check out and count my change. My food was bought with the change.

One day a cashier sneered at me for being so ‘dis-organized’ I always came through the line twice. I lost it. I told him, at some length and with considerable volume, what my reason for coming through his line twice each trip was and ended up sobbing.

In the utter silence that followed an older woman stepped forward and began putting items on the belt; fresh fruit, chicken, bakery bread, band aids, and shampoo. She looked at the man behind her.

“What you got in there this child and her babies can’t afford? Thank your Maker and ante up. I’ll drive her home, don’t be shy about it bein’ too much. All of you, lookin’ down your noses at her, what you got she can’t afford? Try sparin’ a little somethin’ besides a nasty look.”

I ended up taking home nearly two hundred dollars in food and sundry items. I cried all the way home, while she drove. My kids ate grapes out of the bag like they were candy. I tried to tell her thank you and she shook her head.

“Just you promise me you won’t ever forget what that felt like, to have somone look nasty at you for bein’ poor. I kept that promise myself today. You keep it in your turn.”

--

I'm the third of four children raised by one parent, after my father accidentally killed himself before I seven years old.

Mom got her nursing credentials during WWII. She went back to school, renewed her nursing license and went back to work. She was lucky. So were we.

I grew up wearing anyone's hand-me downs that fit, came home from school to find the power turned off (gas, electric or both) and I stepped inside clothing stores twice a year. Once at back to school (and some years, not even then) and perhaps before summer began. Toy stores? Not at all. We would truck into Fedco in San Bernardino, and since Mom had tapped out the checking account (I don't know how, buying food d'ya think?), we often went home without anything because they wouldn't approve her checks anymore.

Mom had a job. She didn't qualify for any assistance. There was SSI and VA benefits, which probably kept a car in the garage. Barely.

My sister felt deprived; I just found ways around it. I've been complimented on my ability to "think outside the box." Frankly, every time I went to the box it was empty; why would I keep trying to work with an empty box?

The first two got scholarships, by the time I got there, most of them were gone. (Thank you, Reagan.) But we do have a doctorate, three master degrees and four bachelor degrees among the four of us. We drove cars that were only jettisoned when they caught fire or froze in place and wouldn't move any more. I've lived in some pretty "interesting" places, lemme tellya.

Complain? Well, you could, I guess. Wouldn't have changed anything. It was what it was.

..

People wonder why I pick up the check so much. And pass my good luck with shoes along.

It's not much. But when you have nothing - the little things nobody cares about can mean so much if somebody thinks of it.

In balance -

This icon tickles my funnybone every time I see it:

In balance -

This icon tickles my funnybone every time I see it:

In balance -

This icon tickles my funnybone every time I see it: