Saying yes...

Mmmm-hmmmm....

Been there... done that...

May all of your beers be non-berry... and may your weekend be good. :)

No, this is not a post... but just a place to post a song I had forgotten about... that reminds me why I love a certain place... even if it's not on an ocean.

Have a good weekend! I may or may not be back on Monday... depending on the schedule... and the blogging waters... They seem different these days.

Parts is Parts...

Stop reading if female parts scare you...

Laura's and fish's posts, as well as political discourse, has brought back memories... memories of being a young, single woman in the city... with a very dismal and unreliable paycheck. I believe I was working freelance jobs along with two part-time jobs... but still, paying for medical care was an issue, so I went to one of the Planned Parenthood-inspired places. It was not officially PP, but was basically the same deal. You paid for what you could, and most prices were reasonable.

Even though we were well into the latter half of the 80's, this place was right out of the 70's. Lots of ferns, lots of paneling, lots of Free to Be... You and Me stuff on the walls. I was fine with FTB...YAM, but did not necessarily want it every time I went for a check-up. It got even worse once I had to go a little more often. You see, you could not get your beloved birth control pills if your blood pressure was too high. I am notorious for having low blood pressure, but when in this place, with all of the questions, all of the doubtful looks, mine would shoot sky-high.

"We'll give you a month's worth of birth control pills, but you  must come back and prove you're BP is ok!"

Before these visits I would chant... think of dolphins, think of dolphins, think of dolphins...

But when they'd come in to check me out and would ask something that merited a smart-ass answer, with me giving it, and them taking me seriously, my BP would shoot sky high. I knew the drill... take the woman, who may or may not be abused, to a dark room... and let her think of dolphins for 10 minutes. Test again.

Most of the time I could chill, and the Rx was mine.

There was one time though that 3 women came into the room and suggested it was time to get to know my body.

Huh?? I was in my 20's! I knew my body?? What do you mean?? Know my body??

They produced a plastic speculum and a mirror... I kid you not. I scanned the ferns for hidden cameras...

They told me no women truly owns herself until she can examine herself... see the beauty of her cervix. I told them I was fine with a hidden cervix. My cervix was doing what it needed to do and I also trusted the professionals who checked it out...

They took this 'no' as an issue. I was like, "No, you don't get it... I was raised by a very down to earth mother who was nurse and called a spade a spade. Sure, my father might have been a little squeamish about the workings of daughterly parts, but Mom was fully on board with open discussion. I don't have issues... in fact, I'd like to use my parts with the man I love, the man who doesn't beat me, the man who accepts me as I am... while I myself am accepting me as I am... OK?? Take the Pap test and let me be on my way!"

But they insisted... which I felt was incredibly wrong, but hey... I was at peace with my parts, and as I mentioned, wanted to freely use my parts, so I did it. Woo-hoo! Look at my cervix! Woo-hoo! Yay! It looks like... a cervix... Can I go now???

They tried to give me a speculum to take home, but I think I shocked them when I said I preferred the flesh variety. Fortunately, soon after, I got insurance and was able to go to a Dr, who never once suggested I get in touch with my cervix... a Dr who seemed to understand that I was hip to my stuff... but relied on a professional to look up under my chassis.

(Heh... when I go to add a link to type up above, TypePad says, "Insert Link"... See?? These are the kind of thoughts that got me into trouble at the Women's place!)

The internet makes the world even smaller... and explaining... even more awkward

It's another busy week and I'm not in the mood for blogging (it seems so 1992), but this draft was burning a hole in my post cache:

The other night, in my evening painting class, I had a moment of my real life meeting up with my internet life, which in many areas, has also become my real life...

A semi-retired gentleman who is taking my class mentioned that he had attended a boring lecture the other day. I happened to know that a certain blogger was in the area giving a talk, although I doubted it was boring... still, I had to ask.

Me: "So, was it about blah, blah, blah??"

Him: "No... it was about feral cat colonies, but I did have a colleague who attended the talk you mentioned. How did you know about it??"

Me: "A friend of mine was giving one of the talks."

Him: "Really?? Does he know so and so??"

Me: "I'm not sure, I'll text him."

Me: "Yes, he does. He had dinner with him."

Him: "Wow! Now how do you know this person again?"

Me: "He's a friend."

Him: "I know... you said that, but how do you know him? Where did you meet?"

This is the point I dread in almost any conversation I have where I KNOW someone in REAL LIFE, but then have to explain that I met them online... and somehow, it takes a turn for creepy.

I told the gentleman in my class that this person and I belonged to the same creative blogging group... a group that was set up so people could share writing, art, thoughts, etc, in an area outside of work. I didn't tell him that meeting most of these people was totally random. I made it sound like there was some rhyme or reason to it...

It seemed to appease him. Or he sensed that maybe it was better not to ask anymore. Sensing he sensed this, I told him that my ENTIRE family(including dogs) had socialized with this person and some of his kids. That seemed to make it better.

I then thought of times when I've had to explain something else that's been going on in my life... a project I've been working on with someone... someone I never thought I'd have any interaction with, but am so thankful I do. The few times it has come up in conversation, and this person's name comes up, I get the inevitable question... "How did you meet this person?? What brought you together??"

I then get to decide of I tell the truth, that I met this person as a cupcake, or do I tell them, we met through friends... :) Personally, I like the first answer.

these are a few of my favorite things*

Two great tastes that taste great together:

I never get bored of this segment.

* following bimler's orders... and stealing from fish, who more often than not, steals from us...

Things I learned yesterday... (Updated with newer learnings from today!)

1) That if I drive a different vehicle to work, the people coming to my class will not enter, even though the large glass doors are unlocked, and the lights are on... they will then be amazed when I invite them in after 10 or so minutes of private amusement. I would be lying if I said this cartoon did not flash through my mind...

2) That if an affair is had, it's entirely the woman's fault, thanks to Eve. In light of the latest JFK affair revelations, it was pointed out to me that the 19 yr-old woman was solely to blame for the 40 yr-old, most powerful man in the world, deciding to stray. After all, she was a grown-up and should have known better... and, she is temptation. A man is helpless and blameless in the face of temptation. The only reason he was a dirt bag was because he was a Democrat.

3) I am a cranky wolf in polite sheep's clothing.

4) Snag is not only alive, but posting! Woo-hoo!

Update:

My brain is not as plastic as I would like, or maybe is still too plastic, I don't know. I updated my Firefox a couple of days ago...  they put my damn bookmark tag way on the other side!! Thus causing my bookmark droplist to open in a completely different spot. I misclicked 700 times, but kept breathing, knowing my old brain would adapt... just keep clicking, just keep clicking... I was getting better. I was rewiring... and then this morning, the damn tab is nearly back to its orginal location!!! At first I was glad, thinking yay, no more spazzing! But NOOOOO!!! My brain had already adapted more than I realized and now this seems effed up!WHY!?!?!

Daily changes will either keep my brain young and springy, or it will explode.

Needs more autogrizzled...

As semi-promised... we bring you, Grizzled:

At some point, I decided I was only going to buy American cars. As a kid I remember reading the twine bundles as I loaded them into the hay baler on my uncles farm, "Buy American." I asked my grandfather what that meant. He said buying American made goods meant that I was supporting our economy and maintaining American jobs. Seemed easy enough. American cars were cool, fast, cushy, powerful and gas was 35 cents a gallon.

By the time I could afford a car, gas was 90 cents a gallon. Eight years had passed. American cars were awful boxes that were horrifically underpowered, used marginal technology, and handled like horse sledges on ice. I bought a Toyota pick up truck. Parts were more expensive, but it rarely needed parts. It had a slick, fuel efficient engine matched with a 5-speed gearbox. It was a blast to drive; a sports car that could handle a payload.

I watched as American manufacturing slumped, witnessed first hand the shift to a service economy. Sixteen years had passed. I bought a Chevy pick up truck. Awesome truck. Base vehicle with a V-8, throttle body fuel injection, automatic transmission. Of course, it was a first model year GM so it had a number of manufacturing defects. I tried not to let that bug me. It worked for me and I was supporting our economy. Gas was $1.82 a gallon.

Now I own a 12 year old Ford pick up truck, and an 11 year old Cadillac. Both substantial vehicles that have been remarkably reliable. Gas is $3.95 a gallon. Forty years have passed since my "Buy American" discussion with my grandfather.

But I'm getting geared up to buy again and I find myself in a quandry. I'm due for a mid-life crisis and I think it's going to be difficult to fulfill if I buy American. I need something impractical, without a roof, to truly accentuate my fat, American middle agedness. I'm not sure a Mustang convertible is going to do it. I may have to hold out a couple more years until Alfa Romeo returns to America.

Note from the administrator: Grizzled, you left out Blue Lou and the E.coli, aka, No-Class... not to mention that beater Malibu you had that Scott and I killed by ignoring the oil light.

Note to the rest of you... I am not a car person. Sure, there are ones I think are breathtakingly beautiful, fun, or cool... I would take a Shelby Cobra, I would die and go to heaven if I had an 60's VW Bug, I would love many, many that I see, but I really don't care. The running joke around here is that if someone asks me what kind of car just went by, I'll tell them the color. :-P I had no need for a car for the longest time, and when I did have the need... I have more or less driven what's shown up in my driveway, most not being my first choice, but being more than adequate for what I needed at the time, which is usually to get around, and have enough room for 4 people and two dogs. At some point in my life though, I think I need to actually purchase one... and one I want... if I can figure out what that is.

Bwoop! Bwoop!! Announcement! Announcement!!

I don't know if it was the approaching solstice, or if I had just had too much to drink, but I suggested to Grizzled that maybe he should Guest Blog for me for a week...

He said he might do it, but he wasn't sure if he had anything to say.

HA!

HA, HA!

I suggested he might be inspired by questions coming from the blogosphere... or, he could just write about salt.

This was met with a hand gesture... I'll have to look it up sometime...

Also, I'm not quite sure what will happen when The Explaining Voice meets the Explaining Voices, but it should be interesting.

Explaining Voice of the Day

“And at some point you realize that there are more flavors of pain than coffee. There's the little empty pain of leaving something behind ‒ graduating, taking the next step forward, walking out of something familiar and safe into the unknown. There's the big, whirling pain of life upending all of your plans and expectations. There's the sharp little pains of failure, and the more obscure aches of successes that didn't give you what you thought they would. There are the vicious, stabbing pains of hopes being torn up. The sweet little pains of finding others, giving them your love, and taking joy in their life as they grow and learn. There's the steady pain of empathy that you shrug off so you can stand beside a wounded friend and help them bear their burdens.

And if you are very, very lucky, there are a few blazing hot little pains you feel when you realize that you are standing in a moment of utter perfection, an instant of triumph, or happiness, or mirth which at the same time cannot possibly last ‒ and yet will remain with you for life.

Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don't feel it.”
― Jim Butcher, White Night

For thudner

Don't fret dear thundra! At least they live on on YouTube and in bands using their lyrics for their names!