Pity Me, Pity Us


I read this article from Salon by Julia Bount.

http://www.salon.com/2015/04/29/dear_white_facebook_friends_i_need_you_to_respect_what_black_america_is_feeling_right_now/?upw

This is my response:

What a load of pity me, pity us. Because you allow, ALLOW yourselves to be victims, and once you are, you wallow in the whining and refuse to take responsibility for your actions and for the lack of parenting and fathers who stick around to BE fathers.
This is NOT a black and white issue, one of the officers charged is a black Female!! This is a flat out, rabble rousing issue by the likes of the pot head in chief and the likes of Sharpie Sharpton.

Every thing on that pity me list screams victim.

I hear hopelessness

Not just a black issue. Poor people all over the world feel this way. Think you have it bad? What about the women in the middle east who suffer just because they are women? Beaten, raped, murdered, just because they are women. Compared to them, the worse off black American is living in luxury and freedom.

I hear oppression

The only people oppressing black people, are the democratic/progressive party and black people. Sharpie Sharpton WANTS you to be oppressed. That’s how he makes his living. So do the political left, that’s how they make their money. The more the government interferes with your life, the more dependent you are on them, the more they get to keep you as mental and emotional slaves. Oppressed? Really? Then break out and refuse to be. Not by riots and following the propaganda and brain washing, but by being a human being instead of a victim.

I hear pain

So do I. But not because of racism on the part of the white people. I hear pain because the black community destroys its own community. Violence, drugs, riots, burning down business owned by black people who live in their community. Two or three generations who have lived within the welfare system, but have every opportunity to get free of the grinding down of their dignity because they are afraid, or lazy, or it is easier to make money selling drugs and ruining even more people in their community. Self defeating behavior causes pain. Along with the fact that they have allowed themselves to become mentally enslaved by the system. All the opportunities given to anyone else are also available to black Americans, and probably more so than other folks.

I hear internalized oppression

Now there is a phrase: Internalized Oppression. That means that they SELF oppress. No one is doing it to them, they do it to themselves. Where did they learn that? Not from white people. Over my life span, I have seen proud, hardworking, business owning, educated, and wealthy black communities become ghettos of drunken, drugged, drop outs who spend their time on street corners doing nothing but encouraging each other to feel oppressed. Gangs are one of the most oppressive things in most communities, fostering fear and violence against their own, and if the police intervene, they whole community goes against them. Even if the gangs are committing horrific crimes. And then there are the professional riot folks hired by folks like Sharpie Sharpton and his pals telling everyone they are being brutalized by the white people. Again, it is easier to let someone tell you that you are a victim and believe it than it is to stand up and refuse to allow the government to tell you that you are unable to care for yourselves. Internalized Oppression – SELF defeat, SELF fulfilling prophecy.

I hear despair
I hear it too. From the people whose lives were destroyed by the riots. Those who will have no jobs from the fires. Those who will have no way to make a living now that their business is gone. I hear despair from white people who have done everything they can to prove that they are not racist toward black people. I live in the South, I don’t see it here. The only people in despair are those who feel they are being labeled as a racist just because of their skin color. The majority of Americans, by far, simply ignore skin color. WE DON’T CARE what color you are. We CARE about how you behave, treat others, and contribute to the community.

I hear anger

For what? Not getting every thing you want? Because you get arrested more than other folks? Have you ever considered the fact that the majority of crimes are committed by young black males? Don’t do the crime, don’t do the time. People of all colors get arrested and go to jail for many things. Get you kids off the street, make them go to school, make them understand that if they go to jail, then they will pay for the crime they committed. You think you are profiled? Well, duh, stop being the most criminal group out there. You blame it on white supremacy? Really? It isn’t just because you are black that you are watched closely by cops, it is because of the amount of crime the black people commit in certain communities. Preventing crime is the responsibility of the police. It is their job. And black people aren’t the only people to get hurt while being arrested. That’s what happens when you fight, argue, and taunt the police officers.

I hear poverty

Really? So do I. The poorest people in the US are the working poor. Blue collar workers who have to support their families on low income wages do without a lot more than those who can use their EBT card to buy everything from cigarettes to steaks. The hardest working people, the middle class, small business owners, those that keep the city and country functioning – including police, firemen and women, nurses, technicians, store owners, those that work hard to provide for their families so their kids will have more and do better than them – they also are taxed the most so that the EBT crowd can stay home and choose not to better themselves.

Poverty is not a black issue. There are people of all color who struggle to survive on a minimum amount of money. EBT people get free medical, free food, free lunches, free childcare, free education, free transportation in most cities, a place to live, and know where and how to get free food and clothing too. Black or white or brown or green with yellow dots, poverty is a real issue for many. And folks of every color are EBT people – sometimes for generations. By refusing to stay in school, having babies without daddies around to raise them, refusing to work menial jobs rather than accept welfare, anyone will find their community over burdened with poverty.

You say you have to worry all the time about your brother, cousins, friends, etc. being stopped by the police. EVERY person has that same worry. Because if you are breaking the law, then you get stopped. If you refuse to follow directions from the police, they you are arrested. If your community is known for violence, crime, and law breaking, then your community is watched more carefully to protect others from your violence, crime, and law breaking. Profiling only happens when it is merited. A lot of Hispanic and white communities bear the same burden.

Take responsibility for your actions. Black, white, rich, poor, behavior matters. There are always consequences for poor behavior.

Black lives matter. Of course they do. No one I know of who is white, has ever said differently. That mantra is from the likes of Sharpie Sharpton.

As the mother of an American Indian son, murdered by a white person, I could scream racism too. It wasn’t about race, it wasn’t even about the gun that was used, it was about a crazy man who decided to see how it felt to murder someone. Skin color had nothing to do with my son’s death. Someone’s evil decision and action killed him. And thank goodness the police and justice system were there to find the killer and lock him up so he could never harm another.
All Lives Matter.

It isn’t just a black thing.

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The Fat Lady Needs To Exit Stage Right, Now!


 

Over the past four years, I have lost 168 pounds and change. Yes, I feel better, have more energy, look better, and enjoy my grandchildren more. However there are a few drawbacks that never occurred to me before hand.

Skin. Losing weight, even as slowly as I have, leaves a lot of saggy, ugly, rumply skin. Bat wings for upper arms, skin that sags down from thighs to knees, and it just keeps on going long after I stop moving. Totally gross, totally embarrassing. And wrinkles are much more prominent too. I always had a smooth face, now I have wrinkles that I never had before. The upside is I look a lot thinner, the down side is learning a whole new way to apply makeup – when I bother that is.

Clothes. For years, like most fat women, I tried to hide my weight in baggy clothes, ugly dresses, and lots of jeans and t-shirts. Underwear was pretty much limited to grannie panties, and because I am rather well endowed up top, very boring super strong support white bras. Now, I nearly have a panic attack when I go into a store to buy clothes. I have gone from a size 28-30 in Women’s (that means fat lady clothes in girl code) to a size 14-16. But because I still have the well endowed parts to contend with, I get a larger size top. I don’t like tight clothing, it generally shows every lump and bump, cellulite, and muffin top on a fat lady. But, I find if I get looser clothes, they fall off me, which can be horribly humiliating if it happens in public. Oh, and shoes. Did you know that when you lose a lot of weight your shoe size gets smaller? Neither did I, but I have had to replace a large portion of my shoes lately. I’ve gone from a 8.5 Wide to a size 7 average. How freaky is that?

Temperature. I have long passed menopause, but temperature change really causes me issues. If it is cold, I freeze when the same temperature in my fat lady stage didn’t bother me at all, because I was always too warm. I forget about that and pay for it by shivering constantly. Wind also has an effect on me. I used to relish the cool wind, not so much now. Besides, I actually got pushed hard enough to almost fall the other day. I am so used to being sturdy enough to stand up to anything up to about 40 miles an hour winds. Now I just feel cold and like a wimp. Heat still makes me miserable. I hate hot and humid climates, but I don’t get miserable as fast as I used to, and can actually stand hotter weather than before.

Hair. I have always had rather thin hair. Now, because I am healthier, stronger, and I actually take my meds and vitamins every day, my hair is thicker. So I have had to learn to change my whole regime while washing my hair. It is hard to break a habit of over 30 years. I keep heading for my old shampoo and conditioner when I simply do not need that brand any longer. It is, well, annoying to have a routine totally changed.

Food. I didn’t have surgery to lose weight. I became very, very ill. Even the doctors didn’t think I would pull through. Fooled them. Wasn’t my time yet. Anyway, I used to crave sweets, sodas, carbohydrates, and fatty foods. I could eat a full meal at any restaurant in America. I was always hungry, and I used food as my drug of choice to cope with life. Now, food – eh – whatever. I don’t often eat every day, and I rarely have more than one meal a day. I make it a policy to eat only half of what is on my plate when we go out to dinner. Because half of a serving is a bit more than a serving for one person should be. The standard meal is FAR too much. At least it is using American sized servings.

Attitude and Mood Swings. I have never been so easily angered as I am now. Part of that is hormonal because everything is still out of whack. But a lot of it has to do with my attitude. While I have never been one to be a door mat, I would often allow my feelings about being fat make me want to stay in the background and unnoticed. Today, I am pretty much one of those old ladies who says what she thinks and devil take the hindmost. Whereas, I used to stay quiet, I am now more than willing to debate and do verbal battle with those who oppose my stance on everything from politics to dealing with bratty kids. So, on one hand, I am dealing with moodiness, and on the other I am dealing with trying to shut the hell up and stay out of trouble. Not doing too well on either issue.

The up side to weight loss is better health, the downside is that my entire lifestyle had to change and catch up with my body changes. I sometimes don’t recognize myself in the mirror. I sometimes think that I am fooling no one, and the fat lady still resides in my mirror and every one knows it but me. I sometimes feel overwhelmed with the way everything changed and continues to change as I keep losing weight.

I guess, because I can spot a phony a mile away, and because I don’t suffer fools gladly, that I tend to step back from every compliment. Like most fat ladies, people would compliment me on my eyes, color of my clothes, hair, but never say I was pretty. Now, folks do say I am pretty, but the fat lady hasn’t sung and exited stage right just yet. I really wish she would shut the hell up so I can get on with who I am becoming. Hateful cow.

Shopping With The Husband


Never take your husband shopping at the grocery store. Especially if he is hungry. One never knows what they will find when they get to the check out counter. It is even worse if we go to get groceries at Wal-Mart. Not only will odd types of food find their way into the trolley, but other things like tools, duct tape, smelly candles (that I can’t stand, but he likes), and the occasional packet of underpants will end up in the trolley too.

However, when we are in the grocery store together, I have a list, and send him off on explorations to find certain items. “OK,” he says, practically dancing, “what do I need to go find?” If he were a hunting dog, he would be salivating with excitement. “We need a loaf of French Bread. Not the kind in the regular bread aisle, but the Rustic French Bread from the bakery. Oh, and while there, check and see if they have any fresh hummus – the garlic kind – at the deli.”

“Rustic French Bread, bakery and hummus – garlic – deli next to bakery,” he repeats. Then heads off in the correct direction. I know that he will be gone a while, because he will get distracted before he ever gets to the bakery area, and once there, he will have forgotten what I sent him for in the first place. He will remember, bread, hummus – “Oh Look, CHEESE! Butterkasse, yummm.”  And when he gets back he will have the wrong bread, the wrong hummus, but he will have his favorite cheese.

Meanwhile, I will have finished with at least half my list, working methodically from one side of the store to the other. I take what he brought and send him off again. “Dish soap for the DISHWASHER, fabric softener, and I need some of those small paper plates.” “Dishwasher soap, Fabric softener, paper plates – small.” Off he goes.

I know, you see, that he will have to go past the automobile aisle, the office and craft aisle, and the miscellaneous household doodads aisle. He will get totally distracted the second he finds the light bulbs and he will spend ten minutes looking at stuff before he gets to the aisle that has all the cleaning products. Meanwhile, I keep on moving and filling my trolley. Eventually, he turns up, with Dawn soap, dryer sheets, and a huge container of paper plates, regular size – because they were cheaper that way. Along with light bulbs for our collection of about 50 packets already, super glue, some crayons for the grandkids, and a stapler – because it looks so cool!

The next things on the list will stump him for even longer. I am sending him after cookies, hot dogs, and a whole chicken for baking. Diabolical. Before he even gets out of sight, he is distracted by the magazine rack. He slows down and lets his body keep walking forward while his head turns as far as it can while he checks out the new computer mags. I know, of course, that it will take him forever to decide on hot dogs. He will end up with Hebrew National, but he won’t be able to stop himself from doing all sorts of computations to justify buying the most expensive hot dogs in the store. And he will end up with a few Lunchables for the grandkids. The cookie aisle will slow him down even more, because I know he likes Oreos more than any other store bought cookie, but there are so many more less expensive, and he will do the hem haw dance trying to talk himself into getting the Oreos. Then comes the chicken. A whole chicken. That means he has to decided how big, how much to spend, which brand, and by the time I am nearly through the store, he will come back with what I wanted. Sort of, anyway.

Then I send him off again for Ice Cream, get some for himself, and then find some difficult to find flavor for me. He will get Blue Bell chocolate chip for himself if they have it, and then end up with strawberry sundae for me from some off brand. (I actually feed this to the grandkids. Ice cream is ice cream to them.) While he is off doing that little chore, I put back the Dawn soap and get the right stuff for the dishwasher, I put back the dryer sheets and get the right fabric softener, and replace the paper plates with what I want. I keep his light bulbs, super glue, crayons, and stapler. I figure we can always us them some day. I end up getting the right French Bread, hummus, and replace on of his favorite cheese packets with one of my favorites. He never notices the different products when we check out, he is too distracted by the magazine rack.

Am I a horrid wife? Nah, just one who knows I have to keep him busy to keep him from putting odd things in my trolley when I am not looking. He is helping by staying out of my hair. It works. Really. Try it next time you have to take the husband with you. Just don’t forget about him and leave him in the magazine aisle, the store management really doesn’t like that at all!

Why Is It?


Why is it no one under the age of 30 can put an empty container into the rubbish bin instead of back into the refrigerator?
Why is it, the more windows in a door, the harder everyone has to slam it entering and exiting the room?
Why is it, when folks shut the trunk or hatch on a vehicle, they always have to slam it, instead of closing it until it latches.
Why is it that rubbish tends to multiply overnight, and it multiplies even faster if it has something smelly in it?
Why is it, when I clean the kitchen, turn off the lights, and go to relax, I always find at least one more glass or plate to wash?
Why is it that shopping for clothes is always such a stressful event, made more once I step into a dressing room?
Why is it that laundry is never done, ever?
Why is it that every time I want to put gas in my truck, I always pick a lane that has some old geezer in it that can’t pump gas in under twenty minutes?
Why is it that everyone who wants to chat with a friend in the grocery has to do so right smack in the middle of the aisle, and then gets all snarky if I ask them to move?
Why is it that the more I need to use the bathroom, the farther away it is from where I happen to be standing?
Why is it that people talk on their cell phones in the restroom loud enough for everyone to hear their conversation and for the person they are speaking with to know they are in the restroom?
Why is it that the day I have a rotten headache, the car that pulls up next to me at the stop light has his stereo booming so loud it makes my truck bounce and it is always the longest red light in history?
Why is it girls always have to run everywhere in a pack of snobby screaming giggles?
Why is it that the most annoying kids are allowed to run loose without supervision in the most dangerous places?
Why is it that parents let their kids out of their chairs to run around in a restaurant just because they don’t want to eat any longer and the parents aren’t done yet?
Why is it I always get the waiter/waitress in a snarky mood who obviously finds it beneath him/herself to serve me?
Why is it so hard to keep from saying sarcastic things to people who behave moronically in my presence?

driving I-40


In the past three days, I drove on Interstate 40 for 14 hours through three states. Seven hours each way to my son’s house to take Nick home. I am a exhausted.

First of all, it is flat in Eastern Arkansas. Like a pancake flat. For miles and miles and miles, all you see is one ugly winter field after another. On the road, all you see for miles and miles an miles is one ugly semi truck after another, along with people who lose their minds when they get on the road.

You know the type, they all drive ten or fifteen miles an hour above the speed limit, whipping in and out of lanes like they are driving the Indianapolis 500, and their favorite gesture requires the use of one finger. Tailgating is to the point that their grill is so close to the back of the car in front of them, that the driver of the car can’t see anything else. Road rage takes on a whole new meaning if someone dares to get in front of them and they aren’t going as fast as the driver behind them thinks they should. Car, truck, semi, doesn’t matter, the road hog wants to take on all of them just to get up the road a few minutes earlier so they can be slowed down again by the next line of trucks and cars.

The wind blows in Easter Arkansas and in Oklahoma. Hard. It blows from the north or south, never from the east or west. So the driver spends a good portion of his or her energy keeping the darned car on the road instead of letting the wind blow the car off into the ditch or center median. And the radio may work, but getting any station besides some farm report or Mexican music isn’t easy. Even the FM stations seem limited to rap or hiphop or ten different genre of Country music. Note to self: NEVER forget the MP3 player again!!! Although, after a while the Mexican music can grow on you. . .

I have had boring six hour days before, but these past few days of driving were given shots of pure adrenalin when some moron would run up behind me at 90 miles and hour (I was doing about 80 to pass the semi’s at times) ride close enough to me to touch my bumper with theirs and honk, flash lights, and scream and cuss (I guess, from the mouth going as fast as the car) when I wouldn’t move over. Not that I could with 12 trucks in a row to the right of me and one in front who slowed down to 60 MPH. What was I supposed to do, drive under the semi to get out of the way? Like it would do him any good. The idiot went around me on the grass median at about 70 MPH. Ten miles down the road, I caught up with him because three big semi’s had penned him in. Boy was he ticked. I was a bit annoyed to slow down to 60, but it was satisfying to see the trucks stop him from driving like a bully.

I am going to have a few magnetic bumper stickers made for my car.

“Tailgaters are bullies with wheels.”

“I slow down for tailgaters.”

“If you tailgate, you will need:
Very good reflexes
Very good brakes
Very good lawyers”

I LOATH road bullies . . . and I hate windy roads, and I really hate flat boring countryside. . . really.