White Person Thoughts

Posted: May 8, 2017 in Uncategorized

Stone Lion Guard - Image from Beglib at MorguefilesSo I was collecting donations for an event I was hosting for people with special needs.

One of the donations I needed to pick up was in a gated community.

The community was filled with huge McMansions. Gigantic lots. Garages that had room for three, four, or five cars – and that were most likely full, or would be once the family was home. Perfect landscaping. Lakes. Pools. Probably their own police force.

I won’t lie – it was kind of intimidating for those of us who grew up in a 900 sq ft house.

I found the house I was looking for. Pulled into the driveway. Parked.

There were a couple of middle-aged white guys hanging by the garage. I could feel them – and see them – watching me as I climbed out of my dusty jeep with the cracked windshield. My car clearly didn’t belong in the neighborhood. I probably gave off the stank of a lack of funds to them.

I’m sure they knew I didn’t belong there.

But they silently watched me as I walked up to the front door and picked up the goodies that were left for me.

I was half-convinced they’d raise some kind of alarm or come chasing after me, accusing me of stealing the bag full of drink koozies.

As I climbed back into the car, I realized my fears were possibly well-founded, but they were nothing compared to the fears I’d have had if I had been in the same position but black.

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Middle-finger-jesusOne of my old friends posted on Facebook about the new insurance law of the land – his child has a “pre-existing condition.”

A response from one of his FB acquaintances said:
“Why will your situation change? You have insurance and your procedures are covered.”

And this, American public, is what’s wrong with this country.

We cannot just care about the people we personal know.

Just because you don’t know someone doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
Just because you don’t know someone doesn’t mean they don’t need your help.
Just because you don’t know someone doesn’t mean they don’t deserve compassion and basic human dignity.

I am horrified that the Republicans and the conservatives have absolutely no empathy, sympathy, or compassion for anyone other than themselves.

They want to make basic health care unaffordable for the disabled, the elderly, and the victims of domestic violence.

They want women who have babies punished by cutting off their insurance or making it unaffordable. (And to anyone who wants to respond by saying that women who can’t afford children shouldn’t have them needs to go down to an abortion clinic and pay for the abortion or pay for the prenatal, labor and delivery, and post-natal care, as well as paying up for the next 20 years for the kid’s life…)

They want to take care of themselves and their cronies, giving money to people who already have it while taking it away from those who do not have it.

Let me tell you this – you are not “safe.” No one can predict what will happen in their lives, where they will be in one year, five years, ten years.

But the thing is, even saying that, that is not the point.

**The point is that it shouldn’t have to happen to you for you to care about it.**

It’s that simple.

Care about your fellow human beings.

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dreamYou may have heard of me. Well, not of me. But of my fear of spiders. It’s legendary.

Have you read about the woman who burned down her house trying to kill a spider?

Yeah, that wasn’t me. But it could have been. And I’m pretty sure that one day it will be.

For now, though, it’s only a dream. More accurately a nightmare. That I had last night. And one that made me totally pissed off at my husband.

I’d accidentally somehow climbed into a blanket that had sides. Bigger than a sleeping bag. More like a constricting duvet cover.

That was weird, but not too bothersome.

Until the spiders.

Since it was a dream – I keep having to remind myself that – the spiders showed up. There were five of them on the floor near me.

They started out looking like super pale daddy long legs. Giant super pale daddy long legs. That were the size of my hand.

The spiders came at me, nice and slow. With that feeling of impending unavoidability. The feeling that you get in a horror movie, when Jason is going to get you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I started screaming for my husband to come save me.

Nothing.

I tried to roll away, but since it was a dream, I rolled back.

The spiders began changing colors.

Their bodies turned pastel like Easter eggs while their legs stayed a spooky translucent white.

I tried to roll away.

I screamed to my husband for help.

I rolled back.

The spiders changed colors again. Brighter. Darker.

They moved more aggressively, more quickly, more pissed off.

I yelled louder.

They moved faster.

I rolled harder.

I yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled.

They ran and ran and ran and ran.

Until…

I crushed them.

Landed on top of them.

They crunched.

They stopped moving.

I screamed even more.

And finally. Finally. Finally! My husband showed up.

Too late.

I was trapped on top of dead spiders. And he had no idea what was wrong.

I woke up.

So freaked. So grossed out. And so, so, so mad. At my husband.

I’m not crazy.

Posted: April 3, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Image from Morguefile.comExcept, well, maybe I am. But this isn’t me being crazy. This is just weird.

Last Friday, I got up and headed to my craft room upstairs. I had a craft show on Saturday, so I needed to sneak in an hour or so of work so I’d be ready.

I always leave the alarm on when I’m upstairs and in the house alone because, well, it can be kind of creepy home alone up there.

So I was hiding up there, trying to get stuff done, and there was a loud bang.

I jumped and freaked the fuck out because it was coming from the front of the house. It sounded like someone hit the front door with a battering ram. Or maybe there had just been a massive accident out on the street.

Then I heard voices.

I went downstairs because I’m an idiot and too curious* for my own good.

Nothing.

The front door was closed and locked, the alarm was on, and nothing was outside.

Except the stereo was on. (The pic is showing a record, but it was just the radio…)

I know my radio wasn’t on. I hadn’t been in my office yet, and it was off when I went to bed. Plus, it made no sense why the radio would be on but then suddenly get loud when there was that noise.

Totally. Strange.

But here’s the thing that made it ever weirder – when I did finally come down to get to work in my office, the top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.

I think my office is haunted.

*Did you know the full saying is curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back?

Get Lost

Posted: February 5, 2017 in Uncategorized
lost-glove

Image by susieholder.com

I lost my phone.

And that’s a problem because I can’t ask people to call my phone to help me find it because I can’t call them to ask them to call me because I can’t find my phone.

And the fact that it’s almost always on vibrate because I don’t actually want to interact with other human beings on a regular basis makes it worse because if I were to ask someone to call me, I’d have to go around the house listening for a muted buzzing, like when you leave your vibrator on the bed and accidentally turn it on and then you’re all confused (at least, that’s what a friend told me).

And they sell those “never lose anything ever again” things, but I’d forget to attach them, and then I’d lose them, too.

 

 

 

 

I’m hiding at Starbucks

Posted: January 30, 2017 in Uncategorized

Okay, got freaked out this morning. Admittedly, I do watch way too many horror movies, and so I automatically go to horror movie happenings

scary-doll-that-i-dont-own

Super scary looking doll, but it’s not mine. 😦

when weird shit happens.

But…

I think I’m totally justified in this freak out.

I was up in the craft room, prepping for my show this weekend (come see me at Country Side Park and give me money for goods and services).

I’d left the alarm on because I’d just showered, and I always put the alarm on when I’m showering.

When I heard a bang downstairs, I figured it was the cats. They always knock shit down, and since George was already being evil and pooping out what smelled like a paper rendering plant in the laundry room, I assumed it was him being more of an asshole.

Then I heard voices.

What. The. Fuck.

Doing the one thing that you should never do in a horror movie, I went downstairs to check it out.

The radio on the kitchen was on. Really strange because I know I hadn’t turned it on. Unless maybe I had because, you know, I admit that I’m not always fully aware of what I’m doing when I wander through the house (exhibit A: the time I put a bag of pretzels in the fridge). But still, I’m pretty sure I did not turn that on this morning.

So I knew where the voices were coming from at least. I turned it back off and went to check the alarm.

The alarm was still red, so it was on, and there were no warnings about bits being off.

Coolio.

Since I was downstairs anyway, I went to grab a bag of silver bead spacers I’d forgotten in my office.

Then I saw it.

The top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.

I swear I hadn’t opened it. Not for days and days. Maybe even over a week now.

It was open.

It’s the shelf with all my creepy toys in it.

Sooooo…

Now I’m hiding at Starbucks doing work until I have to go back home and face the weird.