Tag Archives: Money

Platypus Update: It’s probably the Hormones, Right?


Depending on what I’m wearing, I get the unsolicited question, “How far along are you?”

Now, among people in the know, this does not faze me.  Nor does it bother me when strangers ask if I brought up the topic that I am pregnant.  However, if I have given no indication that I am pregnant (as far as I know), I have to fight the irrational response to be offended by the question.

Girls, you know why.

See, last year, I had an apron that was adorable but had the unintended side-effect of making me look preggers, especially to people who worked with me.  In such cases, the tentative question are you?  would sneak in and ruin my day.  What?  How could you think that?  I mean, I have a bit of a pudge, but that’s mostly the pocket of the apron and the fact that I have a high waistline.  Right?

Logically, I should never have felt offended by the question since it was never meant to offend.  Honestly, I should give mad props to anyone brave enough to pose the question even to someone they know because we have ALL felt mortified by the insinuation that we look so out of shape we must be harboring a human parasite in our wombs.  That kind of misunderstanding is hurtful for everyone.

And now that I am harboring said parasite, I have to turn off the part of my brain that’s all EFF YOU FOR THINKING I LOOK PREGNANT SINCE WE ALL KNOW THAT’S A HUGE INSULT TO A WOMAN.  Isn’t it weird how brains work?  I’ve been pregnant for 5 months now and I’m still in denial.

For instance, I had my second prenatal group meeting a couple weeks ago, which involved a brief check-up (blood pressure, weight, etc.) with the nurse and midwife.  An insidious part of my brain kept insisting that this is all a ruse and that when they went to listen to the heartbeat, it wouldn’t be there.  The universe is playing a massive trick on me.  My boobs are huge and I haven’t needed a tampon in nearly half a year, and yet…

I don’t look pregnant enough.  I haven’t felt it moving much.  I mean, a few butterflies, but that could just be indigestion.  I’m acting on faith that there is something in there that I can’t see or really feel, hanging out, sucking my energy and eating my food so that I feel like I’m always hungry and I absolutely can’t risk real hunger SINCE I WILL PROCEED TO EAT EVERYTHING.  I have to trust that there is a reason I can’t sleep comfortably, can’t stand for more than 30 min without my ribs hurting from holding up my boobs (did I mention they’re HUGE?!?), can’t go an hour without peeing, and can’t decide if what I’m feeling is my normal reaction to a situation or some over-blown hormone-induced response.

I spent the last two days trying to find a boob solution.  You ladies who have bazungas know what I’m talking about.  Finding a bra that fits is only half the battle.  It has to have enough support and has to be comfortable regardless of what you’re doing.  And it has to keep the ladies in check.  Bras are the bane of our existence and when we find one that works, we do NOT deviate.  However, my bras stop fitting month 1.

Things that I didn’t expect to happen the first trimester: frequent urination, mood swings, and bazungas.  Why is it that only thing I expected (morning sickness) wasn’t as bad as I thought while also being worse in unexpected ways?  Who called it “morning” sickness?  Was it a man?  I bet it was a man.

Did I mention that right before we found out about platypus I had just bought several new conventional and sports bras since it was time to replace my stock?  I bet I didn’t.  In June, I bought new bras bc reasons.  In July, they stopped fitting.  Ugh.  August, I went out and got a few more that offered more coverage, avoiding the nursing bras like the plague.  In October, they got bigger.  Now the problem isn’t the embarrassment of spilling out.  It’s the fact that part of my job involves being on my feet for 4 to 6 hours.  Which recently has started causing pain and not where I expected.

It feels like someone has taken rib-spreaders to my side, especially my right side right underneath my right boob.  And I LOVE how inadequate the solutions are for this problem.  Apparently, all I can do is buy more GORAM bras.

If you enter the lingerie department of any major store, you will find all kinds of solutions for hiding your tummy or back or thighs.  Because that’s what really matters to a woman: stuffing everything into an appeasing spandex shape underneath their business skirt or LBD.  What you won’t find is a section for “My boobs are temporarily too big and I just need a tank top that will help reign them in for the next few months until they stabilize enough for me to shell out money on nursing bras – also, it needs to be comfortable enough that I can sleep in it without cramping because this problem doesn’t seem to go away just because I’m not vertical.”  Seriously, that’s all I want.

What I don’t want is to spend hundreds of dollars repurchasing undergarments for the next 5 months.  Bras are expensive and I already have a whiny panic in the back of my head about all the stuff we have to buy for the human being we’re going to be putting up with for the next 18 years.  This is not when I want to be frivolously spending money on myself just because the industry thinks it’s more important to put my girls on display than to have them cinched in and supported.  I swear, if they focused more on back support than tummy control, well, they’d lose money because I wouldn’t have to keep buying more bras.

In the interim, I bought six new cheap sports bras to sleep in.  And I might start doubling up my camisoles.  Thank goodness it’s starting to cool off around here.

Okay, enough boob ranting.

Here’s something uncomfortable I don’t really want to put out there, but I’m going to or it will continue to scare me.

I don’t want to buy anything for platypus.  Earlier I said that I’m in denial still, which is very true.  I look at me in the mirror, I run my hand over my belly that won’t let me suck in my gut, I wonder if that was Platypus or just my imagination.  The topic comes up every day and it still doesn’t feel real.  Which might explain why I haven’t filled out the baby registry or done serious research on cribs and strollers.  It doesn’t, though.

The thought that makes me avoid making direct eye contact with the baby department is a nugget of paranoid fear.  Preparing for this baby is tempting Fate.  Picking out names, painting the nursery, fawning over baby clothes, all these acts are simply begging the universe to change its mind about this baby actually happening.  It doesn’t matter that I just heard its heartbeat a few weeks ago and next week we’re having the second sonogram.  If I make any decisions on the assumption that this is reality, the universe will kill my baby.

Okay, that’s the extreme dark end of the spectrum of this paranoia, I promise.

How about, if I commit to this then the joke will be up and it will all turn out to be some freakish mistake.  All the piss tests and blood tests and machines and symptoms will turn out to be a fluke.  And it’s too late for me to be okay about that because I picked out a breast pump system so I’m invested in this being real.

And I’m scared about it being real.  This is normal, I know.  So normal, in fact, that most of you will say that me not being scared about my first kid would be disconcerting.

What I’m trying to say, badly, is that there are so many things that can go wrong and I’m not sure I can handle it so I’m trying not to get attached to Platypus in order to protect myself.  And don’t say that nothing is going to go wrong.  It doesn’t have to be with this pregnancy or with its childhood or teenage years or adult life or even directly to Platypus.  Things go wrong because that is life.  And knowing that means I will fail this kid somehow.  I won’t respond the right way, say the right thing, make the right decision, whatever.  I will not be able to protect my kid from the world and I know, I know, I shouldn’t want to.  And I know that I have no control over whatever is going to happen and no amount of unhealthy denial about reality is going to change that fact.

So this is definitely the hormones talking.  That’s got to be it.  I’m going to eat some pudding, good night.

 

Stage: 21 weeks (2nd Trimester)

Weight: 145-ish

Boobs: More than a handful, according to Buddy

Mood: Not that great, a complete 180 from yesterday

 

Post Script:

Periodically, we hold little potlucks at work where people leave food in the break room that we shove into our faces during our 15 min breaks.  The last couple of days, the boss decided to do our Holiday potluck since the actual holidays are a freaking nightmare.  They also decided to have a mini-baby shower for me for lots of reasons, including Halloween being my favorite holiday and the other pregnant girl is further along than me (she actually quit right after they decided to do the baby shower, but they chose to do it anyway).

I got some wonderful gifts, all very practical and adorable and I don’t feel worthy of having such considerate and talented people to work with.  And it’s definitely the hormones that are making me tear up right now.

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Where’s My Rage Now?


Wow, 2 posts in such a short time?  We should have a huge emotional upheaval every weekend.

Last week I was filled with rage over protest that has almost zero impact on me personally.  I’m white, not traditionally patriotic, progressive, and I don’t even like professional sports.  And yet I spent an entire day trying to get out the fury that flared up like a bad case of indigestion.  I sequestered myself in the kitchen for hours and still ended up spending a late even pouring out all the bitter bile that had accumulated just so that I could sleep.

The last few days, what with there being a significantly more horrific event and flare-up of biased political arguments, you’d think the anger would be back with a vengeance.

I wish it was.  Honestly, I do.  Because anger, rage, hatred, all these things fill me with power, passion, and purpose, like a true Sith.  Dark, depressive sadness just makes me numb and helpless.

It didn’t become long before this became a “thoughts and prayers” event.  I do hope that everyone who is posting about thoughts and prayers is actually sending them and not just checking some easy task off to assuage their guilt at doing absolutely nothing else.  I hope that those praying for the lost, the survivors, and the families are doing so in earnest.  I hope it isn’t just a meme to be shared and forgotten once a new inspirational quote strikes your fancy.

I have seen a few different “causes” for this incident.  Obviously, the snowflakes are calling for more gun control, because that’s the obvious response to a gun-made massacre.  The response, in case you were wondering, sounds like this:

HOLY F*CKING CHR*ST, HOW DOES ONE MAN OWN 42 GUNS AND MASSACRE 59 PEOPLE LIKE HE’S IN A G*DDAMN STALLONE MOVIE?!?  HOW THE F*CK DOES THIS HAPPEN?  WHY THE F*CK DO WE KEEP LETTING THIS HAPPEN?  F*CK GUNS.

Sorry.  That’s kind of how it feels.  Followed by:

WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING?  HOW CAN WE LOOK AT THE STATISTICS AND STILL PANDER TO GUN LOBBYISTS AND THE NRA?

Have I mentioned lately that I’m a veteran?  I suppose you might think I grew up in the kind of household that encourages that kind of career choice.  I do have an uncle who joined the service during Vietnam (to avoid the Draft, partly).  However, my mother had an extreme distaste for guns.  Like, not just “No Fake Guns that look like Real Guns” type of mentality.  Zero toy guns.  No Nerf guns.  No squirt guns.  Nothing.  Guns were not toys in my childhood, despite having 3 brothers.  Also no candy cigarettes, but that’s because my mom knows exactly why such things exist and she wasn’t having it.

My folks spent their formative years in the 60s, in the middle of the first major American conflict filmed in color.  Imagine that.  She was not exactly pleased when I was lured in by a recruiter with the bait of college money.  She never said anything to discourage me, but when I think of how she raised me to believe in non-violence and the sanctity of human life, I can’t but wonder at how blind I was to how much of a betrayal a military career might have felt to her.  I mean, not a year before, I had professed that I certainly wouldn’t join an organization that brought about human death, even if I was not the one pulling the trigger.  Turns out teenage me is a hypocrite with beliefs built on the sturdy foundation of butter sitting out on the counter.

Even walking around Iraq with a M-4 on my back, I still didn’t believe that if the situation arose I would be capable of purposely taking a human life.  This may or may not surprise my Battle Buddies.  I was grateful to be the driver of my group because it meant that I wasn’t expected to shoot anyone.  I was expected to get us the eff out of a bad situation.  So what was my plan if I did end up in a situation that required some “action” on my part?  Protect my friends.  I couldn’t justify taking a life for the sake of my own, but I just easily accept taking a life to protect my people.  Because they were, and still are, my people.

I still don’t like guns.  I don’t actually understand the sentiment.  It’s like liking pencils.  They’re tools.  Maybe it’s a girl thing, but I never enjoyed firing weapons.  I wasn’t bad at it, as long as my sights got zeroed properly and/or I had all the parts for the laser sight I got on deployment (that’s a fun story).  I mean, we all have days where we zero in 9 and then get 11/40 on the first firing order, right?  Or the time I had to explain to a MSG that he was firing at my target.  Three times.  Or the first time I had to do the prone-supported position outside of a foxhole and found out that my ammo pouches made me feel like an effing see-saw.  Or how my BQ ended up going to the CQM range 3 times in Kuwait in 140 degree heat.  Got to see a lot of brass burns during that particular exercise.  Or when they added the kneeling position and we kind of had to figure it out because they didn’t send anyone to actually teach anyone the proper form.  Or the time we set the mountain on fire with tracer rounds at the 50-Cal range.  Or how I couldn’t even charge the 50-Cal.  Or the Mk-19.  Did I mention the Mk-19 range where we were delayed for 2 hours because some scientists were talking to endangered birds behind the range?  We saw whales that day.  It was the first time I wore a flak jacket.  I didn’t even have the plates in and I felt like I couldn’t breath.  Which is funny because by the end of deployment I felt naked when I wore the vest without the plates on the way home.

Apparently, there is a type of person who gets off on firing weapons.  There was a lot of boner talk at the 50-Cal range.  All you do is get behind the rifle and push down a butterfly button with your thumb.  Oh, yeah.  That’s hot.  Granted, you do the same thing with a Mk-19, but it’s shooting grenades so the boom is a tad more thrilling.  Still.

Why is it a fun activity to go to a firing range?  The women’s group at my church in Alabama used to do that.  I just don’t get it.  Going to the range was always a hassle.  It took all day, the weather was always horrendous, and a lot of it was just sitting around waiting for your turn.  And there were days where you were spot on and days you couldn’t hit the side of a barn.  You didn’t even get the same weapon every time, so it’s not like you built up a report with the thing.  And afterwards, you have to clean the weapon.  Sometimes for hours depending on how effing detail-oriented the armorer was.  I didn’t even go to the range with my Reserve unit, but everyone was cleaning weapons so I had to.  And when I finished in 30 mins, I got a dirty look from an E-7 because everyone else was still cleaning theirs so why was I just sitting around?  I cleaned 4 weapons that day.  I’ll admit that the task can be very therapeutic for someone like me.  It’s still galling to have to do it when you didn’t even fire that day.

So no, I don’t like guns.  [Note on terminology: I have never fired a “gun.”  At Basic, it was explained that we dealt in “weapons.”  Guns were for civilians.  There was extremely strict protocols for dealing with weapons.  They were either pointed at the ground, in the air, or up-and-downrange, never at a person.  They were to be treated at all times as if they were live.  And pointing even an unloaded weapon at a DS was the only grounds on which said DS was allowed to lay a hand on you.  That hand would be fist-shaped and aimed at your head.]  Just as I don’t like cars or computers or phones or power tools.  I use or have used all of those things and they are pretty essential to my daily life in some cases.  But liking them doesn’t make any sense.

I personally don’t understand wanting a gun.  I have a lot of very handy knives which will chop onions quite fine as well as hamstring a midnight burglar.  I guess I’ve always been a bit more hands on with my weapons, personally.  I don’t carry a pocket knife around anymore, but that’s mostly because I had to keep throwing them out at very tall points of interest.  I certainly prefer knives in a Zompac situation, if only because guns make a lot of noise and run out of ammo as soon as you’re cornered by all the zombies you attracted with all that noise.  Also, I don’t hunt.  I think if I ever took up the hobby I would prefer bow-hunting to a rifle, but I’m a romantic.

Owning a hunting rifle makes sense, especially if you hunt (obviously).  Just like I crochet and therefore have quite a selection of crochet hooks.  Owning a hand gun, well, I have a bit of a problem with that.  It is a weapon specifically designed to kill people.  They aren’t good for much else.  You could, I suppose, say the same thing for things like M-16s and AK-47s and M60s and M249s.  But those are specifically designed for warzones.  Yes, they are supposed to kill people.  They’re also supposed to kill cars, trucks, and even tanks in some cases.  They are not ideal for popping the intruder in the middle of the night.  I know my husband wants a gun at some point.  He also wants a safe to keep it in because he’s not especially dumb.  He respects the danger and power of weapons, just like I do.

Now, I’ve heard a few interesting things over the last few days.  There has been a great deal of the typical “more gun control vs. you can pry my gun from my cold, dead hands” argument.  Lots of statistics showing how the US is obliterating the rest of the world in the “Who can kill more of its own people with guns” game.  People fairly pointing out that it’s really gun-related suicides that give us the edge in that particular game (unless we’re just counting the sheer number of mass shootings in the US compared to other nations).  People also pointing out that a person bent on evil will commit it, whether it is with guns modified with kits or pipe bombs or knives or anthrax.  And, of course, pointing out that none of the restrictions anti-gun people want put in place would have stopped what happened in Vegas.  I’ve also seen that it is the Godlessness of this country that leads to such atrocities.  That I cannot comment on.

There is also utter bewilderment.  Here’s a guy who didn’t fit anyone’s profile.  Not a white male in his 20s.  Not a turban-wearing jihadist.  Not a hyped-up black druggie.  There is nothing about this guy that screams psycho-mass-murderer exact the extreme collection of guns.  And having guns is just the American way, right?

Ah, here’s the rage.  See, the 2nd Amendment gives you the right to own a weapon.  That’s it.  Now, we can argue the intent of the Founders all we want.  It doesn’t matter what they meant, especially when gun sales spike after every mass shooting and that’s just good effing business.  The propaganda being plugged directly into your brain is that it’s your right and no one can take it away from you.  And that is exactly correct, believe it or not.  It doesn’t matter that the Founders couldn’t possibly imagine the destructive power a single semi-automatic weapon could have on a crowd of unsuspecting civilians.  It matters even less that the Founders were laying the foundation to never need a standing army because if everyone can have a gun, then everyone can be the army (militia ringing any bells?) at need.  Well, we have a standing army which is a huge suck on the budget every year because of bureaucracy and inefficiency and clinging to obsolete weaponry because it’s historic or tradition or whatever.  We also have the set-in-the-bones believe that guns = personal defense.  Taking away your guns is just the government’s way to keep you docile.  Or it will just make an easier job for criminals because criminals don’t get guns legally anyway, right?  Granted, taking your guns away might also prevent you from being shot dead by your toddler or keep your depressed teenager from blowing his brains out or keep you from accidentally shooting someone because you have no respect for guns.  Because they are toys and it is your right to have one, neener neener.

By the way, when people bring up the extremely harsh anti-gun regulations employed in Australia after their mass shooting in 1996 (and how it was the last they’ve seen), nobody says anything about how the government “took” anyone’s guns.  They didn’t.  It was entirely voluntary.  You turn in your gun and the government paid you for it.  That won’t work here because the government gets a lot of money from gun companies and they certainly aren’t going to turn around and spend that money buying back guns from hard working citizens in order to destroy them.  That’s just not how it works in this country.

The government CAN’T take your stupid guns.  It won’t even try.  It would rather take a moment of silence for 26 elementary school kids than even consider trying to take your guns.  So rest easy on that score.

There isn’t a solution for this problem.  At least, not an American solution.  We don’t respect guns because they’re toys and proof of manhood and essential for personal protection.  They’re a right that we take advantage of forgetting why it’s a right, just like we forget why church and state are separated.  And how freedom of religion and speech and press is there to protect you from legal government persecution, which is why there was such an extreme response to a high-ranking government official implying that a civilian organization should persecute protesters.  Government officials don’t get freedom of speech.

Before I leave you, I thought I’d provide another list of people who can STFU about this issue:

People who own guns but have never been trained in the proper use of them.

People who profit from the sale of guns.

People who state that victims “deserved it.” Period.

Idiots who think that if only they’d had their gun, all of this could have been averted.  No.  One shooter is bad enough.  Two shooters only ever compound a situation.

People who say you don’t need a gun or whatever.  You don’t decide what people need.

People who think that this is an easy fix.  If only we just did this, we would never have this problem again.  Don’t underestimate the depth of evil human beings are capable of achieving.

People who think the problem isn’t guns so we should just do nothing.  The problem isn’t just guns.  There is much we should be doing.  Maybe not having a cult of gun ownership and comprehensive care programs set up for the mentally ill?  Just to start?

 

I made pumpkin oatmeal cookies today.  Half the batch got butterscotch chips.  The other half got chopped up candied ginger.  If you want some, you know where I live.

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I hate Football.


I’d like to start this by saying I got home and spent 7 hours in my kitchen trying to calm down.  I roasted sliced yellow and zucchini squash.  I made a stock out of shrimp tails.  I baked bacon.  I made gumbo (because why else would I make shrimp stock).  I listened to Pandora loudly.  And when my husband got home from work (early because power went out at work), I still ended up crying on his shoulder.

I am about to say a lot of things.  I’m trying to exorcise feelings that I’ve been bottling.  You may not like what I have to say.  You can disagree with me.  You can call me whatever you like.  You can blame it on pregnancy hormones or just being a chick or being a liberal snowflake or whatever.  You can unfollow me.  I don’t care.  My chest hurts, I still feel like crying, and I am terrified that I have to bring up a child in this daily apocalypse.  Stop reading whenever you like.  See if I freaking care.

Hi.  My name is Jo.  I’m an Army combat veteran.  I took an oath a while ago to protect and uphold the Constitution.  I deployed to a war zone.  I was indoctrinated into a cult of patriotism.  When I was growing up, I was given a test on the Pledge of Allegiance to make sure I understood what I was saying when I faced the flag in the morning.  I was also raised to stand for the Anthem with my hand over my heart.  Well, in public anyways.

I do not like professional sports, football most of all.  I find that athletes, like most celebrities, are overpaid and celebrated far more than they should be.  I believe that a proper society would celebrate those who contribute positively to that society.  Nurses, school teachers, soldiers, police, fire fighters, artists, and blue collar workers.  The worship given to athletes is wholly disproportionate to their actual contribution.  We shower them with scholarships for schools they aren’t learning from and drown them in sponsorships because they have good hand eye coordination and can hit people really hard, especially after drinking this electrolyte drink and wearing these $200 sneakers.  Some of you may think you know where this is going.  Some of you are wrong.

I have never in my life been proud of an NFL player.  Until one of them started a protest.

Don’t stop reading yet.

You see, most professional athletes make headlines for beating their wives.  Or abandoning their teams.  Or getting arrested for dog fighting.  Or rape.  Or drug abuse.  Or gangs violence.  DUIs.  Prostitutes.  Steroids.  And what’s funny is that those headlines are barely headlines.  They’re expected to a degree.  And fans will go out of their way to pardon these players, make up a million excuses for them and be ready to fight anyone who says anything against the character of the person whose name is on the back of their over-priced “authentic” jersey.  Those players are heavily fined and suspended.  They’re traded to other teams sometimes.  However, in general, their behavior causes very little long-term damage to them.  They may not be on a Wheaties box, but they won’t be shunned by society.  Some of them won’t even lose their jobs, despite videos posted publicly of them punching fiancées in the face or actually jail time.

People lose jobs for being convicted of crimes.  Some of them lose their whole futures because an ounce of marijuana makes them a felon for the rest of their lives. People even lose their jobs for posting things on social media.  Yet some of the most infamous criminals in the limelight get it written off because, again, they can throw a ball or hit someone really hard.

And then there are politicians, who can get away with all of these offenses, put a flag pin on their lapel, get re-elected, and then get pulled into another “scandal.”  It’s “scandal” because that’s what we call it when a person who has called for tougher illegal drug regulations gets caught with cocaine.  Or when an outspoken opponent to same-sex marriage gets caught not only in an affair, but in a homosexual extramarital relationship.

Let’s talk about patriotism.  I hear the phrase “that’s how I was raised” quite frequently.  I was raised to respect the flag.  I was raised speaking the Pledge every day in school.  I was raised to stand for the anthem.  However, I am not a blind patriot.  I hate this country sometimes.  I hate how broken it is.  I hate how ashamed it makes me.  If I say the Pledge, it’s because I am a citizen of this nation and I believe that we should pledge allegiance to the unity of a republic as a goal and a promise that I will be there for my neighbors.  Because I choose to, not because my peers pressure me into it.  I acknowledge that the pledge was altered in the 50s because jingoists were scared the Reds were infiltrating our Democracy and we know how much those Pinko Commie bastards, like Demons, can’t say the words “under God” without bursting into flames.

I hate that people call America a Christian nation.  Maybe if we acted like it, even a little, sure.  But there is a reason we separated church and state.  The state corrupts the faith.  Theocracy is not faith.   If you want more Christian ideals enforced by the government, better not turn your nose up at welfare, public works, and “free” healthcare.  We as Christians are called to help those who need us, the sick, the impoverished, the sinners.  That is how we become Christ-like.  There is no way mandated charity qualifies as Christianity.

Mandated is a good word, you know.  Also indoctrination.  Ever been indoctrinated?  I have.  In 9 weeks I went from a scared 18 yr old girl who hated guns and couldn’t stomach the idea of taking a single human life to being a “killer.”  I was going to be in forever, this was going to be my career, and I was better than all those pansy civilians who stayed home.  This lasted all of 2 hours after I got out of Basic.  But some of it sticks.  Like, I will stand to attention when the Army song comes on.  I won’t sing the stupid words any more, but I won’t sit through it, either.  That’s not because I like the song or am super proud of my service.  The fact is, I earned the right to stand.  You didn’t.  I do not like seeing civilians in military attire of any sort, even spouses and kids.  I do not like seeing the flag used in propaganda ads political campaigns or plastered all over clothing.  I do not like seeing a flag flying that is ripped or one flying at night without a light on it.  I do not like the Confederate Flag.  I do not like when civilians get upset about someone “disrespecting the military” with a peaceful protest.  I do not like when my military friends have the same reaction.  Because free speech is part of the constitution I swore to protect.  Disrespect is spitting on soldiers when they come back from Vietnam and calling them baby killers.  Disrespect is allowing the VA to become so corrupt an ineffectual that veterans die befor they can get treatment.  Disrespect is parading soldiers about like little puppets to show everyone how patriotic you are, you who have never served a day in your life.

And speaking of civilians, I despise the fact that the people who tell the military what to do and how to do it, the people who send my friends to die, are privileged civilians with absolutely zero military experience.

I don’t like that a draft-dodger is tweeting threats about the leader of a sovereign nation.  How dare he?  How dare call a POW a loser, congratulate a purple heart recipient, take two days to condemn violent protesters, call peaceful protesters “sons of bitches,” threaten the medical coverage of veterans and military families, and claim that he knows ISIS better than the Generals?  And then he just nonchalantly tweets an act of war that could get my friends killed?  Not my friends here, you understand.  My friends stationed in South Korea.  You know, the country that is DEFINITELY within rocket range of nuclear weapons.  The soldiers who will be first if that runty little psycho decides to test America’s tough guy stance?

But hey, like I’ve been seeing on the Facebook, this isn’t about him.  It’s about one player disrespecting the military and the flag and the anthem.  Or it was.  Up until that effing mook decided to make it about him by calling for a non-government entity to punish protesters.  Way to make it worse, idiot.

You do not have to like what has been going on the last year with these protests.  Or any protest, for that matter.  I don’t recall any protest in history that had the goal of making everyone happy.  Sit-ins and hunger strikes and effing Buddhists lighting themselves on fire, these are not supposed to be a delightful romp.  You protest to draw attention, not to blend in.  Again, Christians, let’s look to our model, shall we?  Jesus broke the law.  Repeatedly.  Publicly.  On purpose.  And they nailed him to an effing tree.  (Oh, please don’t go and say that I’m making these protesters “Christ-like.”  That is not the point here.)

A lot of people seem to be upset by the manner of protest.  Which is interesting because that would be the bloody point, wouldn’t it?  It is supposed to upset you.  Now, I’ll admit that it is slightly more blatant than, say, sitting at a lunch counter or trying to go to school.  Imagine how bad sh*t was that it was so easy to piss people off.  Sitting in the wrong seat got you arrested.  Using the wrong water fountain got you beaten.  Looking at the wrong woman got you lynched.

Oh, but thank goodness that’s all behind us, right?  No one’s getting shot in the street for being unarmed.  Or for reaching for their wallet.  Or for being 12-years-old and brandishing a toy gun.

Oh, but they were criminals.  Right?  They deserved to be gunned down because they made the wrong choice.

NO.  NOBODY DESERVES THAT.  WTF, PEOPLE?

We have a legal system for a reason.  It’s to lock up minorities by the millions.  The system is broken.  Our prisons are being run by private companies.  Did you know that?  That they get money the more people are jammed into their facilities and therefore like to lobby for laws that will pack their cells?  That they could give 2 sh*ts about due process or rehabilitating prisoners into useful members of society so long as they get paid?  There are more people in prison than there are people in the entire state of Nebraska.  Which I will have you know has way more people than Montana.

Oh, but let’s focus on these over-paid, prissy athletes “disrespecting” the flag/anthem/military.  Name three careers available to minorities that will make them rich.  Athletics is one.  Acting is another.  Music is another.  How many CEOs are minorities?  Can you name 10 famous minority millionaires who aren’t athletes, actors, or musicians?  5?  Anyone besides Ben Carson, Al Sharpton, and Obama?  Do you realize that for a lot of minority kids, athletics is the only way they can afford college?  Do you think all those rich whiney babies started out rich?  Are you aware that at the end of the day, regardless of their paycheck, they are still minorities?

They are called privileged.  Because they are rich.  But they are rich because they are lucky.  They had a specific skillset that got them out of their underprivileged schools, out of the cycle of violence and poverty faced by many people in their neighborhoods.  But for the grace of God, they could have been murdered in the street just by living on that street.  That’s why they care.  That’s why they protest.  Because we still have a big issue with race in this country.  And they have to protest because people don’t listen to the poor.  Remember?  The 99% getting mocked for having iPhones and having the luxury to protest while everyone else had to go to work?  All the while, the 1% worked tirelessly to turn the poor against each other so they could continue to be the 1%.  The “thugs” leading protests in Ferguson and Cleveland and Chicago?  Well, now the thugs are your former heroes, the guys on your fantasy football leagues whose names are hanging in your closet with your other sports paraphernalia.   And they aren’t rioting.  They’re kneeling.  The nerve, right?

Now, let’s make this perfectly clear.  In 2009, the DOD paid the NFL to do more patriotic displays.  Remember that word mandated?  Before 2009, you didn’t see the players until they ran onto the field, after some clown butchered the anthem.  Then it became mandatory for them to show their patriotism.  You know what mandatory means, right?  That’s when you are forced to do something even if you don’t want to.  In the Army, we have stuff that is required by regulation, but we voluntarily gave up a lot of our civil rights.  So, you know, we accept that mandatory is part of the job.  Ever hear the phrase mandatory fun?  That’s when there’s a “fun” event that the commander has decided is mandatory because otherwise no one would show up.  There’s also the word “voluntold.”  That’s when they ask for volunteers by making a list of who’s going to volunteer.  Get it?  It’s like making people swear allegiance to the current ruler or swear fealty to the state religion.  With the prospect of being burnt alive if you refuse.  But, you know, probably not so extreme.

Mandating patriotism is sick.  End of storyMandated patriotism is a lot like mandated religion.  It isn’t real.  And it is anti-American.  Imagine sending your kid to a school that requires them to pray to Mecca 5 times a day.  Or they have to have a bar mitzvah before they graduate 6th grade.  Or they have to write a paper on how glorious the beloved leader is.  Every day.  Or else they get shot.  In the head.

If you aren’t frightened by the images of blank-eyed children swearing by rote to something they don’t understand, you aren’t paying attention.  That’s what mandated patriotism is.

But there has to be a better way/time.  Actually, no.  The protest is working, to a degree.  We are effing talking about it.  Even more so since some moron made them martyrs and therefore multiplied the participants exponentially in one day.  Instead of a few kneeling, entire teams either knelt or locked arms to state plainly that they will not be threatened into silence.  Some people are still blindly sharing memes and dismissing this as a publicity stunt.  “They don’t know what they’re protesting.  They just want attention.  They are disrespectful.”  Well, they do know what they’re protesting (police brutality and systemized racism), they already have attention (duh, millionaires on TV every week), and disrespectful?  Kneeling?

Okay, lighting the flag on fire.  Yes.  Blatantly using the anthem to show off your mediocre voice.  Yes.  Claiming that 26,000 unreported military rapes are just what happens when you put men and women together.  Yes.  Kneeling?  No.

Are they protesting the flag?  No.  Are they protesting the anthem?  No (but you do know why we don’t sing the other verses, right?).  Are they protesting the military.  No.  They are protesting police brutality and systemized racism.  And they are doing it in a public way to draw attention to the cause.  Does that make sense?  You don’t like when they kneel?  “Can’t they kneel some other time, some other place?”  Why?  So you don’t have to see it?  The Anthem is the best time to do it because it draws the most attention.  Again, that’s the fracking point.  Do I like that?  No.  Do I have to?  No.

And they aren’t just kneeling, you know.  Some of them are putting their (considerable) money where their mouths are.  Many players participate in community projects working with underprivileged kids and donate to charitable causes related to these issues.  But are they supposed to enforce internal police investigations?  Change legislation to increase funding to schools and conflict management training for officers?  Are they supposed to show up to every traffic stop to make sure that no one gets shot for smelling like pot?  Or protect nurses from being arrested for doing their jobs?  Or investigate every instance of police brutality and ensure that the officers are reprimanded accordingly?

Well?

They’re effing football players.  You know?  Modern day gladiators who get paid to get brain damage.  But isn’t it amazing what buffoons in helmets can do when they act together for a cause.

You want to stand, do it.  You want to kneel, fine.  There isn’t a law to enforce either because then it wouldn’t be patriotism.  It’d be fascism.  I swore to protect your rights and that includes your right to sit.

When the leader of the free world demands that free speech should be punished, we have a much bigger problem.

As a last note, the following people can STFU about this issue (especially as it concerns “respecting the military”):

Draft Dodgers

Anyone who has ever worn the flag as an article of clothing (see the flag code)

Anyone who has ever flown the Confederate Flag (cuz that’s called treason)

Anyone who refers to POWs as losers, soldiers as rapists, or in any way uses the military as some kind of pawn in their campaign

Anyone who believes that people who don’t prove their patriotism through meaningless acts should be shot (see fascism)

People who don’t stand with their hand over their heart every time they hear the Anthem, even when they are home alone or when it plays at 8:00 every morning on the base loud speaker or when they are getting their concessions before the game starts because the line was so freaking long and you don’t want to miss the kick o

 

Remember kids, we aren’t North Korea.  We don’t have a gulag for political dissenters.  We don’t have death camps for those who look different from us (anymore).  We don’t mandate patriotism.  If you have a problem with the protest, do something about it.  Either close your eyes to the whole thing (boycott or whatever) or look for ways you can make a change so that they don’t need to protest any more.

 

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Declawing Cats


I should not be writing right now for a few reasons.  First, I have had two very full glasses of wine (I am a lightweight).  Second, it is very late, and while I have the day off tomorrow I don’t like indulging this particular bad habit.  Third, I have been holding in a lot of anger.  And by holding in, I mean ranting to my husband and friends, but not writing it down.

I write for a lot of reasons, I think.  Sometimes things just don’t make sense in my head until I make them solid on paper/screen.  Other times, I can’t sleep because my brain won’t stop talking about something.  Rarely, I am genuinely inspired by the Muse of Fiction.  I’ve written to fulfill New Years Resolutions and personal vows and school requirements.  I write because I am a writer.  I am also a baker and a hooker (crochet) and a napper.  To that end, I bake food I shouldn’t eat and stuff it in the faces of people I know to validate my own irreplaceability in their lives.  I crochet projects that interest/challenge me to stave off boredom and half-heartedly sell them (or rather don’t sell them) on the internet.  I nap.  This is my life when I’m not working.

I think I’m averaging three times a day that someone remarks on the fact that my name is Jo and I work at Joann’s.  It blows their minds when I tell them my middle name is Ann.  I say the same jokes over and over again.  “It’s probably why they hired me.”  “My mom must have KNOWN.”  “I’m Undercover-Bossing it.”  They all love my St. Pat’s apron, which I made as Irish as possible without resorting to using potatoes.  I am either the best person with the brightest personality and the most charming customer service or I’m the rude girl who merely pointed to the part of the store you needed without holding your hand to take you there.  I try to be the former because a narcissist needs everyone to love them and I NEED YOU TO LOVE ME.  I’m sorry if I was rude.  I hope there was a reason and not just that I was tired from standing for 5 hours because Americans don’t believe you can work and sit at the same time.  Or that I hadn’t eaten all afternoon because I decided we were too busy for me to take my 15 min corporate-obligated break.  Or I’m dehydrated because I left my water at the register and the past 5 times I went up to grab it, someone needed my help.  But thank goodness I have a cute apron and a bubbly personality and gave you the coupon you didn’t have or the discount you misread because losing money is less important than losing customers but more important than staffing the store well enough to properly serve customers.

To be clear, I do like my job.  I meet amazing people.  I get to help people be creative, which is kind of what I want to do with my life anyway, just with books.  I am inspired everyday to buy more yarn and fabric and stretch the boundaries of my skills.  I want to learn to do everything and I want to teach people to do those skills which will while away the hours of the Zompac.

Here is very important advice for casual conversation with retail workers.  It doesn’t happen frequently at work, but among new friends and associates and strangers at parties, the conversation gets around to, “And what do you do?”  Often this is after conversations about education or crazy college stories, but here’s a template of one conversation I had a bit too frequently over the last few weeks.

“Yes, I have a Bachelors in English with a minor in Medieval/Renaissance Studies.”

“And what are you doing with that?”

“I work retail.”

“Why?”

“I needed a job.”

Anything you say after that which isn’t along the lines of, “Oh, okay, the economy, blah, blah, blah, change the subject,” is going to lead down a dark road.

What can I say?  I am registered on several job search sites.  I get multiple daily emails about jobs available in my area (within an hour commute).  Most are crap.  Many are not even related to the field I’m interested in.  I realize that Barnes & Noble sells books, but the Starbucks barista job has absolutely no relation to publishing.  Nor does a managerial position at Food Lion count as a writing position.  Or I could take one of the many jobs selling magazine subscriptions to strangers.  A few, a very few are worth applying to.  Some fall under the “I need a job” category.  Like, okay, I’m not sure this is the type of job I want, but it does involve writing, a salary, and a full-time position.  Just bite the bullet, send in your resume, and wait for them to never, ever respond.  Not even to say you aren’t qualified or we went with someone else.

So when asked why I’m not working in the field I want, there is a little voice that starts screaming.  I don’t know.  I don’t know why they don’t want me.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I’m not good enough when EVERYONE who has ever taught me has said that I am above average.  What am I doing wrong?  Why don’t they want me?  And the only answer I always seems to come up with is that I’m not trying hard enough.  I can’t possibly be trying hard enough because in this country, if you work hard and stay positive and pull on your bootstraps or whatever, the opportunities just pour down.

It’s probably true.  I don’t walk my resume into publishing houses nor do I plan to move to LA or NYC in order to get an unpaid internship that could easily be done via email.  I don’t write constantly and send submissions in everywhere.  I don’t email 10 resumes a day to different employers.  Would that help?  Maybe.  Should I pay someone to look over my resume?  Because 6.5 years in the Army and a Bachelors degree aren’t evidence enough that I’m worth an interview?  Or even a rejection email?

This is why I don’t blog as much.  What shall I write about?  There was some woman who expected us to open up nearly an hour after we closed so she could buy something because we were the only place that had it and she needed it that night.  Or the woman who waved me down like I was a taxi.  Or the questions about whether or not I have anyone to help me with the line, which imply that I simply love keeping people waiting while my coworkers lounge in the break room or something.  No, I’m alone here.  I called for help and no one can come because everyone else is busy helping other people.  Or asking me to find a fabric you saw 2 months ago but don’t have a number or even a picture of, but you just loooooved it so much.  Is that all your buttons?  Why don’t you sell this obscure thing I’m looking for?  What are your hours that I could easily find with a quick internet search?  Do you have this yarn I bought six months ago with this lot number?  Do you have a senior discount (after I have asked if they have military or teacher discounts, because I would absolutely not mention senior after saying those)?  That person wasn’t chipper enough ringing me up, I want to complain.  I don’t understand why I can’t get cash back for a return, even when I don’t have the receipt.  Why didn’t I get full price back for stuff I returned six months after I bought it?  Where does it say 90 days (on the big sign right above your head and on the receipt)?  Why do you have to handle my fabric (because you were trying to smuggle out $30 in remnants folded in your fleece)?  What do you mean you don’t have it?  It’s on your website.  Oh, it says online only.

And that is only the nasty 1% of our customers.  Everyone else is either a joy and a pleasure to see or they’re new and just need some hand-holding.

For new people:

  1. Please be patient.  There are a lot of draws on our attention (other customers, because stocking the store and cleaning up the messes inconsiderate people leave always come after customer service).  We will help as much as we can, HOWEVER, we are not personal shoppers and should not neglect the rest of the store unnecessarily.  We will because we want your positive experience to bring you back, but other customers will suffer.
  2. Please be prepared.  Know your measurements.  There is no average size for anything, not chairs, not showers, not blankets, not clothes, not ANYTHING.  We will help you, but without correct measurements the best we can do is make guesses which can lead to you buying the wrong amount of supplies.  This will unnecessarily complicate your project and make you less likely to take on another.
  3. No questions are stupid or silly or unusual.  Within six months of working there, I had already heard all the weirdest projects (#1 was a reusable feminine pad) and cut the most fabric (2 1/2 hours cutting 50 1.5-yd pieces of fleece).  Do not be embarrassed to ask me anything.  Dumb questions are things that could be directed to Google before stepping in the store.  If Google can’t help you, ask away.  Even if Google could help you but you don’t want to ask a faceless search engine, ASK AWAY.  I will answer with a smile and if I can’t answer your question, I will ask my colleagues.  And yes, if desperate, Google it.

For Regulars:

  1. We love seeing you because you understand how long it can take to cut fabric.  Your patience and understanding are a Godsend, especially when we are slammed and understaffed.
  2. When we aren’t busy, we want to see pictures of your projects because in a little way they are our projects, too.  We also want to talk about your families and upcoming events, but not politics.  When we are busy, we still want to see pictures but we may have to be walking and stocking at the same time.
  3. Have your coupons loaded before you get to the register.  If you need help, as all phones can be tricky even to the most experienced, just ask.  If there is a long line at the register, I’ve noticed my regulars engaging other customers in conversation.  I love you for that.  It makes the line less threatening to me AND less annoying for others.
  4. Please, please, please, go to the website and fill out customer reviews.  A lot of people will take the time to fill out a review for a bad experience (and yes, I want those too, because how else will I learn?).  Most won’t bother if they had a good experience.  Every once in a while, I want to hear someone say we did a good job.  I know we do a good job and I know we aren’t perfect.  When all you hear are the negative reviews even though all I hear in person is how wonderful I am, it’s very confusing.

I didn’t mean for this to be about work or about my failing job hunt or how much retail can suck.  I was going to make some nasty remarks about declawing cats and maybe something political.  But since I’ve been listening to audiobooks in the car, I haven’t felt the boiling need to spew about stuff that doesn’t affect me on the daily because I am white, cis-gender, military spouse with health care through the military, and no children (yet) for which the future death of the planet holds any threat.  For the time being, I can selfishly ignore the toxic waste that festers a mere 3 hours away, plotting to drain the swamp through the effective means of increasing the white supremacist alligator population.  And honestly, what more is there to say that hasn’t been ignored or called fake news by the people I most need to hear me?  The people who will listen already agree with me.  The people who will call me a bitch and a snowflake and naïve are rooting for a creature who lies to their faces on a daily basis, or has his flying monkeys do it for him.

Bottom line, don’t declaw your cats, except in cases of medical necessity (for the cat).  Declawing can actually increase aggression in cats, causing them to lash out by biting rather than scratching.  A cat bite is far more likely to send you to the emergency room than a scratch.  It is better to treat the cat for aggression, either by finding healthy outlets (play and personal territory), behavioral medication, or rehoming if you are unable to give them the attention they need.  Declawing a cat because you don’t want it to scratch your furniture/carpets/curtains is animal cruelty.  It’s not like removing fingernails.  It’s cutting off the top knuckle of their hands.  It is the equivalent of binding women’s feet (Google that if you don’t know what I’m talking about).  I will never care more about my carpets than I do about the living creatures I agreed to care for.

 

And now you know why I don’t drink and blog.

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This is my pessimistic post for the week.  Sorry.

Every time I get on the Facebook, someone has posted a petition of some sort to complain about the gov’ment effing us over.  There are lots of people sharing how Congress should take a pay cut instead of shanking everyone else.  There are people calling to recall every elected official, to vote everyone out of office in favor of someone new.  Apparently, people think that we can do something to combat the rampant corruption of the people in power.

I disagree.  Here’s the thing.  Let’s say you get everyone in the country to vote against the incumbents, to fill the Congress with new blood and clear out the rotten blood.  Okay.  Fine.  You just voted in a few hundred people who are (possibly) not already inducted into the system of lobbying, bribes, and blatant commercialism.  We might even pretend that they aren’t already owed by some corporation or another, that the fortune they spent to get elected came in small donations from The People and not from the large donations of “interested parties.”  Does that guarantee and end to corruption?  Does it even put a dent in the problem?  Only if the new people you elected are morally strong, ethically motivated, utterly selfish in their desire for public office at that level.  And the people who run for the offices (well above City Councils and other small-time posts) are well-known for retaining their integrity when they get to that level, are they?  Isn’t the fact that they’ve made it that far up the political ladder to be backed by a national party or another indicate that they are thoroughly integrated into the system we despise so much?  Even if someone starts out honest and decent at the beginning, in all likelihood, he/she has to grease palms to get beyond the local sector, to get high enough on the political food chain to justify mud-flinging campaigns against someone who has had years of experience for the job being fought for, yes?

Oh, and those campaigns.  Yes.  Let’s talk about those.  I have heard people discuss politicians in familiar terms, as though their had been a picnic over the weekend which involved a little visit from a $1000-suit wearing, professional liar (sorry) wherein all important view-points were spoken of at length and with utter confidence.  Here is the facts: politicians make promises (based on the stance of their party, the particular concerns of their constituents, or anything that their campaign manager has decided will get them elected) which they have no ability to keep.  At least, not on their own.  For instance, the president (current or otherwise) makes a load of promises over a long and expensive campaign that can last years.  When he/she attains office, he/she can’t do squat if Congress is held by the opposite power.  He/She can’t attain goals that aren’t feasible, cannot affect an ingrained system without years of strain, can’t do anything at all that can’t be undone by the next guy or stopped dead by childish antics by fat blowhards who want to keep fat for the rest of their lives.  The “most powerful person in the world” is SOL if he/she tries to fix problems that the corrupt don’t want fixed.  The checks and balances system, which keeps the president from becoming all George III/Louis XIV, also hamstrings the entire system.  Make as many promises as you want.  They are worth as much as salt at the bottom of the ocean when you get elected.

And where the eff does all the money come from?  What does it go to?  People are starving to death, losing their jobs, their homes, their faith in humanity and those people hold a fracking dinner to raise tens of thousands of dollars for their campaigns.  With their substantial pay checks, why do they need to raise money at all?  Why do my friends get screwed out of their retirement pay for your 30-second TV spot, personal jet, $600 shoes, and fancy cars, huh?  How dare you get to vote for your own pay raise and then tell my battle buddies that getting shot at isn’t reason enough to receive benefits after they’ve given their physical and mental health for your flabby, lying, despicable, selfish, immature BS.  (In regards to the claims that military personnel retire at such a young age that a secondary career is possible and therefore they shouldn’t be allowed to “double dip,” I offer you a middle finger and this: Try starting a secondary career at the age of 40, when everyone else you’re competing against is 20 years younger than you and 20 years ahead of you on training.  How many people have been laid off from their job of 20 years and then immediately found a new career that pays them anywhere near what they were getting in their last job?  Why are there so many people fighting for extended unemployment benefits if secondary careers are simply falling out of the sky for retired veterans?)  In addition, this kind of betrayal, which you can justify all you want, is supposed to save a few billion dollars over the next ten years or something.  Big effing deal, peeps.  We are trillions in debt.  Billions aren’t enough.  If you wanna make unfair cuts, make them across the board.  It sucks, yes.  But it sucks for everyone, not just the people who signed a contract to put up with endless goat-ropes in return for a steady paycheck and benefits.  (Note: I understand that public office is a demanding and grueling career, one which forces many sacrifices of mental and physical health.  If it was so stress free, presidents would still have dark hair at the end of their first terms.  I believe there are a lot of expenditures that are completely unnecessary to maintaining a political career, but what do I know?  My point is, no government career is more important than any other, so if spending must be checked, it is irresponsible to pick and choose who you think can handle a pay cut.  Savvy?)

It’s not going to happen, though.  You vote out the corrupt in favor of someone either just as corrupt or completely helpless against the infection.  You b*tch all you want on social media, but in a month, it will all be posts about some other scandal or outrage.  You’ll forget who pissed you off so badly in October by the time the next chance to vote comes up.  Complain and post humorous memes and startling figures.  They’ll still vote for their own fracking pay raise and distract you from the real problems with crusades against abortion or marijuana or same-sex marriage or immigration or gas prices or global warming.

I’m not a member of a political party.  I don’t see much difference between them (since there only appear to be two).  I don’t get the die-hard loyalty people have to their party.  Shouldn’t you be more concerned about whether a person can do the job better rather than whether he has the right animal mascot?  Is it right for the system to gridlock because the sides are too polarized to work together?  Why do we even need the fracking sides?

And in case you were wondering, no, I don’t vote.  I can’t pick the lesser of two evils because there is no way for me to know which is which.  The information age means there is just more misinformation that confuses and angers me.  The system is broken and I am too discouraged and depressed to think that I can do a goram thing to change that.  If you want to bash me for that, fine.  I have two points for you.  A. The Electoral College does my voting for me.  B. Corporations are people.

Please don’t use what I’ve written here as an excuse not to participate.

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