Humanity

This is a video guaran-damn-teed to restore your faith in humanity.  With all the hate and suffering surrounding us on a daily basis, it's nice to be reminded that there is kindness in the world.  We're good peoples.  It's less than four minutes long and I've watched it no fewer than fifty times.  The whale gets me every time. So the next time the world starts gettin' you down, watch this and feel better about yourself and your fellow peeps.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oER0mpwodFY

Baffled

There are some things that just baffle me.  For instance--Mom and I are planning a trip to South Dakota this fall.  There is a hotel in the Black Hills, KBars Lodge, which came highly recommended by friends who had been there.  They said some of the rooms come with a small balcony that faces Mt Rushmore.  Can you imagine walking out onto your balcony and seeing Mt Rushmore???  So I checked into it and found a room with two beds and the all important balcony.  Before I even checked the price I clicked on "photos" to see what the view was like.  NO pictures of Mt Rushmore.  There were pictures of the room (pretty standard), pictures of the bed and TV.  We all know what a hotel room looks like.  I've seen a bed and pillows and TVs.  I've seen lamps and alarm clocks.  I've not seen Mt Rushmore.  Get this---there was a closeup photo of a Keurig coffee maker.  A picture of a Keurig, but no picture of Mt Rushmore.  Why, I ask you?!?  Why???

I'm not going all the way to South Dakota to brew a fresh cup of Colombian Extra Bold.  I don't care about their fluffy pillows.  Neither does anyone else.  We are going to that particular hotel to sit on the balcony and look at Mt Rushmore.  Whoever is in charge of marketing needs fired, tout de suite.

Funnies

I'm feeling lazy today, so here are some funny memes.  Enjoy.

Hat

Reminiscing

Mom and I went for a walk last night and we got to reminiscing about a trip we had taken a year or two ago.  Lake Tahoe and northern California, I do believe.  We both hate to drive, so we brought along my brother to chauffeur.  That was his one and only job.  Plus, Mom had broken her hand a couple of weeks before so she needed a little extra help from time to time. 

We were somewhere in northern California, trying to find the Avenue of the Giants, when we came up on a gas station / convenience store in the middle of nowhere.  We had spent half an hour going up a mountain and had no idea where we were.  We weren't on any map.  I looked.  As soon as we get there, my brother bolts from the car.  No idea where he's going.  Mom and I go inside this store, which looked like someplace you really wouldn't want to be on your own.  Very remote and backwoodsy.  It's nearly lunch time, so we go up to the counter at the tiny little deli and tell the worker girl that we'd like some sandwiches.  She says "Did you take a number?"  We look around the store.  We're the only people there.  "No.  We didn't take a number."  "Well, you have to take a number" she says.  Fine.  We turn around at the ticket getting post, which is right next to where we were standing and  get numbers 1, 2, and 3. We hand the numbers to the worker lady, who hadn't moved.  To this day, I'm not sure why we had to have numbers.  Rules is rules, I guess.

We ordered  a sandwich for my brother, who still hadn't resurfaced.  I got a sandwich and Mom got a bowl of chili.  Seriously.  At a gas station in the middle of nowhere, she orders a bowl of chili.  We walk back outside and find Robby, who tells us he had gotten car sick and just threw up behind the store.  He was sick as a dog.  Trouble is, we had gone the wrong way, so now we had to go back down the same mountain that made him sick. 

Being the nice person that I am, I offered to drive so he could lie down in the back seat.  We had to take our food with us since there was no place to eat at the gas station and, frankly, we wanted to shag ass out of there.  So we load up back in the car, Robby passes out in the back seat and we take off.  Mom tries to get a spoonful of chili, with her broken hand, somehow manages to twirl the spoon and flicks chili all over the car.  She looked over at me with the most annoyed look on her face and says "Well, how am I supposed to eat chili with a broken hand???" as if it were somehow my fault.  Beats me. Shouldn't have ordered chili.  I'm not even sure how she did it.  Even with a broken hand, one should not flick chili everywhere.   

Again, being the nice person that I am, I let mom have my sandwich and I took her chili.  So I have to drive down this mountain, full of switchbacks and hairpin turns, whilst trying to eat a bowl of chili one handed.  And I'm not even supposed to be driving.  Our chauffeur was dry heaving in the back seat.  

We did finally make it to the Avenue of the Giants and it was well worth it.  They are spectacular.  And just so's you know, at Lake Tahoe, Mom orders some sort of weird Asian soup for lunch.  Soup they serve with chopsticks.  She can't use chopsticks, even without a broken hand.  Much like the chili, it was a failure, so I ended up getting weird Asian soup for lunch and she got my awesome sandwich.  Quit ordering soup!!!  

Laundry

Nothing quite like relaxing on a filthy pile of dirty laundry. 

My New Most Hated Person

So I have a new most hated person ever, which is nice because I'm sick of all of my old ones.  Victor Espinoza.  I hadn't even heard of him until a few days ago. He is the jockey who rode American Pharoah on to win the Kentucky Derby a couple of weeks ago.  Espinoza is being investigated by some sort of governing body for excessive use of the whip during the race.  He whipped American Pharoah thirty two times during the home stretch.  Thirty two times....in a row.  Not only that, he was sanctioned around the same time when he was riding Stellar Winds in California.  He whipped her so hard it split her skin.  The fine for splitting the skin of a racehorse is $300.  Even I have $300, so that is a ridiculously laughable punishment. 

Do you remember the scene in Super Troopers where the cops are messing with the car full of stoners?  And they tell them to pull over but they're already pulled over and the kid in the back yells "He's already pulled over!  He can't pull over any farther!"  That's what I think about the horses.  After the first couple cracks of the whip, the horse knows he's supposed to run hard.  He gets it.  He's going as fast as he can.  He can't go any faster and whipping him over and over and over isn't going to magically get him to run faster than he's capable of.  He can't pull over any farther.

But, you know what really gets me?  Basically no one cared what the jockey did.  He won the Kentucky Derby and that's all that mattered.  They say you can't argue with results, and he did get results.  The welfare of the horses is clearly secondary to the outcome of the race.  As long as Espinoza gets results, it doesn't matter how he gets them.  I guess.  That sickens me. 

Animals are not here for our amusement, despite what the women in the ridiculous hats say.  I don't watch the races #1 because I don't agree with it and #2 after what happened to Barbaro in '06.  Remember Barbaro?  I've always told my mom that I knew society was doomed the moment we put bears in circuses, riding unicycles and wearing funny little hats.  Bears were not meant to wear funny little hats and ride around on unicycles.  Horses races are neck and neck (see what I did there??) to the bears in funny hats. 

Poor Barbaro

Smoke

Frankie is not bright.  I've come to terms with it.  Made my peace with it.  He is a firebug.  He LOVES candles, which is problematic.  I love candles, but all of his whiskers have curly q's on the end because he's singed them off.  As soon as I've used the ones I have, I'm afraid I'm done with candles.  He's going to burn my house down. 

Anyhoodle, the other day I had lit a candle and set it on the kitchen counter.  I walked into the front room, realized I had forgotten something in the kitchen and walked back.  That took, maybe, fifteen seconds as my house is the size of a standard minivan.  Well, I round the corner and saw Frankie standing in the sink.  He had his front paws in the sink, back paws on the edge of the sink.  He was eating a brown, floppity piece of lettuce, which is another of his quirks.  I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to really make sense of what I was seeing.  There was smoke rolling off of his butt.

"Is he smoking?"  That's all I could think.  I finally came to my senses and took off running.  As soon as I got within five feet or so I could smell burned hair.  Bad.  I grabbed him and ran my hand down his back and found a super hot spot at the base of his tail.  He had somehow set his butt on fire.  There were no flames and I'm assuming even Frankie would realize if he were actually on fire.  But he almost torched himself, enough to have smoke rolling off of him. 

I don't really know how he even did it.  It wasn't the tip of his tail, or his ear.  The small of his back, really.  I have no idea what he did, but I think we're done with candles.

Mother's Day

For Mother's Day, Mom and I loaded Grandma up in the wheelchair and pushed her to Grandma's Kitchen, her favorite pre-nursing home restaurant.  It's the hang out in town for the over-70 crowd.  Happenin' place, let me tell you.  She did really well and seemed to enjoy herself.  Mom was a little disappointed that none of Grandma's old friends were there.  She's been in the nursing home going on a year now and when you're in your nineties you lose a lot of peeps in that time.

All was well until we left.  Poor, poor Grandma has this dumping syndrome thingie.  She has to poop right after she eats.  And I mean right....after.  We leave the restaurant and immediately she starts in complaining that she has to go to the bathroom.  Mom and I are pushing like hell trying to get back to the nursing home.  "I have to go to the bathroom."  Me--"I know.  I'm hurrying."  Grandma--"Well you're not hurrying fast enough!"  Every business, every house we pass she wonders if she could use their bathroom.  NO.  Mom tried to distract her with "Are you still comfortable in the wheelchair?  I worried it would hurt your legs a little."  Grandma--"Well, it's stopping  up my butt."  And then Mom--"Are you full?  Did you get enough to eat?"  Grandma--"I'll be a lot less full when you stop this wheelchair."  And on and on until we get back to the nursing home.

She was correct.  The wheelchair was stopping up her butt.  The second we lifted her up....you can imagine.  I won't go into detail, but when we left showers were taken and clothes, including shoes, were thrown in the washer.  Mom just threw away the washrags she used to clean her up.  No amount of bleach was going to get those sumbitches clean. 

We are not a gift giving family.  We exchange gifts at Christmas, but that's pretty much it.  We believe that a person can't be an absolute turd 364 days a year and think buying a present will atone for it.  We try to show our love year round by actions, say, wiping poop off a bathroom floor.  Anywho, I got tired of the looks when someone asked what I was getting Mom for Mother's Day and I'd reply "big, fat nothing".  I felt guilty so, instead of a present or flowers, I bought season two of Broadchurch on Amazon.  It's the best show I've ever seen.  Mom says so, too.  So I bought that and we watched the first episode last night.  It was so good.  Luckily, we had a bad storm last night that knocked out the power or I probably would have watched ahead. 

Fat and Frank were excited.  They each had a lap to themselves.

Shaming

Dawn and I were talking at work, yesterday, and she told me about something she'd read on Facebook that ruined my day.  I'm sure everyone but me has seen it (I don't have Facebook) but there were posts from a trainer in St Louis who was body shaming a woman who was watching the Cardinal's game.  She was an overweight woman and this guy spent the entire game watching what and how much she ate.  It was all over Facebook, to the point that she found out about it and posted a reply.  She called herself B and said that she had just lost 140 pounds.  She was finally able to attend a Cardinal's game because it was the first time she could fit into the seats. 

I did find a few articles about it, but never did see the original post.  For a long time, I wasn't even able to really comprehend what I was reading.  These two people don't know each other.  They had never laid eyes on the other.  B did not ask for his opinion.  I'm sure she was proud of her weight loss.  She was feeling good and probably so excited she finally got to go to a ball game.  Then that asshole makes fun of her for the duration.  Everyone eats nachos at a ball game.  Who doesn't eat nachos at a ball game??  I don't care how thin or overweight a person is, get all the nachos at the ball game!

He called her "unacceptable".  He said that society shouldn't have to put up with it.  Society shouldn't have to put up with a lady enjoying a baseball game on a nice spring day?  She was minding her own business, as he should have his. 

B was fully aware that she was overweight.  She had lost a great deal of weight, so clearly she is trying to live a healthier lifestyle.  Asshole still called her unacceptable, as if she should not be allowed out in public until she reaches some magic number on the scale.  Then, society as a whole, will welcome her with open arms.  Until then, apparently she should live chained up in an attic, to be fed a bucket of fish heads once a week.  She has value, overweight or not.  She is a human being, with a family who loves her.  She has hobbies, interests, a job.  She's clearly an awesome person because she's a Cardinals fan.  To say that she is unacceptable as a person simply because she is overweight is sickening. 

That guy is an absolute turd.  But he's a thin turd.  He would rather live in a society filled with hateful, ignorant assholes rather than smart, kind, overweight women? 

He doesn't know her story.  She could have medical issues.  She could have emotional issues.  She could simply like to eat.  Bottom line is---IT IS NONE OF HIS BUSINESS.  She could have weighed a metric ton and shoved nachos in with both hands.  Regardless of the cause, his opinion was neither asked nor needed.   That woman shouldn't concern him in the least.  How she chooses to live her life is not his business.  It is hers, and hers alone.  He said we, as a society, need to start having frank conversations about obesity.  I agree, in part, but we need to have these conversations with physicians and licensed therapists, not ignorant (and probably drunk) "trainers" behind us at a baseball game.

It has probably taken her a long time to lose 140 pounds.  That doesn't happen overnight.  She is doing exactly what she should be doing in the mean time--living her life.  She can't put her life on hold and hide until the excess weight is gone.  She still has to live, and that includes baseball games.  She was just trying to enjoy her day, not knowing what was going on behind her.  Frankly, I find it extremely unsettling that he was paying that much attention to her.  I don't pay that much attention to anyone.  I look at someone and I think "Oh, I like her top" or "I wish my hair was that thick."  If I see someone overweight with a giant plate of nachos I don't think they s/he is a blight on our society.  All I think is "Holy crap!  Where did she get those nachos?!?!" 

That guy was a bully, plain and simple.  In no shape or form did he try to offer encouragement or even constructive criticism.  His intent was to make her feel like shit.  Ashamed.  Hopefully it didn't work.  Her response to him was excellent and I hope she meant it.  The sad part is, it still hurt.  If everyone else in the world, the entire population of the world, wrote a letter of support to her, it would not be enough to outweigh the damage caused by one moron.  I can't imagine what that must have been like for her.  I really can't.  To see yourself (unknowingly) splashed all over social media simply for being overweight. 

I sincerely hope that she is able to continue on with her weight loss journey, and realize that the rest of us are rooting for her.  We're on her side.  He was completely and unequivocally in the wrong and I really want her to understand that.  I want her to go on and live a long and happy life.  I want him to get hit by a truck.

Happy Birthday, Fatty!!

Today Fatty Cakes turns twelve.  Twelve years old.  Holy smokes. I got him out of a barn when he was five weeks old.  He was the tiniest little feller.  I was a little disappointed at first because I wanted a big fat lap cat.  Well, he started growing and just didn't quit and a big fat lap cat is exactly what I got.  He's been my only friend for a long time.  My constant companion.  He's my bathroom buddy.  Thanks to him, I haven't had to go to the bathroom by myself for twelve years.  Such a thoughtful boy:)  The diabetes is starting to take it's toll.  I can tell my boy is starting to slow down.  He's already outlived the life expectancy for a diabetic cat, but we're still going strong.  He plays and wrestles with Frankie, although usually not by choice.  Frankie is the pants-wearer in our house and he will tell Fatty when it's time to play. 

My boy is starting to show his age, but I'm hopeful we have a lot more time left.  He's happy.  He feels good, so we're going to keep on keeping on. 

Happy Birthday, Fatty!!

Clover

And a five leaf clover--

Day 2

Day Two started out in Charleston, SC.  I'd never been.  It was not quite what I was expecting, but it was nice.  The trees were all big and mossy and the people were so polite.  Everyone is so nice down there, and it seemed genuine.  We took a plantation tour first thing, to Boone Hall Plantation.  It is still a working plantation (no slaves). They grow every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable.  We took a tour of the main house, but only the bottom floor since it is still a private residence.  They had nine tiny brick buildings, which were the original slave quarters.  They said sometimes up to three families lived in each building.  I don't see how.  They have a tram ride around the property, which was really fun.  We got to see all the farm ground, swamp land and polo ponies.  They have polo ponies! 

Next was a general tour of Charleston's historic district.  There is historic stuff everywhere in Charleston.  Tons of historic homes and buildings, and quite a few of history's prominent people are from Charleston.  And they are proud of them.  We got to see Ft Sumpter, where the first shot of the Civil War was fired, but we didn't go inside.  Rainbow Row was fun.  They do love color. 

We ate dinner at a local favorite, Jestine's Café.  Fried chicken, grits, fried green tomoatoes (neither of which I'd had before).  The bus driver said that Jestine's Café is traditional Southern comfort food.  The fried chicken was the best I'd ever had.  Grits are okay, kind of a big nothing.  Fried green tomatoes are gross.  Just my opinion.  And I got a Cheerwine to drink.  I'd never heard of it.  It's a soft drink, just like a Coke but it tastes like half Cherry Coke and half Dr Pepper.  It was actually really good.  The waitress said Cheerwine can only be found in the South, so I had to get it.

That night we took a cemetery tour, which was my favorite.  We walked all over several pre-Revolutionary War graveyards.  Trivia---what's the difference between a graveyard and a cemetery?  A graveyard is attached to a church, a cemetery is not.  I didn't know that.  Anyhoodle, we heard tons of really interesting stories and saw some beautiful graveyards.  Apparently, back in the day, they really did (accidentally) bury people alive.  Poor fellers looked dead and doctors were afraid to touch them, so they were buried.  Just a little prematurely sometimes.  It was really fun.

Talent

My mom has a hidden talent. She can find four leaf clovers. She finds them all the time. She says, to her, they light up like a neon sign. We were just talking about it at her house and by the time I made it home, maybe a mile away, she sent me this: