Thank the Lord

May I be forgiven for paraphrasing the above section of scripture to offer my thanks to those precious friends and family members who have bailed me out of a financial "hole" yet again:

How I thank the LORD again for your hugs, prayers, and financial support. I know you have always been concerned for me, but you didn't always have the opportunity or the wherewithal to help me.  Sometimes I didn't ask for help.  Not that I have ever been in REAL need (as in starving to death), for I am learning to be content with whatever the LORD provides for me.  I know how to live on next to nothing.  I think I know what it would be like to be blessed with everything. Although I can't say I've personally experienced financial wealth, I do know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally and consider that to be of far greater value.  I am learning that the secret to surviving in any situation, whether with or without assistance, is to always rely on the LORD for my strength.  For I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength.  Even so, I am deeply grateful for the financial support, hugs, and prayers that you have shared with me in my present difficulties.  As you may or may not know, some of you are the only ones who have consistently supported me through all of this.  You stood by me when nobody else did.  You have come to my rescue more than once.  I'm not just saying this because I hope you'll help me again in the future if I need it.  Rather, my prayer is that the LORD will richly reward you for what you have already done to help me.  At the present time, I have what I need -- and a bit more (which I have stashed away for the next emergency).  The gifts of kindness that you sent, whether in person, through the mail, or electronically could not have come at a more opportune time.  And this same God who has used you to help take care of me will surely supply all of YOUR needs according to His abundant resources, which we have been made heirs to because of Jesus Christ.


God bless you all!

Can't Even Pay Attention

Ever been so broke you can't even pay attention?

That would be my bank.  By the time they pay for the paper and ink to print out my monthly statements and the postage to mail it to me, it probably costs them money to have me as a customer.

Overdrawn . . . too bad that doesn't mean I doodled too much.  Yeah, and rolling pennies?  Not going to help either.

*I KNOW* let's just do like the US Government does and PRINT MORE MONEY!!!  Too bad I don't have any connections at the US Mint . . . oh, wait, that's right, I forgot . . . I don't have any "connections" anywhere . . .

I'll have a couple thousand with an order of hundreds on the side, please!

Stretch marks?  My budget has so many holes in it that it looks like it got shot with a shotgun!

Now there's the million dollar question . . . .

The Truth About Rape

It  doesn't  matter whether you're in your suburban bedroom or in the Congo.   Rape is rape.  Mutilation is mutilation.  Torture is torture. Being choked to unconsciousness feels the same no matter what side of the globe you're on.  Rape is the scraping of your soul via the stealing of your body.  Death is preferable. 

Soldiers have known for centuries that rape is cheaper than bullets.  How do you reduce a society to a cowering mass of robotic slaves? Rape them at will -- rape without thought.  Rape their men, women, and children.  Better yet, rape them then burn them alive and leave them for their family to see.  War is an ugly thing, and it always has been.  This is nothing new. 

What enrages me is that people are somewhat aware of the atrocities of war around the world, but seem unaware that a similar war is going on right within our own country.  Women are being transported to new locations against their will and forced into sexual slavery, with no hope of escape -- especially once they have children.  This is supposed to be America -- land of the free, home of the brave.  Free, we are not.  Brave, we try to be.

I cannot go "home."  I cannot care for or nurture my children.  I cannot prove the atrocities that were committed against me, nor do I have any particular desire to do so.  What do I want?  I want freedom for my sisters around the world, both here in the United States and abroad. 

In every country there are "forgotten people."  These are the hurting  people that you and I walk past every day without knowing what kind of hell they are going through at home.  I refuse to walk past them anymore.  I refuse to ignore the plight of the hurting.  I have no resources.  I cannot even save myself.  At this point, I cannot even tell my story. 

But the day will come, my sisters and brothers, when our stories will be heard.  The day will come when justice will be served.  It may not be this side of heaven, but some day these demons will pay for what they have done.

This is NOT a drill . . .

Seriously, I'm not the only one who's getting sick of "reality" TV

. . .   really, how "real" do we need to get?

It's actually more like 5700 years, but who's counting . . .

Nova explosion, meteor collision, does it really matter?

So it's a bad thing to stock up on peanut butter?

There's ALWAYS time for coffee, right?!

Guess I'm not the only one looking  for a new contract!

When was the last time you picked up a REAL newspaper, read the comics,

and had yourself a good belly laugh?  Try it . . . soon . . . it's good for you!

Today's Communique

Doctor, shmocter . . . so being aware that something of importance is "going down" in the world around us tends to raise my blood pressure now and then.  I can take a pill for that. 

Sometimes you just have to laugh at the simple things in life.  My personal preference would be two slices of bread with a banana between, but hey, grapes isn't a *bad* idea . . .

Hey, don't knock low blood sugar.  It's not such a bad thing.  It means we get to eat more often, we eat more healthy food, and candy, shmandy . . . if it's not chocolate, why bother anyhow?

How do we really know that ANYTHING exists?  After all, we could all be plugged into some sort of alternative system such as portrayed in the movie the Matrix.  The question is, do you want the blue pill or the green pill?  Do you want fantasy or reality?  And, even more importantly, CAN YOU HANDLE REALITY? Hmmmm, I thought not . . . LMAO . . .

Here's a thought, maybe the vowels in "Old McDonald Had a Farm" are all the vowels from the Hebrew language that curiously seems to be missing . . . Nein, that's absolutely ridiculous . . . but so is the idea of forcing toddlers to eat mashed food that tastes like dog food.  Unless, of course, they LIKE the taste of dog food . . . or they're so hungry they'll eat ANYTHING . . . then, by all means, feed them whatever form of semi-edible mush you can find at your disposal.   But don't force feed them.  Feeding good.  Force feeding bad. Nuff said!

It may not be aliens that are coming.  It may that NOTHING is coming.  Can comic strips predict the future?  Highly doubtful.  But they can make the present more bearable by giving those of us who "get it" a chuckle now and then to distract us from the human suffering and other BS we see all around us on a daily basis.

Is America beyond saving?  I don't know.  Is there such a thing as "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" anymore?  I don't know.  But I do know that sometimes there comes a point in time where one just has to walk away from a situation that has become so utterly out of control that there doesn't seem to be any feasible, logical, or workable solution.  Does that mean that I'm giving up on EVERYTHING?  No.  Just on the people in my life who refuse to accept reality and the situations in my life that are beyond my control. 

Why is it that it's socially acceptable to take prescription anti-anxiety medications that are prescribed by doctors, but it's considered a faux paux to smoke cigarettes.  Granted, cigarettes cause cancer . . . but who's to say that taking Klonapin or Xanax for an extended won't cause cancer?  It's all about appearances . . . and all about whose pockets get padded.  You see, the almighty MDs don't get rich from folks smoke . . . oh WAIT, they DO . . . since it causes all sorts of health problems.  But they don't get the original co-pays from the office visits from all the poor souls who are simply so stressed out with their lives that they need just a little something to help them cope.  So write them out a script for Xanax or Klonapin . . . charge them $50 for the copay for the 25 second office visit, and then whack them another $25 each for the prescription copay when they pick their pills up at the pharmacy.  A pack of smokes is a helluva lot cheaper.  The question is, which  one (smoking or taking the pills my doctor prescribes) is more likely to land me in hell?

Yeah, my "stuff" goes AWOL all the time . . . like my mind.  Will "they" ever give it back to me?  My watch?  My Blackberry?  My clothes?  My dignity?  My basic human rights? They did hhave the common courtesy to return 2 of my scarves. Someday, I would seriously like to be introduced to this mysterious "they" so I could get some straight answers.  MAYBE. Then again, maybe the answers would be too much for me to handle.  Maybe it's better that I don't know.  Maybe ignorance IS bliss. But NOT knowing ain't all that much fun either.  I'm sick and tired of being a MUSHROOM (being fed BS and kept in the dark all the time).  It's time for the mutts to fight back.  We may not be thoroughbreds.  We may not be blue-bloods.  But goddammmit (please forgive me, Lord), we ARE PEOPLE WITH FEELINGS AND LIVES AND FAMILIES and we're sick and tired of being messed with. 

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Deep cleansing breath ..... must be time to go watch a funny movie at the local movie theater and remind myself that all's right with this twisted world we live in.  And hug my kids . . . if I could.  Oh wait, I can't do that for 4 more days because I'm a human being that dared to express my human emotions in a public place.  Heaven forbid.  I will DEFINITELY make a concerted effort not to let THAT happen again!

I'll See You in the Funny Papers!

I've learned recently that one of the secrets to surviving in difficult situations is learning to laugh at what sometimes isn't funny.  Laughing decreases tension and releases endorphins (natural chemicals in your brain that help you feel better) -- and truthfully, it's often more socially acceptable to have yourself a quiet little chuckle than to curl up in a fetal position and ball your freaking eyes out.  Additionally, cartoons and comics have traditionally been a way for certain groups of people to communicate information.  So, in the spirit of that . . . here are my choices for today (February 11, 2011) . . .  See you in the funny papers!

Z's are important things.  Take good care of them.  I've been told there aren't too many genuine Z's left! And hey, who said being last was the worst.  Maybe the last is the best.  After all, I recall hearing something about "the first shall be last and the last shall be first" or something along those lines.   

Friends are like keys -- pretty tough to get through life without them.  Keep them close by!

The world has woken up.  It smells the coffee.  The question is, now what the hell do we do?

ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS save your receipts . . . it's like the 11th commandment!

If you can't learn from others' mistakes, you'd better at least be able to learn from your own.

In my case, sometimes it takes a great deal of mistakes before the whole "learning" thing takes place. 

Doesn't matter whether it's Mom, Dad, or Uncle Sam, sooner or later the truth will be made known.
Be sure your sin will find you out . . . so why DO we spend so much time talking about the weather?

A diploma is just a piece of paper that says you put in your time in an institution of some sort.  It doesn't prove that you actually learned anything.  I've known homeless bums with 3rd grade educations that had a better handle on life than the most highly-educated PhDs.  There's smart, and then there's "street smart."  And for most, to one degree or another, there is simply SURVIVAL . . . survival of the fittest . . . and in general, those who are "fit to survive" are the ones who can balance common sense with formal education. 

How come when people get stuck in a rotten situation they stand around waiting for someone to magically rescue them?  News flash people -- unless you have a filthy stinkin' rich family that can pay your way out of trouble, you better learn how to dig your own way out of the holes you get yourself into.  Lassie's pretty busy these days -- and not all that reliable anyhow!

• Rule numero uno: You can't help anybody else until you help yourself.  So don't go throwing your shoulder out in your next snowball fight.  You might need that arm for something -- like giving a hurting person a hug!

• Rule numero dos: Even counsellors need counselling.  Everybody has to have somebody to dump on.  That's what makes the world go around . . . that and money . . . and I suppose some people would say love . . . I say phooey to THAT!  Love, shmove . . .

No Other Way (poem)

Night after night, I lay there and took it.
If I was afraid, I tried not to look it.
My only concern, my only true care
Was the safety of my children,
And if they were there . . .
Did they see?
Could they hear?
Did they somehow sense my terror?
Could they somehow smell my fear?
Did my muffled screams escape somehow
And filter to their rooms,
Or did the cries I never uttered
Die alone in silent tombs?
Did it matter that I tried so hard
To keep silent and still?
Not when I have to suck it up
And take this bitter pill
Of BLAME.
I'm so sick of playing this GAME.

When will society tire of using a child as a pawn?
When will boys grow up and be men
And stop the pissing contests over
Who has the nicest lawn?
When will Lady Liberty get her glasses fixed
So she can finally see
That truth is truth, but justice is dead,
And it's time for the slaves to go free.

Civil rights my ass.
We don't have none anymore.
We talk about 'em
Write about 'em
Stick a poster on every door.
But they don't exist in practice --
Not in medical practices,
Not in legal practices,
Not anywhere except in writing
In some faded old document somewhere
That says all are created equal
And that we have rights.

What a crock.
Tick tock.
America, your time is almost up.
Wake up and smell the coffee, people.
Read the writing on the wall.
You really ticked Him off
When you started murdering the small.
Back in 1973, you said it was okay
That little people didn't need
To see the light of day.
That we could "choose" who we let live
And who should die.
We called this a choice.

Now hear my voice,
For what it's worth.
As much trouble of my own as I have,
This country's trouble is worse.
Talk about an identity crisis.
We're so busy running around the world
Fighting other people's wars
That we ignore the horror
In our neighborhoods
And hide behind closed doors.

"Jesus is the answer for the world today . . . "
Ain't that the truth. For sure,
There ain't no other way!