Honoring the All

As a young girl I grew up with parents who came of age so to speak during World War II. My mom graduated high school in 1945 and four of her brothers served. My father had three brothers who served as well. When I was a kid I never heard anything positive about the women who served this country. All I ever heard was silence from my mother and the most horrible, misogynistic, hateful and degrading comments you could ever want to hear from my father. He knew every horrible doggerel regarding the different branches of service that women were allowed to enter and he repeated them quite frequently. They were sluts and prostitutes and whores. It was demeaning and disheartening for a young girl to hear over and over again. Sadly my dad was not alone in his campaign to demonize these brave women. It was a cultural and societal disgrace. 

Approximately 400,000 women served in different roles in different branches of the military during World War II. 543 died in war related circumstances and 16 died from enemy fire. Several women spent time in both German and Japanese prison camps. I recently watched a show that highlighted the WASPS. The Women Air Force Service Pilots. These women flew planes to air bases and wherever they were needed, when they were needed, so that male pilots could be freed up for combat duty. They often flew them straight off the assembly lines and they had to be able to fly a number of different air craft. During the war 38 of these brave women died serving their country. The woman in the photo above is Gertrude "Tommy" Tompkins. She is the only WASP still unaccounted for and has been missing for almost 75 years now. I was very impressed by these women and very touched by their losses.

A good friend of mine calls me the "keeper of lost souls" and I take my duties to the dead and especially on Memorial Day Weekend I take it very seriously. All the way down in the very depths of my soul I believe that all souls should be respected and honored. No one should be forgotten. All of those lonely stones in the older parts of cemeteries with no one to tend to them makes me very melancholy. I know they are not there and I know the stones are just markers but think about what that says about us as human beings. We live our lives, we touch thousands of other lives by our very existence in the this world, we laugh, we love and eventually we die and we are placed in the ground with a stone to mark the spot and we only continue to live in the memories of those who knew and loved us and one day they will be gone and all that's left is a piece of marble and a name. 

Where I am going with all this rambling you ask? I am not discounting the thousands upon thousands of brave men who died fighting for this country. They should be honored with every fiber of our beings but so too should women like Gertrude Tompkins. She and all female patriots should be honored in death as strongly as they were maligned in life. We should put this right and tell the stories of ALL the brave human beings who have died in service to something greater than themselves. Here's to the men looking to find Gertrude Tompkins. I hope you do so soon and she can be laid to rest with the honor she deserves. So on this Memorial Day let us salute all the souls out there who have passed into our memories but still live in our hearts, both the military and the civilian. Namaste Gertrude. I honor your memory and your sacrifice. 

Sometimes It's Okay

This my friend Mr. Llama. I just go with the fact that he is a he. I am not really sure since I have never gotten up close and personal with said llama. I just randomly picked a gender because I am afraid to go up to the house and ask the people about him because I am afraid I will in turn wind up on the ward. Because, you see, I intentionally seek him out to make sure he's okay and I talk to him He does not really talk back which I am thinking is a good thing, but we chat. I ask him how he is doing. He stares at me like I am crazy and chews grass. It's a nice relationship. I tell everyone how cool he is and so he's sort of a celebrity amongst the people who tolerate my weirdness on a daily basis. Now lest you think I discriminate I also talk to the cows, goats, sheep, possums, vultures, birds and whatever else I might encounter out in the country. 

I think one of the reasons I like Mr. Llama is that he just seems so Zen all the time. He is so calm and serene and still. The reason I am waxing poetic about my llama friend today is that this has been one of those rare, weird, days where I am very calm and very still. They do not happen often as my anxiety is usually a 24/7 drama fest. I may seem calm on the outside but I guarantee you things are going nuts on the inside. Every once in awhile, though, my brain, or the universe, or whoever, cuts me some slack and gives me a day of calmness and stillness that I never take for granted. 

Normally being quiet and still and restful does not work for me. I get easily bored and restless and like to beat myself up for not doing anything productive. I am slowly realizing that I need to knock that shit off. It's okay to not constantly be progressing somewhere. Enough Karen! It is okay to be lazy and nappish and just hang out around the house and chill. Once it warmed up some the boys and Kitten Face and I have been enjoying the open windows and the fresh air, even if it is laden with so much pollen it makes my head feel like it wants to explode. That's okay...that's what Nasacort is for anyway. 

I worked some out in the yard and discovered a cute birds nest. I listened to all the birds singing their happy spring songs. I listened to the mourning doves trying to get frisky. They are making a nest under the awning, over my front door, again this year. I watched one of my boys (turkey vulture...it's a long story) sailing on the air currents overhead and informed him I was not dead yet so he moved on. I watched the carpenter bees hovering around the tulip tree in the back. It's finished blooming but they still hover anyway and when they get close enough you can hear the hum of their wings. I wondered at the amount of traffic that comes down my alley...it's weird. It's not a street people. 

I sat in my patio chair with my bare feet on the concrete and was just quiet and still for the longest time...just taking it all in. At one point I noticed I was rocking in my chair and that was okay too. For one brief, shining moment I was actually living in the moment today. Being mindful and living in the moment seems like it should be such an easy thing to do but it's really not. There are so many distractions. My brain being the primary culprit. But today has been gloriously calm and centered and awesome and for that I am so very, very grateful. Maybe my brain and I can build on this day and make our lives better because today, even if it's just for today, I have felt calm and centered and alive. I have actually felt unabashedly happy and I am not going to over analyze. I am just going to let it be. Well done me! Namaste Karen...you have earned it.

Results of My Non-Scientifc Study and Some Other Related Neuroses

The results of my non-scientific survey are in and for the week I was called "sir" a sum total of 5 times. I think that's probably a little more than normal because I just got my hair cut but I think 2-3, depending on my interactions with the public, is about average.

Let's ponder this shall we. Yes, I keep my hair really short. No, not because I want to look like your brother Bob. (Someone actually told me that in a casino once) I keep it short because it's easier to manage and if you have ever seen my bad hair videos you will know what I am talking about with the bad hair. 

Do I try to look manly? No...this is just my face. A combination of genetics and hormonal dysfunction have caused me to look more like your brother Bob than your sister. My mother was not overly feminine and she did not wear a lot of makeup, none most of the time. Thus, I have never, ever had makeup on this mug unless it was acne cover up. That is a whole different tale of woe. If you look closely at this picture you can see the subtle changes beginning that were to come from years of too much androgen in my system and my cousin will tell you that even at this young age I HATED dresses and wanted them off me as soon as possible. I was what they euphemistically called a "tom boy".

Why don't you wear more feminine clothing? Ah...here we get to the heart of the dysfunction. From a very early age...actually probably pretty close to the photo's age...around 3 or 4...I learned about predators. And no, my dad for all his faults was not responsible for this. He would have blamed me and called me a slut and that would be why he never knew what happened to me. So from a very early age I discovered that to be feminine meant you were an easy mark for predators so I tried to camouflage myself. It was not safe to be pretty. It was not safe to wear pretty dresses. It was not safe to be vulnerable. It was not safe to be a girl. Sad...but true. 

As I got older I wore boys clothes for a couple of reasons. One reason was well understood by me and that was that boys clothes fit me better because I was a big girl. I have never been delicate boned and have been heavy most of my life. That's a whole different blog of trauma right there. The other reason was not so well understood by me until just recently. I knew that other than the gender appropriate undergarments I wanted nothing to do with women's clothing. That section of the store still makes me fell awkward and creeped out. It borders on a phobia that's how bad it is.

Recently I read a story by another survivor of sexual abuse and she talked about the years she spent trying to hide herself away and it suddenly dawned on me. I don't wear two t-shirts because I am self-conscious of my neck. It's to bury my cleavage even further in the dark so no one will notice it. I am creeped out by women's clothes because the whole idea of being feminine to me translates into making myself easy prey. That being said I am not transgender either. I have never had a desire to be a man. I have spent my whole life just trying to stay off their radar. This may seem silly to you because to see me now you would not think I was attractive to men or an easy mark. I often joke that I have a head start on a mugger because first he has to figure out my gender and then he has to decide if he really wants to tackle me. It's all a façade to protect the little girl you see in this photo. 

That adorable, vulnerable, sweet little girl is still buried somewhere in me. She is still fearful. She still tries to hide herself behind her size and her jokes and the rest of her camouflage. She still keeps most men at a good distance. She still puts a barrier up out in public and if there are men around she will become more closed off and more wary and will put up her wall and make herself even more masculine. Like a sort of gender chameleon. Because to be noticed is to be vulnerable. To become prey. It's a feeling I just cannot tolerate. 

So. Here I am. You can call me "sir" if you want. It bothers me more than it should but it's okay. You can look at me weird in the women's bathroom and you can yell at me that I am going into the "wrong" bathroom. It bothers me but that's okay. Because I am protecting that little girl in the photo from more harm. She has been through enough. 

Putting a Little Punt in for Reality

A good friend and I were discussing the world in general yesterday and because we are reasonably old and vaguely wise we came to some conclusions that will not really be a surprise to anyone. They are not earth-shattering but I think some things need to be said and a plea needs to be made.

Okay...here goes...PUT DOWN THE PHONE...okay I feel better now. It's not just phones though and I am including this device, my kindle, my TV, my phone, any and everything that disconnects me from what is real. 

Now, lest you think I am one of THOSE people who pontificate about how they have read 12 million books and would never own a TV because they are just so not cool. I have a big ass, HD, smart TV that I spend way too much time in front of watching some stuff that is entertaining and informative, some stuff that is just sport...a lot of sport, some stuff that is just mindless and some stuff that is way too dark and I need to leave it alone. I have a long history with TV. 

My first babysitter thought the secret to babysitting was to prop my up in front of the TV all day and go about her business. I mean she literally had to prop me upright with pillows because I was less than a year old and could not sit up on my own. So I have been staring at those images all my life. And as my friends will tell you...if I am really engrossed in something I will not only not hear what you just said but I will not even have heard the sound of your voice. 

The problem with this and our fascination will all things media related...especially social media related is that we create these weird illusions that this stuff is "reality". All media, including print media, delights in convincing us that there is this perfect world with these perfect people who look perfect and act perfect and it's all a lie. When we were little we were fed these images of what a family should look and act like and then blamed our parents when our reality did not match "Father Knows Best" or "Leave it to Beaver" etc....
It strips the humanity away from all of us by not showing our human habit of messing stuff up. We make mistakes. We are not perfect. We are human beings and we judge ourselves and others by the misdirection of the media.

Now do I think the media are all liars and out to get us and spreading "fake news" everywhere?  No people...I am not getting into politics or even religion. I am simply talking about the day to day bombardment of our brains with imagery not of our own making. The little things, the subtle things...the things we do not even notice. 

What worries me is that we are becoming more and more tribal and less and less connected to the world at large. My personal struggle is that I am an introvert by nature and all these distractions simply enable me to become more and more introverted and less and less connected to my family and friends. I have noted a few times lately that people I only vaguely know are more knowledgeable about my cousins than I am. That was a wake-up call. What am I doing? Am I just too lazy to make the effort to be more in touch with their lives? I have often said that I would ditch social media if not for that fact that I would lose all touch with my cousins? Is that really true? Am I really that lazy that I can't be bothered to just call and check on them? 

I don't think I am alone here. I think a lot of us are becoming more and more introverted and withdrawn into our own tiny tribes. The media, both left and right have done a lot of damage in polarizing us into these camps. Into these tribes. We don't trust one another if we are not in the same tribe. We are more judgmental and more cruel to those who don't think or believe the way we do. We have lost a lot of openness. Our brains are constantly bombarded with all this information and all these images and we are all on overload and in danger of shutting down.

So this is a plea for everyone to try just a little bit to accept our imperfect reality and embrace what is actually real. Put down the devices and go outside. Touch a tree. Look at the sky. Really LOOK at the world around you. Meet a friend for lunch. Talk to one another. Embrace the fact that we will never be perfect and give your brain some room to accept other images of real things and of real people and real emotions. Free up some space in your brain for things much more simple. The sun streaming through the window on a winters' day. The little poodle farting on your lap. Try to be more present in the moment. We need to shut down and re-boot people. We need to breathe.

Arboreal Worship

There are many things in nature that I love. All the little critters, of course, except the big spiders, I am not fond of them at all. I love rock formations and the sunrise and the sunset and the quality of light and how it changes through the seasons. I love water in all its many guises. I love leaves and grasses and stumps and vines and fence posts and all the many varieties of acorns. I love it all really but most of all I love the trees!!

I have numerous favorite trees around the area. Some I have to worship from afar because I will not trespass on another person's land. Some I can walk right up to and some require more of a trek. Many of them are sycamores with their beautiful white bark. A few are gnarly, giant oaks with massive branches and I passionately adore the dance of Osage Orange (aka Hedge Apple) trees. 

I visit my trees and I talk to them. I mourn with them when they lose big branches. I feel an incredible sadness when they fall down or are cut down. I tell them how much I admire their resiliency and their ability to grow and spread their roots in impossible places. I admire the intricacies of their roots as they try to hang on to a rock face or an eroding river bank. 

This past Saturday I got to re-visit some of my favorite friends on a trail near Stockton Lake Dam. On this one trail are 3 massive, old, sycamore trees. One of them is particularly old and just huge. I am in awe of its size and majesty. It has a very strong presence. My favorite is another huge sycamore holding up a fallen tree that has died and now lies balanced in the sycamore's haunch. This dead tree is one of my all-time favorites. It has a beautiful, smooth texture and I know this sounds silly but bear with me, it has a kind of draw to it or a siren call if you will. I have to touch it and embrace it and it has this grounding spirit about it. I feel as if it is a friend that I have not seen in a long time and now we are reconnecting.

If you ever encounter my friend and I in the woods you will notice that we are touching the trees gently, or patting them, or resting our foreheads against their trunks. We are honoring their presence in this world and it feels like church to us. It's a very spiritual experience. Just try it sometime. Go out and about and find a tree that kind of speaks to you with its beauty or its presence. Say hello and quietly rest your forehead against it and feel the power of its quiet essence. Just stand there for a minute and listen. It will do your heart and your soul a world of good. 

A Tribute for my Aunt Wanda

My Aunt Wanda passed away this past Sunday morning. I could not find a portrait of her in my collection but I did find this one which is from such a happy and yet melancholy time. That sort of sums up Aunt Wanda's life. It was happy because the whole family is here. My beloved cousins Connie B. and Donny and you can't see him but Wanda is about four months pregnant with Tommy. It's melancholy because my uncle was suffering from the colon cancer that would take his life in just a few months. Resilient.

My Aunt Wanda was a wonderful human being. She was resilient, she was kind, she was loving and she was one of those rare things in this world...a true Christian. Life was not easy for her. She married my Uncle Harlan and I believe that he loved her and his family very much but he was a lot like my dad and did not know how to express it very well. He was gone off with my grandfather and my dad all the time and my grandmother Clayton dominated her kids lives in very unhealthy ways. Yet despite the often unkind treatment of my grandmother Aunt Wanda forgave her and even helped grandma when she needed it. Forgiving.

Aunt Wanda was devoted to my precious cousin Connie B. who was born with a developmental disability and she spent her life making sure Connie had the best life possible. She nursed my uncle through his illness. She dealt with my grandmother with grace and kindness even though grandma did not make that easy. She raised Connie and Donnie and Tommy on her own until she met Jim and later had James Jr.. She suffered more unbearable heartbreak when Donny was killed in car accident in 1969. Yet she carried on and she held her head high and she trusted in God to get her through the darkness. Kind.

Aunt Wanda was a loving woman who loved her children and her grandchildren and her great grandchildren very much. She even had room in her heart for me. And despite the fact that I am not sure she understood me she still loved me and never showed me anything but love and kindness. She was very important to me and very loved by me and everyone she came in contact with throughout her life. Loving.

I am not the worlds most religious person anymore. I have become a wee tad jaded about those who claim to be Christians but do not have the first clue on how to be one. My Aunt Wanda was the exception to the rule. She was everything I think a Christian and a spectacular human being should be. She was resilient, forgiving, kind and most important loving. I loved her very much and I will miss her forever but I know she is in heaven and I can hear her and Connie B. singing "Jesus Loves Me" and this image I will hold in my heart and I will try not to cry because I know they would not want me to be sad. They are all together and at peace and that's all we can really hope for in this life. 

Memorial Day Musings

So another Memorial Day weekend is winding down. I completed the cemetery tour Saturday. Some folks are considerate and have themselves all buried in the same general vicinity but not my folks. We are migratory even when picking a spot for eternal slumber. I visit 5 cemeteries on average and it can be eight if I can summon up the emotional energy. These are also spread out over Jasper, Lawrence, Newton and Barry counties. I called my Troll mother on the way this year to update her on my health saga and she asked if I would take her with me out to Park Cemetery as she had not made it there yet. I was most happy to pick her up and off we went. This year I enlisted the help of Beth because I am not so bendy anymore. She graciously agreed but now that she knows the routine I might be on my own again next year. You see...it doesn't just involved flopping some flowers down. There is walking, there is bending, there is pulling grass and weeds and cleaning off grass and dirt and whatever else has accumulated on the stones. There is dealing with my sadness and frustration. This is how the above picture happened. Beth can not be trusted.

My initial reaction was OMG!! Crop me out!! Then it was OMG!! I am HUGE!! You see I never see myself from behind. And WHY are my shorts ALWAYS crawling up my butt?? When I look in the mirror I never see myself as big as I really am. I think it's a lot of denial. The truth is I am a LARGE human being. Even if I were a more normal weight I would still be a large human being and you know what...that's okay. And the more I look at this picture the more I like it. Because I am walking with someone that I love and we are honoring those who should never be forgotten. I loved spending time with Neva and Beth taking care of those we care about and miss. She even said to me "look at all the pretty flowers Ermanelle." Don't worry if you don't understand...family story. It was lovely talking with her and driving her around to all our various spots. We checked on folks and talked about others who are now gone and it was all in all a wonderful time. As a side note...SHAME on whoever was supposed to mow the old pauper's cemetery this year. It is ridiculous that the grass should be waist high again. People have relatives there whom we take care of every year and we should not have to bring our own bush hog to get to the graves.

I am digressing again. Beth calls me a "keeper of lost souls". I like that. I believe with every fiber of my being that people should not be forgotten. All souls matter. If I was a millionaire every grave I saw that did not have a flower on it would have one at least once a year. It makes me said to see neglected graves. 

I love taking care of my folks but it is a bit of a melancholy task. I miss them. Grave tending reminds me of all the drama of human existence. I faithfully take care of my great-aunt Glady's grave although she died 27 years before I was born. Why you ask? Well...it was a tragic death (long story for another time) and so she wound up in the pauper's cemetery. Grandpa Clayton decided he would tend to his sister-in-law's grave because the county and her "no good husband"would not. Dad carried on the tradition and now it is left to me. I am not sure what will happen to Gladys when I am gone but I cannot dwell on the inevitable. 

I also find placing flowers on "the babies" graves very melancholy. My grandmother Barchak...God rest her soul...had 4 daughters that only lived a few minutes to an hour after birth. One is buried in one cemetery and the other 3 are at another. My mother was the only little girl that lived. It's a tragedy I cannot imagine living through but Grandma Annie was a resilient woman. I wish I had spent more time with her growing up. She died when I was 10 and I don't remember a lot about her but what I do remember feels happy. 

Visiting the babies this year made me stop to think about her life even more than I do normally. She married my grandfather in 1912. He was 38 and she was 21. She had her first child, Albert, the next year. From 1913 to 1930 she had 6 living children and lost four others. Can you imagine? And then in 1932 Grandpa Barchak died...it wasn't really his fault...but his timing was horrible. Smack dab in the middle of the depression Grandma is left in the country with no money and 6 kids to feed. Uncle Steve was not 10 yet. Mom was 5 and Uncle Mike was 2. The older boys were still teenagers. It was NOT fun for any of them but they survived. These stories and these emotions are an important part of who I am. 

I think what I am trying to articulate is that taking time out of our lives to tend the graves of our loved ones is so very important to the well-being of everyone's souls. By honoring the spots where their physical existence stopped we keep their memories alive. We honor both the beauty and the flawed nature of their souls. It connects the living with the dead.  We share memories, we spend time with those we love who are still with us and those that have moved on, we recognize the important roles they all play in our lives. I am a better person for having known each and every one of them. I am a more complete person by honoring their influence and recognizing how each of them affected my journey to becoming who I am right now. May they all rest in peace. 

Uninvited Memories

Relationships are complicated. It's as simple as that. To intertwine your life with another can be exhilarating, terrifying, confusing, fulfilling or possibly soul destroying. It is especially difficult when you are young.

When you are young you are still trying to find you way your way in the world. You are still trying to determine who you are and how you will fit into this world. You think you know EVERYTHING but you don't know crap. Really...what you think you know...throw it away...because it will only confuse you even more when it all falls apart. If you are in your 20's for 30's right now trust me when I tell you that you will be a different person in 10 years. We change and we grow and we discover that we want different things. It's normal. It's natural. We are supposed to grow and explore our intricacies. 

I have made so much progress and right now...in this time...I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. I worked with a therapist for two years to rid me of the PTSD that haunted my every step and only recently did I have an epiphany about who I am that took years of resentment and seething anger and just melted it away. I am so much more even emotionally and so much calmer. It's been an adjustment. I keep wondering who this person is that has taken over my brain but I like her and we are keeping her.

All this being said there is this little irritant from my youth that keeps popping up from  time to time and I have been trying to figure out why. The memories are uninvited, unwanted and just generally annoying. Thanks to my work with my therapist these memories no longer send me "down the rabbit hole" but I don't like it so this blog in another step in purging this stuff from my brain.

When I was almost 21 I was manipulated into meeting someone whom I always refer to as "the Evil One". (We'll shorten it to E1 for this blog) Now...was she really evil you ask? I have honestly tried to see her as just another flawed human being but in reality she was a sociopath and her choices were "evil" in that she did not care who she hurt or who she had to manipulate to get what she wanted. She was ridiculously androgynous and I thought beautiful. She was everything...or so it seemed...that I was not. She was confident, bold, she knew what she wanted and I was infatuated with the idea that someone like her would want to be with me. Because I thought I was ugly and fat and shy and unlovable and weak and just less than everyone else. I let my self fall deeply in love with a total train wreak of a human being and the carnage was brilliantly epic. 

She took all my vulnerabilities and all my doubt and she used it to further whatever agenda she had going. Really...I should have known when she said she would visit me and then go on to Colorado to basically be another woman's mistress that she was trouble. How could I not see this as a red flag? Ah youth.... I think a part of me thought she was kidding. Who would want to live that way? I was so naïve. Maybe I thought I could rescue her of fix her? That was my modus operandi for most of my 20's and into my 30's. I think I was almost 40 when I realized I could not "save" everyone or "fix" everything that was wrong in other people's lives. 

I think we were only together for maybe 3 or 4 years but it was not fun. Toward the end I finally realized that she was sleeping with someone else and had been for awhile and had also most likely slept with all of my "friends" at the time or had at least tried to sleep with them. She decided she was leaving one early December and I asked her to stay until Christmas was over because my mother loved her and had no idea what kind of douche bag she really was and I did not want to hurt mom's feelings. My feelings, of course, did not matter because, after all, I didn't deserve to be happy now did I. By Christmas I had made progress into letting her go. I was going to be okay. And then Christmas came and went and she stayed. I was puzzled. I watched her break the woman's heart whom she was supposedly leaving me for and I mean that literally. She talked me into going with her when she told her she had never loved her. I should have ran screaming into the night but I stayed and kept trying to find a way to make her happy even though I later realized she was breaking her heart because she had already lined up her next mark. Evil.

I have not spoken to the E1 in almost 30 years. I have no idea where she is and don't care. I am sure she is still sleeping her way across the lower 48 manipulating people along the way to get what she wants. It's probably a little tougher for her now since she's in her early 50's but I am sure there is a whole new generation of women she can charm into giving her whatever it is she is searching for these days. So why does she pop up in my brain every now and then? It's usually triggered by a song or an emotional reaction to something else.

Maybe these memories are a reminder of how far I have come? Maybe I have to admit that deep down there is a tiny spot left, I think it's buried behind my pancreas, that still cares for the person I thought she was? When you realize that someone is a sociopath and you know you want nothing to do with them EVER but you find that you still care for them...it's unsettling and irritating and I think this might be why she still pops in every now and then. 

So...Dear Evil One:

I loved you with the passion that only youth can provide. It was reckless and foolish and soul destroying. Now all that's left is residual resentment and contempt and that tiny speck of love that I can't seem to purge from my soul. Your memories are unwelcome and unbidden. I will not ever be able to forgive you for the way you treated myself and others. I know that you do not care what I think or feel and that is fine because the feeling is mutual. Go on about your self-destructive ways and good riddance. A tiny part of me will always love the potentially decent human being that was buried in your heart and I will accept that fact now and put it away. I have said it out loud finally and now it can rest. 

Sunsets and Uncomfortable Realizations

I think I have visited this topic before but since I clearly have not resolved anything we shall wander there again I think. Yesterday was a lovely day filled with errands and later an outing and ending with my fried chicken and a newly put up Christmas tree. All in all a most wonderful day spent with a most wonderful friend.

We ended the day out at Kellogg Lake for sunset pictures. While we were strolling around the lake taking some very festive apocalyptic looking geese shots I was thinking about my dad. I think I have clearly established that my dad and I had a strange...I can't even call it a relationship...thing. Our lives were spent vying for the attention of my mother, not really talking to one another, resenting one another and generally holding one another in contempt until they were suddenly both dead and I was left with a LOT of unresolved issues with them both. But that is my issue to put to rest and I have been working on it. Sometimes it just makes me a little sad that we had no time for me to get old enough to understand them both better and maybe...just maybe...fix some things. But that was not to be and they left without really saying goodbye. It was all so sudden. Mom has congestive heart failure at the beginning of April and by the next November they are both gone. Poof...just like that...I was a 30 year old orphan and I was lost. 

I have spent the last 25 years trying to make peace with the grief. We were such an isolated and insular unit that losing them was like dropping me in the jungle somewhere and expecting me to find my way out in a week. I wandered around making horrible decisions for a few years. I just was not able to process the grief or find a way to not be overwhelmed and paralyzed by their loss. It has gotten better. With the help of a counselor and my poor friend who constantly has to talk sense to my anxiety I have made progress. But at times...like last night...I begin to wander into parental nostalgia land...which can be either cathartic or a trip down the rabbit hole and into the dark.

I am pretty proud of myself that I managed to opt for just nostalgia and not the darkness. 

I realized...walking around that lake that I am not so very different from my dad. Those of you who knew my dad...please don't be terrified...there are important differences that remain. I do not hold women...or men for that matter...in general contempt. I NEVER use the C word and I don't irrationally yell hateful things at those I purport to love...so I've got all that going for me. 

The similarity lies in our shared extreme introversion. I suddenly realized that my dad's dream life would have been to spend all day...every day...at the water fishing. He would probably enjoy it if mom or I went along but we would have to sit in silence with him...just fishing. But his true nirvana would have been to sit in silence with himself fishing 24/7. I am not so different. My dream life would be either driving or hiking around outside with my camera...in silence. When I am out by myself in the car taking pictures there is no radio there is no speech...unless I am talking to critters. I do like it when my friend comes with me because we can talk but she understands the silence and treasures it too. It's kind of sad but it's my truth...I am the most comfortable when I am by myself. I enjoy the silence, I need to be quiet, and I need the solitude. Without them I become very grumpy. 

So...I think I have decided to make peace with, and embrace, those parts of my dad that live inside me. I have always done what I think most kids do when they have a difficult parent in that I picked a side and determined that I would NEVER...EVER...be like the other parent. I have spent my whole life trying to be the polar opposite of my dad and there are some parts of his personality that I have successfully avoided but I need to accept the parts of him that live in me and deal with them in a healthy way. I will accept that I am a bit too judgmental at times but I will remind myself that my problems are usually with the behavior and not the person. I will strive to be better but acknowledge that it's there. I will accept that I have a LOT of unresolved anger and a temper that still rears its ugly head from time to time but I will find a way to vent that anger without maiming anyone in the process. I will accept the fact that I am happiest by myself and stop criticizing myself for it. I will sit in the silence and enjoy it and not worry that it's not normal. The more my fellow introverts speak their truth the more normal I feel.

Rather than fight that image of dad sitting out in his lawn chair, judging the world as it goes by with his own weird standards, wallowing in his anger, resenting those who seem happy I will embrace that lawn chair. The only difference is that I will sit in that lawn chair and accept my flaws and enjoy my silence and my solitude and leave the resentment and bitterness behind. I mean...really...if I were skinnier I would wear overalls every day too...they are so comfortable and you never have to fight with a belt. We are not so different, Lester and I, but that's okay because I can accept it and change the plot to a more happy ending for me. I am just sorry that he left before we could find a way to sit in our silence together. 

Someone's a little moody today

For some reason I have been a little on the grumpy side today...not a roaring bitch...although...I have had a moment or two...just a little off-kilter and I am tying to write myself out of it...or conversely just lose my shit and be done.

My day started off well enough. Whiskers deigned to give me some purring and allowed me to pet her for awhile this morning. Then the day got decidedly dodgy. You want to know the bad thing about mild OCD? It really messes with your schedule. Here's my conversation with myself this morning.

Sane me: "Aw...shit the dogs need to go out again and I am going to be late for work."

OCD me: "You know...it's trash day and now would be a good time to toss that expired food in the cabinet".

Sane me: "Did you not hear me? I am going to be late as it is."

OCD me: "But it's trash day and now would be a good time to toss that expired food in the cabinet."

Sane me: "NO! I need to go to work."

OCD me: "But it's trash day and now would be a good time to toss that expired food in the cabinet."

OCD me: " I win! It won't take but a second. We won't be that late."

Sane me:  SIGH....

Work was busy but fine. The pigeons weren't too dastardly with their poop deprivations. Then I decide to go to Walgreen's and get my flu shot at lunch because it won't be that busy on a Wednesday at lunch. Right? There were four people in line ahead of me and at least that many behind me. The shot itself doesn't take two seconds but it's the form and then the insurance print out and taking your turn. It took 40 minutes!! And my stinking arm hurts.

So...I am now running it close getting back to work. I zip down to Taco Bell. CRAP! The line is a mile long. It's going pretty fast though so I stick with it. Then I notice the woman in front of me feels that if she gets within 20 feet of the car in front of her we all might die!! Cue pet peeve of people not knowing how to navigate a drive-thru. I passively aggressively critique her lack of driving skills and call her a jackass and convince myself that my griping at her will actually accomplish anything. I finally get my food and zoom back to work where I proceed to have 5 minutes to eat my lunch. So I consume my tacos at the speed of light...get clocked in and go about my business.

I finish my day and I come home and I open the door to the screeching and barking hoards and smell poop. It's not all that unusual...my rescue poodle does not get house training and I give him a pass because the first 2/3 of his life was hell. The problem is...I can't FIND it. Now I start looking at them with the scary mom face because that means someone has sought to help mommy out and eat it. While I appreciate the intention the ensuing barfing/diarrhea I could do without. We shall see.... Then we start the "Let's annoy the shit out of mom game." First we shall bark at nothing in particular...Dibley will both try to hump Baker and growl at Biscuit. I get Baker back up on the couch and Biscuit tries to rake his back with his jealous poodle paws. Kitten Face is trying to lay low and I am using ALL of my good threats...including if you don't stop that I am going to punch you right in the face. That one never works because they know I don't mean it. Sigh....

The Yankees are winning and I hate the Yankees. The Cubs are losing and I can't watch that...it's just too stressful. The noise of the TV is making me even more cranky. I don't think this writing it out thing is working. I should just give up while I am ahead. I am going to go look at my vacation pictures again and dream.

Adventures with Boobage

For the last year or so I have been having a fairly mediocre relationship with a small cyst in my right boob. I didn't name her or anything but we've just been hanging out together. She was about the size of small marble and I knew who she was so I just accepted her presence and went with it. I made sure my x-ray tech knew about her at my last mammogram. It came back okay so we have just been living with each other with no expectations except to co-exist peacefully.

My boobs and I have always had a weird relationship. I was born with them and I tolerate them but I have never been just all that fond of carrying them around. I understand that they are very important to a lot of women, and of course the entire male population of the world but to me they are just something to contain and manage. When you are younger and actually have a libido they can be quite festive but as you age and hit menopause they seem less exiting. And for a lot of us who have breast cancer in our family tree the older you get the more you feel like they are simply ticking time bombs.

So...as I said...my cyst and I had just been hanging out together but this past holiday weekend something changed. Somehow I seem to have offended her and she became angry with me. I thought...WELL...how dare she get angry with me I shall just call my doctor and we shall see about ending this relationship if she's going to be all grumpy and shit. She was trying to vent her displeasure so much so that her little face was turning red and she was making my cleavage an inhospitable zone. 

I was practicing my procrastination superpowers on Thursday when I noticed a shift in the breast/cyst dynamic. I was heading out to lunch and went to the bathroom and I thought I had better check on her because all of a sudden she was not cranky anymore and I had not take any Ibuprofen to appease her. I lifted up my shirt in the bathroom at work and HOLY SHIT she was 4 times as big as she was the day before when I checked. I thought...hmmm...that's not good. I debated for a minute or so and then fled to urgent care. They were not too busy so I only had to be KIND of quiet while I had to describe my "issue" to the helpful person at the desk. I mean...you don't want to announce to the whole waiting room that your right tit is about to explode...although that might clear it out for you. 

I explained it again for the nurse who made a scrunchy face when she saw it and then again for the doctor who amazingly enough repeated the exact same scrunchy face when he saw it. He was a very nice man so I did not roll my eyes at him when he stated the obvious that it was infected and had abscessed. I thought...only me...only I seem to have this weird shit happen. So I gowned up and prepared for the unpleasantness that awaited me. The nurse and I had great fun tying to fold the pillow into an actual pillow type shape so I could lie on the table without feeling like I had just lost a vigorous game of Twister with a bunch of double-jointed tater tots. The doctor came back in and I apologized to them both. I said..."I'm sorry about this...I know this is not what you wanted to do today." WHY do I do that??? I always apologize when I have weird stuff. Not only do I have to pay for the service but I apologize to them for having to perform it. There could be something seriously wrong with me.

He asked if I had ever been through something like this before and you should have seen his face when I burst out with this odd, maniacal laugh and proceeded to tell him about my Peri-rectal abscess I had about 8 years ago. He laughed and said..."Well this is going to be a walk in the park then for you." Yea me! Then he proceeded to apologize to me as he stuck a needle into my right tit to numb it. Can I just tell you how festive that was?? Then he said..."Unless your evil twin pops out of here we will just take a little culture and send it off to make sure you are not growing odd stuff in there." Then he opened up my own personal boob skylight and left it open to do its thing.

I then...went back to work because I am a dumb ass and I was feeling all cocky because it was numbed up and I had a prescription for giant ass antibiotics. Can I just mention here that 850 milligrams of Augmentin twice a day does your intestines no favors? I was not nearly so cocky when the numbness left. I came home after a stop at Walgreens for really big band-aids and my antibiotics. I decided to put on my jammies and put on a clean band aid. So I PEELED the old band aid off and said..."Oh would you look at that...I think I will pass out now." That is when self-preservation kicked in and my brain said NOOOOO...don't pass out...while you are unconscious the boys will either lick your boobs or pee on you...neither one of these bears thinking about so I stayed upright and re-covered my new easy access boob. 

I hope my cyst is happy now. Our relationship is so over. I have an appointment Monday for a referral to a surgeon to have her removed permanently. I do not hope she is happy. I am very bitter that she betrayed me in such a heinous fashion. Tick...tick...tick....

Those fleeting moments of time travel

Lately I have been having these unsettling, happy, nostalgic, realistic and vaguely disturbing time travel episodes. It used to be only every now and again that I would get the slightest whiff of a memory and the sensation would be gone but more recently they have become more intense.

They are from what feels like another century. The great thing about nostalgia is that it allows you think that a particular era or decade was so much better than the present. We tend to think of it as a less complicated time...a time of freedom...it's one of our favorite lies that we tell ourselves. There are truths there in the mist of memory. It was a slower time. We did not have cell phones and computers and all the electronic distraction we have today. We did have the TV with all 3 channels...if you were lucky and could get the UHF channel to come in. That being said, you could still ignore one another pretty easily, you could go outside, go to your room, read a book etc...It was trickier but it could be done and in truth it was more subtle than pretending like you want to interact with someone and then just staring into your phone all night.

This elusive memory/sensation of which I speak is Friday night. Friday nights had a special feel to them for some reason. Dad always got paid on Friday and we would swing through Gayle's Package Shop and he would buy a case of Busch and a carton of Kools. It was our bonding moment. Every other Friday night was even more special though because Mom would get paid and we could treat ourselves to fast food. This was more of treat back then you see because we had very little in the way of fast food in Carthage. You would not have believed the excitement when we finally got a McDonald's. Before the big chains came to town we would visit places like Harvey's Broasted Chicken, Whisler's Hamburgers, Goettles Drive-In, Mr. Quick or maybe take out from Ray's Café. Ooh...or maybe a root beer float from A&W. It was such a much bigger deal back then because it was "special". I would kill for some Harvey's Broasted Chicken some days.

Fridays were also often special because it would be sleep-over night. My best friend Elaine spent a lot of Fridays with us or it might be Mike and Myra or Carol. We would get fast food and watch TV on a big makeshift pallet in the living room. We would get to stay up late and try and scare ourselves silly watching "Dimension 16". Our local channel 16 would show B horror flicks on Friday night starting about 10:30 or so. They are pretty funny at my current agedness but back then it was a little more terrifying to watch Dracula prey on young women or Godzilla battling Mothra and Gammara. Then we would wake up on Saturday and spend the day playing until they had to go home.

It's that promise of special food and fun and the beginning of time to spend with my mom that held such magic. It was the hope that this weekend we could do something fun. Maybe she would feel like playing catch with me or play cards or games with me in the evening? Maybe she would have the energy to tell me a bedtime story tonight? Maybe she could stop giving so much of herself to others and give a little of it to me? You see, I have no doubt that my mother loved me, probably a bit too much. She wasn't cold and distant. But she did grow up in a different time when just keeping your kids alive was accomplishment enough. She loved me but she didn't have the energy or the understanding of how to "parent" a child. She was exhausted from killing herself trying to make as much money as she could because she knew she could not rely on dad. Dad did his best with what he had and he was never going to have a better job. He did what he could mentally do and after he stopped drinking it was easier to get him to do it everyday but it still was never enough. We were always one bad month away from homelessness. It was unsettling as a child to know this and understand it.

Still...despite the benign neglect and the instability of my childhood there is still something so wonderful about that Friday night sensation. The sounds, the smells, the music, the feeling of hope and the happiness. A time before adulthood. A time before you had your heart broken for the first but not the last time. A time before you realized that there are wonderful people in this world but there are ugly ones as well. A time before those closest to you begin to age and die. A time before you have to watch your parents die before you have gotten old enough to understand them better and before you had a chance to try and fix it. A time before human behavior made you feel so very weary...before you too got tired...just like your mother. So here's to Friday night and the wonderful, nostalgic, totally unrealistic picture I have of the 70's. May I forever wallow in that happy sensation and relive the hope and promise that seems so illusive now.

A Lot of Random Shit

I cannot seem to come up with a theme that is not bitter and depressed sounding so I think I will just go with random things that have struck me recently.

The r key on my computer keeps sticking or not working and it's pissing me off to no end. It seems like it shouldn't be a big thing but it's really annoying. Do you know how many words have r's in them?

Cats are sadistic voyeurs. Kitten Face has decided to come into the bedroom every morning as I am trying to get dressed and am at my least clothed and demand attention. I suspect she is looking for denim to molest but if there is none in the offing she just goes for pets at the most awkward time. Worse yet she looks at me with those judgmental eyes..."I see you're still fat mommy"...how's about I slice off some of that for you with my handy toenails? She also stares at my boobs as if they are going to somehow leap off my chest and attack her...it's very disconcerting. The other day she came into the bathroom for her "captive audience" dance and requisite petting frenzy. She sat down in front of me and then noticed the little strings on my shorts. I cannot find the words to explain the way the life of my coochie flashed before its eyes (I know just go with the imagery here) as she began to expand her pupils to 5 times their normal size and began trying to chew/attack the strings. If a vagina could panic and scream in terror mine would have done so. She's staring at me from her cat post right now with a look of both adoration and contempt. How do they do that??

I took the boys outside a bit ago thinking they might need to potty. It's such a nice evening for a change. We were just hanging out listening to the near deafening chorus of cicadas when I noticed a mosquito the size of the Titanic on Biscuit's back so in the house we came. My illegal furniture refinishing neighbor has pretty much just abandoned the house next door and so the yard has not been mowed all summer. The crop of mosquitoes squatting in her yard is impressive and they are hungry and making my life hell. Today...on my nice quiet Saturday she sent a power washing guy over to try and clean up the mess she made on the back patio and to clean out the trees (that's no joke...they were small saplings) out of the gutters. The poor guy was here for five hours!! So much for the quiet.

My other neighbor is an older lady who likes to tell me what I should do in my yard. It's a bit annoying really. Anyway...her child uses her for a day care. As a child who was dumped on my grandmother's crazy doorstep most of my childhood I can tell you this is not a fun way to spend your summer. There are a couple of kids in the neighborhood close to her age but that's it. Tonight they brought her for what looked like an overnight. She had her little back pack with her. (You are probably asking yourself...how does she know all this...well...I will tell you...my front door was open and they park their car in my line of sight EVERY single time.) They drop her off and about 10 minutes later they cruise back up and dad has a happy meal hanging out the window for the child to run out and pick up.

Quite honestly I am surprised he didn't make her catch it as they drove by the house. Now, maybe she's a good grandma and she loves her granddaughter and doesn't mind but come on people. You chose to have a child. The least you can do is get your lazy, grown up ass, out of the car and take your child her dinner...such as it is. I hope she got a good toy. I am being bitter again...dammit!

I better stop now while I am ahead.

A New Adventure?

I am a large human being. That is not a value judgement...it is just a fact. I will never be dainty. I am 5'7" tall with the build of defensive tackle. I do not have a problem with bone density. I have been told that people find me intimidating, although, I have no idea why. Maybe it's my serious, scrunchy thinking face that throws them off?  I don't know. Sometimes I am genuinely cranky about something but most of the time I am just concentrating on trying to control my rampant anxiety or just trying to work out a problem in my head.

I started becoming a horizontal over-achiever around 3rd grade when my PCOS began to kick in and my body began changing and my metabolism slowed to the pace of a 1,000 year old snail. I was a reasonably active kid yet I just kept getting bigger and brawnier and more masculine until I eventually turned into the current version of me. Now...granted...in the last four or five years I have taken the horizontal over achievement thing a bit too far. At my last weigh in I came in at an attractive 310 lbs. I have also become very inactive. All this has rolled down hill to the point that I am miserable and unhealthy and cranky about it.

I stopped beating myself up about being fat a long time ago. When I say I am fat it is simply the obvious truth and not a judgement. I know that it is vey difficult for me to lose weight because of the PCOS. I also know that I don't eat as much as people would assume I do. I do eat a lot of rubbish but it's not in vast quantities. I also know that I drink too much Coke but that is my one big vice and it's not likely to go away any time soon. I have however, been beating myself up about my inactivity and my health.

When I had trouble a couple of summers ago with my breathing in the heat they tested me for CPOD. They said I did not have CPOD but I was 451% more restricted than normal because of where I wear my weight. I do not undestand the difference. My hiatal hernia has been crankier than normal. My whole body hurts ALL the time. My legs have been especially cranky and my knees have been exploring new ways to hurt. I have felt weak and tired to the point of exhaustion. I have therefore been angry with myself and berating myself about the general state of me. I mean...seriously...Karen...how bad does it have to get befoe you do something about it? Because it's pretty bad right now and here we sit.

So...today I finally got up and did something about it. I went for a walk. It wasn't too hot yet so I put on my headphones and headed out for a short walk just to get started. I planned for a 1/2 an hour. I walked down to the park and made the loop to come back home. I walked for 45 minutes at my own pace and did not get hot or tired feeling until I got within a block of the house. I was surprised. I did far better than I thought I would. When I got home I forced myself to drink a 12 oz bottle of water. That doesn't sound like much but to a girl who only consumes water in a carbonated form surrounded by Coke it was something. I am proud of myself.

I am not so much concerned with losing weight this time around. I much more concerned about feeling better and becoming more healthy. The weight will do what it is going to do. I do not know if I will be able to maintain this new determination. Past history does not hold out much hope for me but maybe this time I can stick with it? I am going to try and that is really all I can do. Maybe this will be the beginning of a new adventure to find the normal sized person inside me who just wants to be healthy and happy. Wish me luck!

Adventurers in Incontinence

My computer got stuck in update land last night so I did not get to share the best part of my adventure yesterday. I was out and about checking out the water levels and taking pictures because I am just weird like that...I blame my dad. He trained me to always be nosy and to go out and see for yourself what was happening. I also get twitchy every time I hear a siren because Dad was a notorious ambulance chaser. No...he was not a lawyer...he just always wanted to know what was going on. I don't know if it was just nosiness or morbid curiosity or just the challenge of trying to follow them...who knows.

Anyway...I was out east of Carthage trying to navigate around and take pictures while avoiding actually driving through anything. I was not planning on drowning yesterday so I make it a habit to not drive through swiftly running or deep water. If you have ever gotten stuck with your Dad on Francis Street in Carthage because he tried to drive through and the truck stalled and you were terrified and he was pissed because you were terrified you would understand. I am digressing and clearly need to talk to my therapist about that little adventure.

Back to the story...I was out driving and all of the sudden my bladder said...HEY...I have to pee...NOW! NO...we cannot make it back into town...NO this is not merely a suggestion...we have to PEE NOW!! Since I did not have a change of clothes with me and I did not want to pee in my new car I had to try to appease the urinary gods of incontinence. So I did a quick inventory of my options. And fortunately for me I was right at the perfect place. The area was deserted because no sane people were out and about. It was kind of like the zombie apocalypse out there actually. So I pulled into a place I shall not name for fear of that someone may actually know the place. But let's just say it is a place where people's relatives are enjoying their eternal slumber.

I know it's disrespectful but it was an emergency! I drove to the far back of the cemetery hoping the road was not too soft. I found a spot where I could go that would not be close to anyone's loved one. I do have some morals. There used to be an outhouse there so I feel moderately justified. I unbuckled my seat belt and it started pouring again...I mean POURING! But I was committed now...the seat belt was off my belt was half undone and my bladder was trying to start without me. So I open the door...get out and manage to get my pants down in the nick of time. The rain is pouring down my back and then a bolt of lightening goes off about 20 or so feet away. I could feel its energy it was that close. I yanked up my jeans and hopped back in the car and pondered the meaning of life for a second. Oh...and my bladder said thank you Jesus!

I thought to myself...shit...that would have just been typical. I could have been struck by lightening and they would have found me in the back of the cemetery with the car running and my pants around my ankles and my big ass bare for all to see. And I thought...dang I could have died and no one would have known the story and I would have REALLY wanted that put on my tombstone. "She died taking a piss in a cemetery during a thunderstorm." It's so much more interesting than other options available to me. So I am getting the word out. If something bizarre ever happens to me I want someone to do some digging...think creatively...because the weirdest explanation is probably what I was doing and immortalize it somewhere. I want to go out with my weird banner flying proudly. Do that for me and I promise not to haunt you if that option is available to me.

Earth Day Chats

As I have noted here before I often find myself conversing with whatever critters I might happen upon on my drives. Usually it's cows, or dogs, or cats, or turtles, or hawks, or horses, or goats...anyway you get my drift. I find myself saying the same sorts of things over and over again. I think the most popular...in no particular order of importance are:
"What's up cows?" "Sheep!!!!" "Goats!!!!" "BABIES!!!!""Get out of the road!" "What have you got in your mouth?" "Should you be eating that?" "You scared the crap out of me!" "Be careful!" "What are you doing?" "Oh...please sit still little bird..aw rats!" "Aren't you pretty?" And "Thank you!"

Yesterday I noticed that, per usual in the Spring, I was talking a lot to my friends the turkey vultures. The vultures and I have an unusual relationship. For some reason I feel the need to critique their behavior. I think it's because when I just talk to them normally they give me that condescending look they always wear. It's that same look I used to get if I accidently cursed in front of a nun...you know the look. This causes me to immediately retort..."oh yeah...well you're butt ugly and you eat road kill so I wouldn't be so smug if I were you!" (This is said to the vultures...never to a nun.)

In about the span of four miles I had several chats with the dead breath kids. The first was "What are you four fighting over? Ah...a possum...well done...carry on." A mile down the road there were three in a field and I could not figure out what they were doing so I stopped since no other sane person was on that road in the cold rain. I figured out two were fighting...I assume over the babe with them because they were not eating. Since I hate fighting and confrontation in general I rolled down the window and proceeded to yell at them until they broke it up and the one combatant flew away. I was quite pleased with my peace making efforts.

Another mile down the road I thought what the heck is going on down here. It's a convention. This can't be good. There were nine of them and guess what they were doing? That's right...fighting over a tiny little smushed bunny. NINE...of...them! I just stopped and looked at them..."Really? Nine of you...there's a possum a couple miles west of here you might want to check out because this is just sad." "Oh and you might want to move because the next farmer in a big truck might not care if he takes you out and then you know what comes next right? That's right. Your friends are relatives here eat you! So get your asses out of the road because that tiny bunny is not worth it dudes."

Later on I had a discussion with two more brilliant vultures who were fighting over a raccoon in the middle of a bridge. "Um...middle of the bridge guys...this is why the raccoon didn't make it in the first place...not a good plan." They just gave me the look and flew off into a tree.

I love chatting with the boys and girls of the "I eat dead things" crowd. I think they really appreciate sarcasm. I think if they could speak English we could have quite the chat and I am sure it would be rude and delightful. So the next time you see one doing something ridiculous or stupid please feel free to tell them so and you can use my name as a reference. I am sure I have a rep. Get outside people!!!