I Don’t Even Know What To Title This One

July 2, 2009

I just found out some scary news about one of my favorite people on earth.  I can’t wrap my brain around it.  My friend Mel has a tumor in her brain.  WTF?  How is that fair?  How is that right?  How can this happen?  I have more questions than I have the ability to type. 

She’s my friend.  From the first moment we clicked.  We were riding the same slipstream.  She smart, and fun, and funny, and h0nest,  and brash, and vocal, and sweet,  and real.  She’s herself and I love her for it.  She’s smarter than the average bear.  She’s got dreams and goals and someone she loves.  She has plans.  She has a life!  

So what the hell is a tumor doing in her head?  There is nothing more frightening than being attacked by your own body.  It feels un-natural in the extreme.  It’s wrong on such a fundamental level that it’s hard to even accept, much less understand.

The surgery is soon.  Too soon.  Not soon enough.  My thoughts are scattered everywhere and I can’t seem to catch any of them. 

I read somewhere that there was a study done that proved that people who were in bad health, got well faster if they were prayed for.  They didn’t even need to know that it was happening.  It still worked.

So, do my friend Mel a solid, if you will.  Pray for her.  Start now.  Please?


Merry Christmas Dammit

December 21, 2007

I am of two minds when it comes to Christmas.  Not because I’m all religious and think that you should remember the reason for the season and all that.  I really don’t care about that because, having read way too much on the subject and still having a few functioning brain cells left with which to reason, I have my own peculiar beliefs on that subject which I will not bore you with right now.  No, I am of two minds because I want to get gifts for everyone I know or am even just a tiny bit acquainted with but I am fundamentally challenged and so I can’t.  Get it?  Fundamentally?  LOL  Sometimes I crack myself up!

I want to see happy faces because someone got exactly what they wanted.  I want to see that bright happy look of possibility in the faces of the people I love/like/look at when they get something they want.  I love to see the kid come out in adults when they get a really good gift.  Not necessarily an expensive gift, or a showy gift, but a thoughtful gift.  Something that is just for them.  Something that tells them that you thought of them.  Something that says that for that one moment in time they were honestly and surely on your mind in a kind and thoughtful fashion.

I like to give people gifts that are unexpected.  If I won the lottery I would spend the bulk of it on way cool presents for all the people that I have always wanted to get things for but couldn’t because I am terminally broke.  I would start with my family and work my way out.  Some things I would have to invent. 

I would invent the Wandering Vet an awesome lightweight fold-up self heating/cooling padded tent with solar power that would fold up into a backpack and contain a computer hookup.  How cool would that be?  I would make an awesome Santa!  I would give everyone I know the best and happiest dreams on Christmas Eve of the best and longest day ever with all of their favorite loved ones who aren’t here for the holidays. 

However, I am mostly happy this Christmas because I have my mommy, Rocky, with me this Christmas.  I’m stoked!  I’m revved!  And His Highness The Buddha has planned Christmas morning out to a T.  We have our places marked out by him as well as what we must be doing. (drinking coffee)  He and Princess Bella will be opening gifts on the floor (in photogenic positions) as we drink it.  It must be dark outside for some reason, therefore we will have to be up early.  I only hope it all lives up to his expectations because Buddha collects these memories like photographs. 

Back in my previous life with old Pencil Dick, I hated Christmas with a passion.  But life with My Dearest Husband has changed all that.  I love Christmas now.  I love when it snows now, too.  Because I know he will come get me if I get stuck or scared.  I even love the fact that I can get scared.  I blame him for that.  It’s really all his fault.  He’s turned me into a big old sissy.  Before I met MDH I had never cried over a movie in my life.  I mean that literally.  Now I’m just a big ball of crybaby.  I tell him he’s ruined my rep as a hard ass bitch.  He takes full blame.  But I digress.

Because of MDH I now love Christmas.  Alas, I’m still broke, I haven’t won the lottery, and I’m not magic.  I guess I’ll just have to wish that I could give you all everything you wish for in your secret heart of hearts. 

So, in the most comforting inner voice you can find, try to hear me saying this:  “Merry Christmas!  I wish you joy, I wish you comfort, I wish you peace, and I wish you thoughts of those you love and those who love you.”  You are in my thoughts not just this time of year but always.


Random Thoughts October 3, 2007

October 4, 2007

Life is perception.  How we perceive an event is our reality of it.  One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.  One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.  What you perceive as meaningless, someone else might perceive as the most meaningful thing in their life.  Pay attention to how those important to you perceive the events in your lives.  It counts.

Inaction is an action all by itself.  It indicates indifference on a massive scale. 

Why in the hell would anyone in this country with even ONE functioning brain cell think that Hillary Clinton would make a good president?  This is a woman whose self esteem is so low that she stayed with a man who cheated on her in front of the entire world on more than one occasion.  This can only mean one thing:  He will pay in front of the entire world, and he will pay big!  So, let’s put her in the White House?????  Is she planning on giving her VP a BJ on TV during a State of the Nation Address?  (Do you think I used enough acronyms in that sentence?)  Women who stick around after being treated that way have one thing in mind: revenge.  If Bill is smart (I know, I know, but it’s only a figure of speech) he would do something searingly outrageous and destroy her chances.  It might save his life.  And speaking as a woman myself, I can tell you this: Hillary remembers every one of you who have screwed her over.  You might not even be aware that you did. *see paragraph one*  And you will not get away unscathed either.  Kenneth Star, I’m especially talking to YOU!  She will smile for the cameras while she is listening in her earpiece to them tell her that the “package” has been deposited.  That will be you in the East River wearing a pair of cement overshoes, going to sleep with the fishes.  But only after she has caused them to make you scream like a girl.  Think about it guys.  Women are by far more vicious than men will ever be.  And we never forget a slight.  We certainly never forgive one.  Putting Hillary Clinton in the White House is like dressing up Brittney Spears and putting HER in the White House.  Sounds good, don’t it?

I wonder if the people that Blackwater were hired to guard and protect in Iraq want them gone?  I haven’t heard anyone ask them.  I haven’t heard any of them say.  I would love to hear the answer to those questions.  I also wonder who it was that Blackwater had with them at the time of the last big incident that caused all this hooohaaa.  I hate magicians because I feel like misdirection is inherently dishonest.  So this last big deal over Blackwater makes me wonder who was there and why all the fingers are pointing in so many different directions, but no one is saying who was with them. 

Why are children always at their most obnoxious when my head hurts?#$%^&*

What parents say and what kids hear are two completely different things.  example: Me-“Hi Honey, how was your day?”

Them-“Why R U gettin all up in my KoolAid?”  That wasn’t a good exchange at all was it?  We had no exchange of information, no exchange of pleasantries at all.  That’s because what they hear is not what we said.

Me-how was your day       translation:  What did you do that was wrong or that I’m going to get a call from your school about before the day is through?

No wonder the response is so vehement!  I have no solution for this distortion as yet, however I am working on it and as soon as I perfect the formula, I will put it on a paid programming commercial at 4:45am and you too can have it for 6 easy payments of JUST $19.95 plus shipping and handling! 

When we were kids our dad used to wake us up every morning and whip us before he went to work.  He did this because he knew that before he got home that night we would have done something to deserve it.  He was right.  I’m thinking about reviving that old tradition.  Either that, or take up drinking.  I’m not really sure which way I’m going to go yet.  I’m leaning towards the whipping, but I’m not sure I could stand all that whining and crying.  But after the first time or two, I’d probably cowboy up and stop doing that.  On the other hand, drinking would be so much less work for me.  *sigh*  decisions, decisions


Random Thoughts 9/28/07

September 28, 2007

Don’t say yes if you mean no, then get all pissed off later.

If you have something to say, say it.

If you have nothing to say, say nothing.

If your significant other asks you a question, answer them as honestly as you can.  Do NOT expect them to read your mind.  That’s just stupid and unfair.  If they could read your mind, they would have already got the Pick 6 number and you’d be filthy rich and boppin the pool boy/girl.  Give them some information they can use.  Play fair.

Keep in mind that it is not being mean if you hang up on someone who has called YOU.  Especially if you don’t know them. 

When someone calls you and starts asking questions, your automatic response should NOT be to answer, but to start asking questions of your own. 

example:  Riiiiiiing.  Hello.  

Is Mr. Whoozit in? 

 No, may I take a message? 

Who am I speaking to?   

That’s not really your business.  Who am I speaking to? 

This is Mr. Soanso from Suchandsuch.  Do you have a number where Mr. Whoozit can be reached in an emergency? 

IS this an emergency?  If you’ll give me your number I’ll get in touch with Mr. Whoozit and give it to him and I’m sure if it’s an emergency he’ll be sure to get back in touch with you as soon as humanly possible. 

*SIGH* Nevermind, I’ll just try back later.  CLICK!!!! 

Seriously, it is NOT someone else’s place to be asking you questions on your phone and it is not rude, mean, or socially unacceptable to refuse to answer them. 

Listen to your instincts.  Human beings are still alive today because of them. 

Pay attention.  To Everything. 

Be careful what you say.  You can’t unring a bell, and you can’t unsay an unkind word or undo the hurt it causes.

Care.


Reunions

September 28, 2007

Our oldest daughter came home yesterday.  It’s been three years since I’ve laid eyes on her.  My heart has seen her twenty-four/seven but my eyes have hungered for her non-stop.  Going long periods of time between physically seeing her is normal.  She is a natural born gypsy.  She comes by that honestly. 

I never seem to be prepared for just how overwhelmingly happy I am to see her.  I kept poking her on the arm.  She kept looking at me.  Finally, the last time I did it she said, “Believe I’m really here yet?”  There seems to be a Birdie shaped hole in my being when she isn’t with me that immediately fills up when she comes home. 

It’s like that with all my family and to a lesser degree with my friends.  I’m like a puzzle.  I’m this huge picture.  I know what it is, I know what it looks like.  But I’m only really complete and the whole big picture when everyone is together.  I almost had it this Labor Day. 

Labor Day marked the one year anniversary since the house burned down.  All in all things have progressed fairly splendidly since then.  We moved into what seems to us to be the perfect house in which to finish raising the kids, finish growing old, hobble around awhile, become a burden to said kids, make them change our diapers just like we did theirs, and eventually be remanded to an old folks home, there to linger and molder away, forgotten and neglected while the aforementioned kids are happily enjoying the life of Riley back at the old homestead.  So we decided it was time to conduct a good ol fashioned throw-down. 

The icing on the cake was that my mom (you remember her, I am now the proud owner of her hands) and my brothers and my sister(in law) and my niece(my GOD I love that kid) all came up from good ol FLA to attend! AND My Dearest Husband’s Grandma came from 250 miles away along with his mom.  Most of our closest friends were able to attend.  The few that weren’t were in our thoughts.  Our new neighbors were here.  We had just the best time ever!  The best count we could get was approximately 47 people.  Not bad. 

The kids all played and didn’t fuss and fight.  The grownups all played and didn’t fuss and fight.  Even I was nice! (I think) It lasted from around noon until way, way late.  Actually it lasted until way early the next day.  We had two chefs that cooked on the grill for us.  OMG  They ruled!  My Dearest Husband’s Aunt and Cousin brought some kick ass goodies.  We cooked.  I say “we” as if I actually helped any!  LOL  I didn’t!  Don’t let me fool you.  I was absolutely NO help of any kind at all.  My help consisted of staying out of the way and trying not to talk too much.  Because by the day of the party I had been off my meds for a fair amount of days ( another story for another time) and I was having major difficulties even saying words.  Mostly I just wandered around aimlessly.  But at least I wasn’t destructive.  That in itself was helpful.

The bros and the hubbie knocked out a couple horse shoe pits and everyone threw some shoes.  Down here in Carolina you ain’t had a party if you haven’t threw the shoes.  After everyone left, my little brother, Pony, got out my guitar and he and my older brother, Pork Chop, and I sat out on the front porch and sang all the old songs while the dogs lay around under our feet.  Pork Chop said it was like being in Mayberry. 

The puzzle was mostly put together that day.  Only a few missing pieces.  It was good to have everyone here.  It’s been awhile since we’ve been able to do that. 

Big party, lots of people, food, beer, family, friends, no bloodshed = success. 

*sigh* (insert big sappy grin) I love reunions.


Teenagers

June 8, 2007

Teenagers …………..  *sigh*  ……………..  nuf said.


Buddha’s Missing Body Part

June 6, 2007

Buddha came wandering in the room Sunday evening about 7:00 pm with the news that he had been throwing up all day and his legs were cramping and his stomach hurt.  You may think that the fact that I was so far behind on this information means that I don’t pay attention.  Let me disabuse you of this notion.

First of all, Buddha is secretive in his personal habits in the extreme.  He got this way when he was living at home.  I’m not sure exactly what survival instinct led him to that particular behavior, but you will almost never catch him doing anything in the way of personal habits at all.  He does do all those things like brush his teeth, take a bath, use the toilet, etc.  He just does it all on the sly.

Second, his sister is the twin of the Tasmanian Devil.  Being in her proximity is like being inside of a tornado that consists of blond hair and tiny bits of paper and chap stick and fingernail polish and puppies and shards of glass and blue eyes and bug juice and questions and clothes and makeup and arguments and chewing gum and an incessant stream of words and movement.  It’s hard to see past her sometimes.

Also, on the weekend, His Highness The Buddha, does not like to be disturbed when he is resting.  So I leave him to his own resources to decompress and do as he pleases unless I hear screaming or see blood pooling underneath his bedroom door.  Flames, smoke, the sound of breaking glass……these will also capture my attention. 

So, he tells me that he had been throwing up since morning.  *sigh*  I figure he’s dehydrated.  I give him water with a few grains of salt.  It all comes up immediately.  I smell a trip to the ER coming up.  I pack up the Tasmanian Devil, a few waiting room supplies, and Buddha.  Off we go to the ER for a quick IV of fluids to re-hydrate him and then we’ll be home and that will be that. 

Not so much. 

After about a gallon of drawn blood, about three gallons of IV fluids drained into him, a multitude of tests, and a CAT scan, we find out that he has appendicitis.  Wow.  Into the hospital he is admitted.  The surgeon will be there in the morning to talk about what we will do.

(insert ominous music here)  The surgeon comes in and tells Buddha that he must have the appendix out.  The instant Buddha realizes what the means he says, “Cut me?!!  OH NO!  I’m outta here!”   It’s everything we can do to keep him in the bed.  We talk and cajole and do everything but chase him down the hall and tie him to the bed.  By this time his belly is hurting him considerably.  We convince him that having the surgery will make his belly feel better and he finally agrees.  Whew!

It all happens quite quickly.  He’s in surgery in a matter of minutes.  They tell us he’ll be back in an hour and a half, be in the room.  When they bring him back up, he’s awake.  I ask how he’s feeling.  He rares up on the bed and yells, “THEY CUT ME AND IT HURTS!!”  We kinda forgot in all the excitement to tell him that the surgery was going to hurt pretty bad right at first.  Our bad.  *grimace* 

Once he was in bed and settled and the morphine set in, he informed me that people who were in the hospital get presents.  He would accept a video game, thank you.  Then whenever anyone called or came by, he would dutifully inform them of the same thing complete with his order.  I figure that he’s already calculated what his appendix was worth.

By the time he’s fully recovered, I’m going to have to watch out on eBay because he’ll be trying to sell his kidney for a Volkswagen.  A cornea for the downpayment on his college tuition.  😦  *sigh*

He’s home and feeling fine.  He disappeared from the couch about two hours after we got him home.  My Dearest Husband went looking for him, he wasn’t in the house.  Bella said he was up the drive.  Um…….up the drive???  Yeah, she says, riding his bike.  We walk out on the porch and sure enough, he comes slowly riding back down the driveway.  Just over twenty-four hours after his surgery.  We’re standing there with our bottom jaws resting on the tops of our shoes, staring at him.  He says, “What?”

Kids, ya gotta love em.


Louie

May 24, 2007

I see hand sanitizer all over the place now.  People are fanatically clean these days.  Times have changed since I was a kid.  We never really thought about that kind of stuff when I was young. 

Don’t get me wrong, we had to wash our hands before we ate.  We had to take our bath.  Occasionally an aunt or someone (usually Southern) would make a comment about being able to “grow taters in those ears” to one of my male relatives.  But hand sanitizer in travel sized bottles?  *giggle*  Not hardly. 

As a matter of fact, I had an older cousin whose mother kept him so clean when he was young that he got sick.  His doctor finally told his mom that she had to let him go outside and get dirty.  She was not to clean him up!  He was to get dirty and stay that way until evening and only then was she to bathe him!  It was excruciatingly hard on her, but she did it for his sake.  He got better….physically.  Funny thing, he ended up crazy as a bed bug.  But that is neither here nor there.  (Yes, it does run in the family, smart aleck!)

My grandson, Buddha, used to be such a neat freak that when I gave him a sloppy joe for lunch he couldn’t eat it!  He would pick it up, get sauce on his hand, put it down, wipe off his hand, pick it up, get sauce on his hand, put it down, …….you get the idea.  Finally, I took pity on the poor little thing, cut it up and gave him a spoon.  Sheesh! (Now, he could grow taters in those ears *wink*)

When I was coming up, those things never came into consideration.  If they had, we would have never eaten a Louie burger.  At this point it is my duty to warn any of you with a weak stomach not to read further.  Mom, this means you. 

Louie lived and worked next door to the service station that my dad was part owner of.  We would go down to “help” dad at the station and he would send us next door for a burger.  Louie and his wife, I never knew her name, lived and worked at their house.  Louie cooked burgers on the stove in his kitchen.  They were GREAT burgers.  They were locally famous.  Everyone went to Louie’s for a burger on a regular basis.  This was good because at some point Louie apparently had a stroke or something and this is how Louie and his wife made their living.  His wife would take the orders, give them to Louie, who would shuffle back to the kitchen and cook them, and his wife would chat with you up front until he shuffled back with your greasy bag.  Louie couldn’t talk.  His wife knew what he meant when he made his noises, but no one else did.  She would tell you Louie said thank you and come back again.  I used to wonder if Louie was actually saying something that ended in “and the horse you rode in on”, but who could tell? 

The reason I believe that Louie had a stroke is that Louie shuffled when he walked and he had this other little thing that he did that was kinda telling.  He drooled.  Yeah, I know, right?  Louie probably kept the handkerchief people in business because I never one time in my whole life ever saw Louie without one.  He held them up to his chin to catch the drool.  But the handkerchiefs were never wet.  It was Louie that cooked.  Not Mrs. Louie.  Louie cooked.  Hopefully with one hand. 

Weren’t no hand sanitizer going on in Louie’s kitchen, I can tell you that.  And no one ever thought one thing about it.  It makes my mom gag when we talk about it now.  Louie and his wife wouldn’t have a prayer of making a living on their own now.  They’d have to depend on Social Security and Alpo now-days.  But back then, they were independent and self sufficient.  Proud people with a product to sell that people wanted and liked.

Maybe it was the drool that made Louie’s burgers taste so good?

OK, I’ll stop.  My mom says I take this one too far. 

We didn’t have flesh eating virus in those days.  Or Ebola.  And if we did, it was very well contained.  We didn’t have AIDS, or Hanta Virus or HIV, or any of the new stuff that’s come along lately.  There weren’t as many people in the world back then and mother nature wasn’t trying so hard to thin the herd. 

We had stronger immune systems then.  And the generation before us had even stronger ones.  But, I digress.

I probably wouldn’t buy a burger from Louie today.  But not for the reason you might think.  It would just be too creepy to buy a burger from a 160 year old guy who’s too dried out to drool but who keeps on holding that dang old white handkerchief under his chin!  Yuck!

Note to self:  Nice girls don’t blog after they’ve taken their meds!  Think about it!


Used To

May 18, 2007

I used to sing.  I was pretty good at it.  My ex played guitar with several bands and we were together for 10 years before he ever heard me sing.  I never sang in front of people in those days, so I really did sing like nobody was listening because …..nobody was.  I think it’s fair to say he was pretty much stunned when he heard it the first time. 

It was on a tape player. (Can you say “LONG TIME AGO?????)  I had been messing around with a new song I had heard and I forgot to erase it.  He heard it by accident.  He asked who in the hell that was.  I said it was me.  He didn’t believe me for one second because as far as he knew I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.  Eventually he got me drunk enough to sing in front of him and prove it was me. 

Back in the day we always had music.  Everything was accompanied by music.  People coming over to hang out always brought guitars, amps, harmonicas and whatever other instruments they had and we jammed.  We went to other people’s houses and played.  It was alright.  And, back in the day, we had beer.  I’ll be kind to my momma and leave it at that.  So, we started gettin me all drunked up and I started to sing with them. 

They came to the conclusion that I sounded like a cross between Stevie Nicks and Bonnie Raitt.  With a slight quiver.  That was pure terror.  There was not enough alcohol invented to take that away.  But they gave me songs and booze and I sang.  Then one evening out in someone’s barn a sneaky varmint turned on a hidden tape recorder and taped me singing.  A few weeks later we were at another guys house hanging out and playing.  When I started to sing a song he jumped up and hollered, “You’re the girl on the tape!”  I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. 

You have to remember that: 1. I was drunk. 2. I didn’t know about the tape.

So he played it and sure enough it was me.  Have you ever heard yourself on tape?  I really can’t stand it.  I don’t mind hearing myself through my own ears inside of my head, but I hate hearing it from outside in.  I almost spit up.  But they all seemed to love it.  So they hatch this plot.  The guy who managed the local newspaper at the time was having a Christmas party at his house and had asked the guy who’s house we were at to get together a band and play at it. 

Now I’m really thinking I shouldn’t have had those last couple of beers.  They want me to sing.  In front of people.  A bunch of people.  Maybe I’ll rethink that beer thing and just have a few more.  Cuz those guys are really excited and happy and wanting this to happen.  And deep inside of my alcohol induced haze I’m kinda thinkin this might be kinda cool, too.  If I can keep from spitting up, that is. 

So we practice.  We practice a lot.  We practice and we practice and I sing and I sing.  I’m well on my way to becoming a raging alcoholic.  Because there is no way on God’s green earth that I can sing in front of anyone without it.  I’ve only been singing in front of my ex for about 3 or 4 months at this time.  But it feels good to have people telling me that I can do something well.  And everytime we practice more and more people show up to watch us.  It’s all really new and exciting. 

So, the fateful evening comes.  Let me set the stage for you. 

This was about 25 years ago.  I was young and hot as a two dollar pistol.  Long wavy chestnut brown hair, slender, an ass that looked like two puppies fighting under a blanket when I walked.  They get me there and we’re in the back room.  It’s almost time to go out.  The plan is to keep me in the back of the group until it’s time for me to sing.  That way I can get used to the atmosphere and I won’t be so nervous.  They brought me a bottle of gin.  All the quicker to schnocker you with, my dear.  And I knocked that baby back as fast as I could.

Then we went out to the stage.  It gets a little hazy around here.  There were many people, pretty lights, music, clinking, talking, and then they brought me to the front and set me on a stool and started playing my music.  I think I had my eyes closed because I was ok at first.  I just started to sing and I was having fun for the first few lines.  Then I noticed that it was very quiet in that place.  I opened my eyes.  Everyone was standing there with their drinks in their hands and they were all looking at me!  I immediately stopped singing.  I thought I had messed up really bad.  I turned around and looked at the guys in the band.  They said, “Keep singing, they love it!!”

I turned around and looked at all those faces again and they were nodding their heads yes!  Holy Crap!  The band started playing again and so I started singing again.  They sang with me and they clapped and sometimes they just stood there and listened to me.  It was probably the most incredible thing ever.  I sang every song we practiced.  Somewhere along the line I forget the rest of what happened.  It all just sort of melts into one big good ol time. 

We played alot of other places and I got to sing alot of other times.  It was always a big surprise to me.  And it always felt really great.  But that first time will always be my favorite.  I don’t do that anymore.  But, once upon a time, long long ago………

I used to sing.


Tacky Behavior On The Part Of People Who Should Know Better.

May 15, 2007

I have recently been subjected to , and by extension subjected a dear friend to, Tacky Behavior On The Part Of People Who Should Know Better.  Now, I have been around this kind of trashy behavior all my life and I’m tired of putting up with it. 

In my younger more feisty days I would have put the gloves on and gone hunting down the offending trashites, looking for some much deserved justice out of their persons in some shape or manor, preferably involving bruising.  However, as I am older and slightly calmer now, I will wait for a bit, let things settle down , and find the right time for the information to come out.

You see, I myself take part of the blame for this trailer-park tinged behavior.  I accepted an invitation from a secondhand person to an event.  And since my radar isn’t in proper working order anymore, I completely missed the significance of that little faux pas.  However,  knowing the inviter like I do, I had to believe that it was ok to accept, as he has always been one of the most considerate and honorable men I know.  Therefore, when I was asked to invite a friend, I had no qualms about inviting a very, very good friend who is tenderhearted and a LOT of fun to be around.  We would go together, meet the rest of the group, and have a rip roarin good time at a few slightly raunchy places, thereby having stories to tell the grand-kids later that would make them blush and look at us in new and exciting ways!  It would all be good.

NOT!  We were excluded from the beginning.  It was rude to the point of ruthlessness.  It would have been kinder to have just told us after dinner that we wouldn’t be included in the rest of the festivities planned for the evening and so thank you for coming to the dinner and we’ll see you at the wedding.   Instead we were to follow the other two cars to a hotel and join them in a room that had been reserved.  We were out of the car and following them across the parking lot when they hit the door.  As we got to the door maybe ten feet behind them, we found it remarkable that the fifty feet across the lobby was entirely empty of the approximately 10 women who had just entered in front of us.  They were very swift of feet!  We also found that the door required a key card to open and we didn’t have one.  So we proceeded around to the front and inquired at the front desk as to whether they had a room in either of the names we knew.  She informed us that she couldn’t help us.  Not that there were no rooms in that name, but that she couldn’t help us. 

We spent a good fifteen minutes walking through the ground floor hall trying to see if we could hear a bunch of white trash bitches honking off behind any of the doors, but no such luck.  So, now having to admit that we had been deliberately ditched by this marvelous bunch of common hos, we have a few hours to kill.  We are both nearly speechless.  I mean seriously, how many times after you get out of the sixth grade do you honestly have to consider things like this happening to you? 

So we found a couple of ways to spend our time and then went home.  It was kinda sad.  It was even more sad the next day when again I saw two of the girls in the group and watched as they caught sight of me, turned to each other and began to giggle and laugh uproariously with each other. 

It makes me wonder about the kind of people who think that hurting people for sport is a good thing.  I wonder what kind of things they tell themselves to make it ok to hurt someone’s feelings just for fun.  I wonder what they say inside of themselves when they are choosing the next person to cause pain to, is there some certain trait that they are looking for?  Or is it just the next unfortunate person who comes into their sight?  I don’t understand how one goes about telling themselves that they have soooo many people just waiting in line to be their lifelong friend, that they can afford to callously toss good people aside like garbage and laugh about it. 

Like I said at the beginning of this whole thing, I’ve been around this kind of common, trashy, unraised, behavior all my life.  I’ve seen it a million times.  It comes from not being raised right in the beginning, then being too lazy to make sure that you choose to act right when it’s your turn to call the shots.  It’s just easier to roll on back to those less than humane beginnings . 

I have accepted my part in the hurt caused to my friend.  I have apologized to her several times.  If my brain was in proper working order my red flags would have been dancing the macarena at me over that invitation and I would have known better than to accept.  I was trying to help celebrate a new beginning for friends.   My friend was only there because I asked her to come with me.  It was my disability that caused her pain and for my part in that I am deeply sorry and ashamed.

Now let’s add to the entertainment by adding that the main person at the previous event managed to top off the event the following evening by hurting the feelings of an eight year old girl by popping off at the mouth to her at the end of a very long evening when said eight year old girl went to tell her that she was leaving. 

I am no longer surprised by the stupidity of people or the incredibly stupid things they do to hurt people for no good reason.  I see it and I feel it all the time.  It just makes me terribly, terribly sad.  I hope that they accomplished whatever it was they were planning to do by excluding us, and I hope it was worth the cost. 

Because (to quote myself) I’ve managed to live my entire life without them in it, and I’ll manage quite well to live the rest of it without them in it as well, and never really notice the difference at all. 

My friend is owed a huge apology.  A heartfelt apology.  I hope she gets one.

As for me, I am neither owed an apology, nor will I accept one.  I am done.