Gun Reformist

Okay ya’ll I just wanna clarify. I am not about taking away everyone’s guns. We own several guns cause we love target shooting. You know, shooting pumpkins, cans, water jugs, things that don’t bleed. We don’t keep them in the house because 1) we have children running through here all the time and children + loaded guns = unimaginable tragedy 2) an unloaded gun, or a locked, secured gun = NO protection at all when faced with the very unlikelihood of some surprise, random intruder and 3) we’re not paranoid about all kinds of criminals chomping at the bit to rape and rob us. There are other options for protecting home and family and we’ve got that in place.

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That said, I am 100% against weapons of mass destruction. Assault rifles, semi automatics, 20+ round clips and magazines designed to slaughter a large amount of human beings in a matter of minutes. I’m all for shutting down gun shows and ending private gun sales. For not allowing ANYONE on the terrorist watch list to buy a weapon. That all gun transactions be handled by a licensed firearms dealer and have a paper trail. That background checks be extensive and thorough. That each purchase of a gun includes training by a licensed firearms expert. As a gun owner, I have no problem with any of this. Yes, people are still going to kill people. With guns. That’s a given. People are gonna drive drunk, blow up buildings, stab their spouses and poison their mothers. But at least, maybe, Orlando, Columbine, Charleston, Virginia Tech, San Bernardino, etc, will become a sad, bloody memory….and not the NEW NORMAL.

Okay. Putting away my soapbox….

….for now…..

We Be Badass

Growing up in an insane asylum isn’t necessarily all bad. Just ’cause our families were / are addicted, depraved and batshit doesn’t mean we can’t rustle up a few rainbows and unicorns, right? Here’s a few life skills I learned from being the scapegoated daughter of a deeply disturbed mother, a weak willed, enabling, alcoholic father & two sisters so ferociously fucked in the head they don’t know their asses from…… their asses.


You learn wicked culinary skills. Many ‘mothers’ with NPD are notorious slackers when it comes to providing basic necessities. Like food. She hasn’t the time to deal with petty issues like breakfast, lunch & dinner. Mine was anorexic – she didn’t need food so neither did we. Matters not that we were still growing – she was doing us  a favor by keeping us thin. So you get creative. To this day, I can take an egg, a can of vegetables, a few hotdog buns & a little sugar and whip it into five different entrées.

Count on nothing. This is narc momma’s favorite blood sport – making promises then ripping the rug out from under you.

When my sister, who’s big into numerology, turned 14 on July 7, 1977 (7/7/77) she was so excited I thought she’d burst wide open all over the place. Our mother decided to celebrate this monumental once in a lifetime occurrence by allowing our father to take Sis to a Dodger game. For weeks all my sister talked about was going to see the Dodgers. On the morning of her birthday, she was up, running around with her baseball mitt, bouncing off the walls with sheer joy until – our father showed up. Cause that’s when our mother announced “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not taking her anywhere. No Dodger game for you, Suzi Q”. Worse than that – our father didn’t even question it. He simply said “Okie Doakie.”then spent my sister’s birthday consoling our mother about how horrible we are. No reason given because there was none to give – my sister had done nothing wrong.

As my sister cried, begged, pleaded, to no avail – our mother sat there, smirking, savoring every second of her vile cruelty. So I learned to count on nothing – that way, I’m either rarely disappointed – or pleasantly surprised. It’s a win win.


Depend on nobody. When you hail from a tribe that’ll slit their own throats before treating each other with honesty, support, compassion, love, encouragement, forgiveness, empathy, fairness, respect – you learn to do without. Which means at some point you’ve gotta to figure how these things work cause in the real world? With out these things? We’re nothing more than soulless shells of toxicity.  Scapegoats are, by our very nature, loaded with compassion – we feel empathy – we have an innate sense of justice and  truth which is why we are targeted by the Narc – they possess none of these things. And it’s their nature to destroy that which they lack the capacity to understand. The harder we fight for independence, the more desperate the narc becomes in trying to thwart us. When my mother told me I was stupid, I got a degree. When she threatened to sabotage my wedding, I shacked up. When she gave me the silent treatment – I learned to enjoy the peace. When she, in yet another fit of rage, deposited my father’s cremains in a garbage bag and drove 30 miles in the middle of the night to dump it on my porch – I bought an urn.

We are totally down with ‘yo mama’ jokes. They say “Yo mama so crazy she taped a piece of paper on the TV so she could watch paperview!” and you snap back  with a witty “Yeah? Well my mama so crazy she thinks  Hamburger Helper comes with a friend!” Classic badass.

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We’re resilient. 

We really are.

We are survivors.

Racist? Entitled? Or Just Plain Stupid?

So this ugly thing happened. Here. In Charlotte. The city I’ve been loving and embracing since moving here 20 years ago.

Susan Westwood is the latest in a familiar string of idiots being taken down for being, well, stupid. Yeah she’s a racist too – but her stupidity is at the wheel right now. So let’s roll with it.

Apparently while getting sloshed, alone in her $1,300 per month apartment (which in the South Park area, Charlotte’s equivalent of  Beverly Hills, means she’s living in a 400 square foot price gouging closet) dancing with herself (as you do when you’re like, really hot and really white, as she repeats over and over again in the video) – she was momentarily jarred when she peeped out a window and saw two African American women in the parking lot. Standing near a disabled car. In the middle of the night. A very cold, wet night.

So what does she do? Offer a helping hand? Jumper cables? A couple mugs of cocoa? Oh no. Not Miss South Park Susie. She goes full blown confrontational batshit. All kinds of racist things come flying out of this gal; baby daddys & you don’t belong heres & weaves, you know, the usual How To Be A Racist for Dummy’s quips. But then she wades into the shallow waters of entitlement “I’m white”.

The fuck?

Three days after her rant went viral, she went on the lamb, as you do, when you’ve morphed yourself into a social pariah.  She’s since turned herself in, was terminated from her lucrative job & evicted from her cushy pad.

Karma. Just sayin.

Me Too You Too We Too Fuck You!

Are we REALLY shocked that Brett Kavanaugh, a sexual assaulter, was confirmed to the Supreme Court? Seriously?

We shouldn’t be.

Like many of you – I grew up in a neighborhood teeming with Brett Kavanaugh’s. Went to school with them. These privileged little monsters roamed the halls like pack animals, snapping our bras, sliding their hands down the back of our jeans, bullying and beating up those of us who were, in their opinion, festering at the bottom of the social totem pole: the geeks. The nerds. The brown  ones. The black ones.

The female ones.

What struck me most about Kavanaugh’s incessant weeping during his testimony was that the asshole truly see’s himself as a victim – and in a twisted, sickening way, maybe he kinda is.  After all, he’d never before been held accountable, let alone questioned, about his sexual assaults. I believe him when he says he has no memory of the night he straddled 15 year old Christine Ford, jammed his hand over her mouth and ripped at her clothing – why would he? For him it was fun & games. Another notch in his belt. Boys being boys. No biggie.

For her, it’s a moment forever scorched into her soul.

face-1617558_1920So why, in 1982, didn’t she report it??

For the same reason I didn’t report mine. I knew I would be blamed. I knew it was my fault.  I knew I deserved it. I knew I wouldn’t be believed. I knew I stood no chance against a golden boy.

I was ashamed. Humiliated. Beaten.

I didn’t want anyone to know.

And like so many other ugly moments in my adolescence – I pretended like it never happened.  Shoved it deep down & locked it away.

Survivors never really get over it – we aren’t blessed with that option.  We move on the best we can.

But maybe, just maybe, we need to be teaching our daughters and granddaughters how to punch a mother fucker in the throat.

Cruisin Into 34 Years of Hijinks and Shenanigans

Our anniversary was coming up and I wanted to do something kinda special, you know, besides the usual dinner out/sex in/newest high tech gadgety gift exchange. Cause we do this all the time, you know, not just special occasions so I wanted to blow it outta the box this year. Go BIG.

A cruise! Yes! Though the Caribbean! Of course!

I threw myself into planning the perfect getaway – poring over every detail of every cruise liner on the East Coast. I ended up choosing Princess cause they have an awesome (and incredibly reasonable) Vow Renewal package – champagne breakfast in bed, tour of the bridge (which I knew Malcolm would LOVE – and he did) romantic couples massages & chocolate covered strawberries – yum!

I booked everything through Costco Travel (who knew?) – which in addition to having the best price, they threw in a member perk – $200.00 shipboard in credit! Nice! The other great thing about booking through Costco is that they have the best customer service reps in the galaxy! Not that I had any problems – but I did a little researching on the aft cabin I’d booked and found out it was close to a foul smelling vent. Totally NOT how I planned on spending a romantic week on the open sea. So I called Costco and ten minutes later, we were moved to a midship cabin with a huge, private balcony AND they refunded us $400.00! Something I learned about booking months in advance – you can call Costco Travel anytime about anything and they will automatically check on any flash deals or discounts that are going on – and give them to you!

So a side note about alcohol. FIRSTLY, I’ve heard that drinks on the ship are way overpriced. SECONDLY, you can purchase a drink package for around $350.00. THIRDLY, we don’t drink enough for the drink package, however FORTHLY we do partake in a good stiff one every now and again – but not at $10.00 a pop. What’s a couple of tee teetotalers to do?

Well hello Rum Runners!

(But you heard NONE of this from me – hee hee)

Malcolm had to stop and photo a speed track…..because hey, it’s a speed track.

So we Malcolm decided to drive down to Ft. Lauderdale. He’s all about road trips so fine. We stayed overnight in Ormond Beach, FL. which is near Daytona.

Ormond Beach is BEAUTIFUL! Warm white sand, blue waves. I’m such a beachy chick who took So Cal for granted with Newport & Huntington Beaches only a 45 minute drive away. Now it’s a weekend trip to get to the NC beaches – which are awesome. In fact, I think I’m more in love with east coast than west coach waves now. Yep.

Ormond Beach – just before sunset *sigh*

Okay so we finally get to the ship, the Caribbean Princess and it’s BEAUTIFUL.

So we cruised through the Caribbean – and it was MAHVALOUS, dahlink!  We walked. And shopped. And brunched.

I mean, I could live out the rest of my life on a luxury liner. For real. I hear it’s actually cheaper than dying in a nursing home – I’m looking into that.

Men At Belks

So winter is coming (maybe?) which means Kay needs long pants for school. Now that she’s 14 (with legs like a baby giraffe), she’s gotten awfully persnickety about her attire. Gone are the days of Target & Walmart khakis. She will only do straight legged denim, preferably skinnies. As long as they’re tan, or navy, she can rock ’em at school. They can be denim, they just can’t LOOK denim.

We usually do our clothes shopping without M. For many reasons but the main ones being 1…) It’s HOW MUCH? 2) THE HELL? and 3) OVER MY DEAD BODY! Shopping should be a pleasent experience….not one to be bogged down with crap like….budgeting.

But for some odd reason, he wanted to accompany us yesterday. Fine.

We’re heading into Belks (May Company in Cali…if May Co still exists) and I say to Kay “Okay I think you’re a Junior now. Size 0, maybe a 1, so let’s start there.” When it comes to perusing department stores, I’m a bit of a distracted wanderer. I get lost in the haze of beautful, untouched, shiny new things that need to be in my closet. But I stayed on task….and found myself utterly abandoned in the Junior section. No M. No Kay.

No worries. I found some skinny Khakis, snatched up a 0 and a 1, then went in search of la familia.

Found them. In the Children’s section. Kay was tuned out, sitting in a corner, snap chatting away. M was scratching his head, with a deer in the headlights look. He seemed relieved to see me.

I ask ‘Uh….what happened?”

Says he (pointing out the signs on the wall) “Well that says sizes 7 to 14. That can’t be right cause you say she’s a size 0. I knew not to go to the sign for sizes 2 to 6X. So I came over here where the sign clearly says O to 2….and it’s like….stuff you’d get for Evie. THE HELL?”

I know. I KNOW.

In all fairness, I’m just as clueless in the power tool section of any Home Depot.

Gone Girl


Leslie back in the day – around 1970

So Leslie Van Houten’s been green lighted for parole. Sorta. A California review board has recommended her release, however, Governor Jerry Brown has the power to nix it. Last year a review board recommended parole for another Manson associate, Bruce Davis (who participated in the murder of ranch hand Donald Shea but was not involved in the Tate-LaBianca murders) which Governor Brown rejected with a terse  “Davis’ own actions demonstrate that he had fully bought into the depraved Manson family beliefs.”

Smidge of history – August, 1969, Leslie Van Houten was part of the Manson family – a group of depraved loons who believed Charlie Manson was their savior, sent from Heaven to lead them to an eternal afterlife, via an underground paradise in the middle of Death Valley.  While a race war between blacks and whites ravaged the Earth. Or something. Cause this is what the Beatles were saying. To Charlie. But  black folks were a little lax in bringing on Armageddon so Manson sent his minions skulking through the hills of Hollywood to murder an actress, three of her friends and some poor kid who was literally in the wrong place at the wrong time.  With their victims blood, they wrote a bunch of stupid shit all over the walls, appliances & doors hoping the cops would finger the Black Panthers. Now, I could be wrong on this – but I think the Panthers had their hands full organizing free breakfast programs for hungry children in Oakland and being stalked by the FBI to go gallivanting through wealthy neighborhoods killing white folks.

But that’s just me.

Leslie wasn’t a part of that killing crew. She went out the following night to help murder a shop owner and his wife.

Still, as far as parole goes? I don’t think girlfriend has a chance.

And should she?

Hubby and I had a pretty intense convo about this whilst on our way to Ikea this afternoon. He’s all for her release cause, hell, she’s 66 years old, what harm can she possibly do? Gee I dunno, lets ask Ms Dorothea Puente who was a spry 60 when she put 7 senior citizens on ice then buried them in her garden. Just sayin. Me? I think Leslie needs to stay put. Seriously. Originally sentenced to death, her conviction was commuted to life when Cali briefly halted executions back in 1972. In other words, she dodged the pellets.  Be grateful and quit your bitchin. Hubby? He says “She was only 19 years old when she stabbed that dead lady. And  she was brain washed by Charlie. Are you the same person now, as you were at 19? None of us are. She’s no different”.

Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel and Leslie VanHouten- around 1970

She’s no different?

I about bounced the car off a curb.

We’ve all been 19. A lot of us came from fucked up homes. We had issues, did drugs, screwed around & messed up. Very few of us dealt with our angst by plunging a knife 16, 18, 25 times into the backside of a helpless, innocent woman who was either dying or already dead, as her husband was being butchered in the next room. It takes a special kind of maniac to do that.

Which makes her different.

Even if the Governor approves her parole (and I’m thinking he won’t – hell, her co-defendant, Susan Atkins, one legged and bedridden with a brain ravaged by cancer was denied compassionate parole – and she certainly posed no threat to anyone) what kind of life awaits Les on the outside? She’s been in prison nearly 50 years – a lots changed since then.

Before she was a Manson Zombie – Leslie was a home coming princess. I bet her music collection looked like …..


……and she listened to them on  …….


…..while watching …….


……and gabbing with her gal pals…..


…..and snapping photos …..


All of which have been replaced with……..


So she’s got a bit of a learning curve ahead of her.

If she’s released.

If Birth Control Had A Face

Okay gotta share…I made a donation to Planned Parenthood in Mike Pence’s honor because it’s the most brilliant “gotcha” (to me, anyway) I’ve seen in the last 18 months. I’ve always supported PP, will continue to do so, but never in anyone’s honor so the idea of Planned Parenthood getting a couple hundred grand in donations on behalf of  this uterine nazi, while he’s getting schlonged with recognition, for it? I simply could not pass it up.

Okay so the credit card nazi (that would be M) has this …snitchy little app that alerts him when ever I use a particular card. And yes it’s very necessary cause I have no will power. It  sucks. It feels like one of those cruel electrical collars that zaps spirited little puppies when they bark.

Anyway – just now I get this call….

Him “So, uh, BABY? Is there something I need to know?”

Me “Huh?”

M “Planned Parenthood?  You’re not pregnant. You can’t even get pregnant. And this better not be about Kay. The hell?”

Boy this credit card snitches ARE QUICK!!!!  I explained it all to him, we had a good laugh over it. Then he asked me to make another donation in his (M’s) name, to honor the man who would LOVE LOVE LOVE to hold women criminally responsible for their miscarriages.

No problemo.

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