Only Nola

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Well, I've been awol again (the two miniature BlackBerry posts don't even BEGIN to count... I'm not even going to try and sell you anything different), this time for a record period of time.  My life has been full of things I really couldn't share in a blog that my family members have access to (don't ask and I won't have to kill anyone), so it felt too limiting to try and write.  There were, of course, things that I could have written about safely (note to self: write later about the pubic hair the former tenants left in a strange place in the rental house), but I've almost always used this blog as a rather open window to my life, whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, so it felt... wrong, I guess... to not be able to share the things that I most wanted to.  So, me being me, I ended up sharing nothing at all.  Now I have maybe two readers that check in once every month or two to see if I'm breathing, thanks to my extended absences.  Well, a small audience is better than no audience, right?  They say size doesn't matter, anyway... (don't get me started on that, either.  They LIE.)

Well, as lightly as this started, I actually logged in today to write about something more serious.  I'm sure we've all heard the whole modern psychological theory (well, it's not ALL modern... some of it's actually pretty old-school, if one follows Zen teachings) that no one can hurt your feelings unless you let them, or that our feelings are our own responsibility, etc.  I've always taken exception to this.  To me?  It's a get-out-of-jail-free card for people who are treating others badly.  It takes the accountability off of their shoulders and puts it, instead, on the victim's.  I abhor that.  But I had a big realization today.  Maybe it will change my life (one can only hope, right?), and maybe it won't.  Maybe it will click with someone who reads this and change theirs.  I hold no such high aspirations, but it's possible.  All I know is it was one of those snowballing, lightning-striking thoughts/moments of clarity that hits sometimes in most all of us, so I thought I'd come home and write it down before I lost it.

People can hurt you, whether you let them or not.  I say this addressing you as a regular person, assuming you're not a zen master sitting home reading this in between enlightened moments, surrounded by llamas and communing with your inner french fry or whatever.  If someone I care about says hurtful things to me, or is physically abusive, or treats me in ways meant to leave me feeling small or unsafe, then that is painful, and I didn't have to 'let' them do it.  BUT.  (There's always a 'but', isn't there?)  But... if I read the phrase 'my feelings are my own responsibility' a different way, it's absolutely right.  After the first painful thing that is done, it is MY responsibility to do whatever is in my power to protect myself from FURTHER injury.  In this life, YOU are the only one that, come what may, will always be there... YOU.  No matter what loves or family members may be in your life, things can always happen that will change that.  Divorce, death, distance, conflict... all these things can bring unforeseen separation.  That being the case, if you're counting on someone else to protect you from harm (and I don't mean necessarily the 'oh my god, there's a prowler in the house!' kind of harm... I'm talking about emotional damage), as opposed to setting your own boundaries and establishing what you will and won't allow to be done to you that effects your peace and happiness, then you are far less likely to be happy.  I'm NOT suggesting that a loved one or family member will NOT be protective of you, as well.  My hope is that we all have someone in our lives that is careful of us, treasures us, and wants what is best for us.  But if you toss aside your OWN care for yourself, you open the door to accepting things that are unacceptable. 

Each of us has a responsibility, first and foremost, to the person we see in the mirror.  It all starts there.  If we don't respect ourselves enough to say 'I will only embrace behavior from those that I choose to be close to that honors me and respects me and values me', then we are teaching others to treat us just as badly as we're treating ourselves.  And once the bad treatment starts, we become damaged and paralyzed, unable to then GIVE to others the things we'd most want to if we were whole and at peace.  We become locked in a constant battle of trying to get others to treat us the way we want, when the person who isn't treating us well is... in that mirror.  If someone kicks me, and it hurts, they've done wrong.  But if they keep kicking me and, instead of moving or blocking them or just leaving the environment they're in, I just keep telling them it hurts and waiting for them to care enough to STOP KICKING ME, then there are two people doing wrong, as I've then done MYSELF great injury by seeing the process that is costing me a great deal but not taking effective steps to protect MYSELF.  Attempting to rely on the understanding and kindness of a person that has shown they have no desire to stop the kicking is saying to myself, AND the kicker, that I think I have no value at all.  It is placing more value on the person who is DOING the kicking, because I'm spending all my time and energy trying to support THEM in maybe being a better person and realizing they shouldn't be doing what they're doing, trying to get THEM to like/love me enough to STOP the assault, etc., rather than operating under the assumption that a person who would want to continue attacking me is a) unlikely to change (and that's another epiphany connected to the first, so I'll save us all an entire 'nother three paragraphs of reading by saying simply that trying to change others behavior to try and get them to stop causing us pain is both useless and wrong.  If they're doing what is true to who THEY are, then that's as it should be.  We may not like it, but forcing them to change against their will is no viable option.  We all have the right to be who we choose to be, and if faced with a 'kicker', instead of trying to change them, the only real solution is to change YOURSELF, whether simply your location (out of kicking reach) or your reaction (lots of options there), taking responsibility for making sure their foot no longer leaves dents in your shin, even if it means suffering through uncomfortable feelings.  Trust me, if you're used to not having boundaries and respecting/valuing yourself, it will likely be EXTREMELY uncomfortable as you start making the attempt to), and b) not worried about my well-being in the first place.  That brings me back to this: It should ALWAYS be ME that wants, no, DEMANDS, that I be treated well and valued, because if I wait for others to do it... kicking can and does ensue.

I have suffered a lack in my life that has always caused me great difficulties.  I have lacked the ability to set and enforce boundaries.  I felt that if I did, I was doing something that would either leave me alone at the end of the day, or I'd be being 'harsh' or 'unkind', or be labeled as 'unloving'.  But I've come to realize that a person who truly loves me and values me would never do any of those things.  If they care about me, they'll be the first to support me in having boundaries, as they are only there to keep me healthy and whole and happy.  If they argue with me about my boundaries, calling them unfair or unnecessary or 'selfish', then what they're saying is that they want me to accept anything that anyone does to me, to leave myself open to hurt and damage.  They are also saying that my welfare is far down their list of priorities.  A real friend, or a loving family member, or a true partner... any of those will always want me to be my best, my strongest, and my most fulfilled.  Boundaries are, quite often, part of that.  So if my boundaries are criticized or the attempt is made to make me abandon them, then it's not coming from love.  It's coming from self-interest.  And that is no part of loving me at all.

Yes, I'm pretty sure I just wrote a BOOK.  So sue me.

Hey, at least I'm back!  Right!  Right?  *sighs*

Is this thing on?  *taps monitor*

High Roller

I now know why it's a good thing I don't live right next door to a casino.

(...)

Seriously.

I went to a casino for the first time this week.  Well, technically the first time was a couple of months ago when Mark and I stopped to eat at a casino and on the walk through the main area I spent 10 minutes at a slot machine, but I'm going to go with the whole 'that doesn't count' thing on that.  Any arguments can be submitted in triplicate to itsmyworldandidonthearyouanyway.com.  But I digress.  What I learned this week... wait, that's not right.  I learned several things this week.   I should make a list.  Don't we all love it when I make lists?

1) I OWN roulette.  Seriously.  I didn't win a million dollars or anything, but I played for roughly eight or nine hours total this week and walked away with ten dollars more than I started with.  Now, anyone who's gambled AT ALL knows that that means?  I kicked freaking ASS.  When you consider I put in sixty dollars and walked out with seventy, I suddenly become the roulette GOD.  Well, goddess, actually, as last time I checked I DO actually own girly bits, but that's another discussion entirely.  Anyway.  I now know exactly where to head if and when I'm in spitting distance of a casino again.  I'm pretty sure I'll be screeching 'COME ON TWENTY EIGHT!' in my sleep tonight.  I'm sure the cats will be thrilled.  Scared shitless and likely hacking up hairballs left, right, and sideways, but thrilled underneath it all.

2) Mark can suck out my luck like a Hoover.  I love him, God knows, but he walked up, plopped himself down in the seat next to me to give the roulettle he'd never tried before a shot, and where I'd been ahead when he got there?  Within five minutes, I was almost wiped out and he was over there grinning like the first kid in line to see Santa, of course while sitting on a thirty dollar win.  Which he got, by the way?  Via an eleven dollar 'boo boo' bet he made when he kept tapping the screen to clear his bet and instead kept increasing it.  'Oopsie' eleven dollars on red.  And it HIT.  I almost had to beat him senseless and stuff him in the incinerator.  But he has good points, and he's awfully cute, so I just sat there and pinched his head between my fingers when he wasn't looking.  I squish your head!  *pinch pinch pinch*  Nothing, honey!

3) Geritol is in cahoots with casinos.  They have to be.  They're spiking old people's vitamins or maybe somehow they're slipping subliminal messages in the easy listening in the social security office waiting areas or something.  I don't know.  I just know that you can't throw a shoe (not that I actually did that... it never happened.  What shoe?  Did I say shoe?  I wasn't even there.  Oh, look, a chicken!) in a casino without hitting someone that can't eat solid foods and shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car.  They're EVERYWHERE.  And fyi?  Not particularly friendly, either.  So not only do casinos attract old people, they attract single-minded and GRUMPY old people.  Forewarned is forearmed, people.  Don't go in without backup.

4) Testosterone and its money are soon parted.  I watched more men sit down at my (yes, MY... I OWN that roulette table.  Didn't I mention that already?) table and proceed to lose thousands of dollars than I care to think about.  Seriously, don't any of them have wives that will crucify them when they get home and have to explain that they lost junior's college fund?  I sat there, happily playing on small amounts, staying generally ahead of the game (far more than most of THEM can say) even if only by a few bucks, and they're giving me eye-rolls as they yank out three or four hundred dollars and fork it over to the grinning roulette dealer (I don't guess they're called a dealer, as there's no dealing in roulette, more just throwing a ball around, but still... have to call them something until I google the right term, which I'm too lazy to do right now) person... and leave without it ten minutes later.  So who's laughing then, GIRLY MAN? 

5) They have ONE uniform that they make all the little wandering waitresses wear.  This is a mistake.  Not everyone should wear that uniform.  Or maybe they should just try ordering it in more than one size.  Just sayin'...

Casinos are fun, if you just look at them the right way.  And go into it knowing and accepting the human animal's penchant for dipshittery.  I know!  I accept!

It was festive.

While You Wait...

I will, God willing, be posting later.  But since I've been busy and slid back into bad posting habits, I wanted to leave you with the following... (volume up, people)

Does That EVER Work?

First off, let me just say? I am doing this as a REWRITE, for fuck's sake. I had my WHOLE post done, nice and tidy... I was quite pleased. I clicked 'save and continue editing', and you know what happened? Do you know what happened, people? It ATE my goddamned ARTICLE. GONE. Not retrievable. POOF! *bangs head on desk*

IT FUCKED ME. And nary a kiss to be found.

So I'm going to try this again, but I can't promise that it won't suck. I had it right last time, goddammit... and it was a funny one, too. Now I've been robbed and don't know if I can recreate what I wrote. I'm not even sure I have the energy to try. I could really go for kicking the everliving shit out of something right about now... *looks around*

What, no volunteers?

Pussies.

Anyhoo, on with whatever small amount of my post I can remember. Let's see, I think it started with...

I have, once again, been reminded of the sheer dipshittery attached to the male of the species. I haven't posted about this in awhile, but sometimes I see something so astoundingly stupid that I just have to write about it. I'm all about the sharing. See the unbelievably retarded, share the unbelievably retarded. That's my job, people. Pointing and laughing may ensue. It's not mandatory or anything...

But encouraged.

So there I am this evening at about 5:00, driving down Kansas Expressway (me and about 5 billion other rat-racers... traffic is festive.) on my way to the 10 year old's Tae Kwon Do lesson (wherein he will learn how to render me unconscious using nothing but his pinky toe. And I pay money for this, dear reader. 'Cause I'm smart like that.). I am, of course, managing to hit every single red light on my way down Kansas (because I was running late. That's how that works. It's a gift, really.), but am managing to handle it without leaning out the window and screaming.

I am the model of self-control.

So I'm at a red light (gah) behind this blonde chicky in a Maxima with a sunroof. I noticed the sunroof because when she was driving it was blowing all her around, making her resemble nothing so much as an Afghan hound. Anyhoo. The light turns green (it has to happen eventually... even my gift has its limits), and we're off.

Now, about 50 to 80 feet past the intersection, I run into the fodder for the post (re-post... GOD I'm still mad about that. Can someone slap Bill Gates for me?) that you're now reading. Or maybe you're sleeping... hellooooooo!!!! Pay attention, for the love of GOD.

Standing on the little concrete median thingy between us and the two lanes going the other direction stands a man (and I use the word loosely) with what is obviously a mere passing acquaintance with personal hygiene. I guess he's waiting to cross the road (and walking that extra 50 feet down to an actual CROSSWALK would have gone against his moral code. Heaven forfend.), but then again, maybe he just likes hanging out there. You never know. People are freakin' weird.

So, Maxima girl and I take off, approaching this bastion of all things manly. Right? Well, as she pulls abreast (heh... I said breast) of him, he turns his head to match her passing, eyeballing her intently. This, while unwelcome to her, I'm sure, would have been fine, if it had just been LEFT at that. But, being a penis-bearer, he just couldn't leave well enough alone. She gets right up next to him, he looks down at her, and... (I swear to God, I'm not making this up)...

Opens his mouth and does that tongue waggling thing at her.

I'm not kidding.

You know that thing the roadrunner always did in the cartoons, where his tongue would go flapping around right before he 'beep beep zip DANG'ed himself out of the picture? Yeah, like that. Also known to perverts everywhere as the universal 'I'd eat your pussy RAW' motion. It so radiates class and chivalry that I was temporarily rendered speechless.

(...)

Oh, shut up.

Now, here's my question... has the tongue thing ever, in the history of MAN, ever gotten a man laid? I am unaware of any instance where a man has looked at a strange woman, flopped his tongue around at her, and she's been so overwhelmed with passion and lust that she's ran to him, thrown him on the floor, stripped down, and sat on his face. If I'm wrong on this one, let me know. Really. And if I'm right, and this doesn't work in ANY WAY, on ANY LEVEL, then what in the name of all that's HOLY is he doing? Is he deranged? In need of an intervention and a lobotomy, in no particular order? Has he only recently discovered a penchant for lingerie and other men's erections, and thus is attempting to alienate every vagina he comes into contact with lest he go back to his heterosexual habits?

I just don't get it.

Now, if someone can explain that and the whole 'I'm wearing my pants around my knees so all y'all can see my dirty boxers. Try to restrain yourself in the presence of my phatness. Yo.' thing, I'd be grateful. It's another form of dipshittery that boggles my mind. You have men (again, LOOSELY, people!) in their sexual prime, that think about getting laid roughly every 3 seconds, and they're dressing in the fashion equivalent of a Citronella candle.

*sighs*

Men are just here to test us, aren't they?

Question…

A friend and I were having a discussion, and I figured I'd post it here for input. If a woman is in a hotel room with a man and tells the man no, repeatedly, and the man uses his physical strength to push her, repeatedly, into giving him what he wants... if the woman finally gives in, is she at fault for not putting her physical safety on the line in order to stand her ground, or is he at fault for pushing her after she's said no numerous times? Let's assume that the woman was completely wrong for being in his room in the first place. Whether she was or not, let's just assume she was so we can leave that out of the picture. The point here is whether or not a man is responsible for respecting the whole concept of 'no means no', or if it's perfectly okay for him to use his physical strength and her vulnerability against her to get what he wants even after she clearly says no.

This should be interesting...

Her Name

She had wings
just a day or two ago
she knows she did.
They were lovely things, really,
white and shining
brilliant
in the light.
He gave them to her, you see,
with quiet looks and
soft words
that made her fly.
She floated
soared
bobbled along the top
of every moment,
feeling beautiful
safe
wanted.
But someone came along
thief
bastard
tore her wings.
It wasn't him
no matter what her eyes
ears
memories tell her.
It couldn't have been.
The casual ripping
shredding
...
he wouldn't.
Couldn't.
Her belly heaves
when she pictures him
with the other...
she is suddenly degraded
less than nothing
just a joke.
Her gifts to him ground to dust
beneath his careless heel
and her submissive heart
the brunt of mockery.
She weeps.
She feels the wanting
needing
in spite of the pain
because it's him
and only him
that calls her Angel.

It’s Connected to the Testicles…

I guess some things are just dick things... things that women will never understand (and I thank God for that every. single. DAY.) and seldom appreciate.

Like farting.

To a woman a fart is alternately a source of mild humiliation (depending on a) the decibel level of the aforementioned fart (silence is key. Trust.), b) the strength of the smell of the aforementioned fart, and c) the number of people flattened by it.) and a mere fact of human biology. It's just something, albeit slightly disgusting and best done when NOT in the presence of others, that the body does. One lives with it.

To a man?

(...) A fart is almost cause for a party and a full page ad in the New York Post. Especially if it's strong enough to singe nose hairs and kill house plants. And small pets. Men get together and actually (I swear I'm not kidding) reminisce about farts gone by. Honest to God. You can't MAKE this shit up. No pun intended. Men will not quietly fart and hope no one notices... men will fart as loudly as possible, and if, heaven forfend, they happen to have a quiet fart? They will make sure to let everyone know that they did, in fact, fart, and where exactly the radius of destruction is located.

Burping, nose picking, coughing up the proverbial lung... all dick things, I guess. I am, as a woman, woefully out of the loop on the charms of the word 'anus', as used for the purposes of hysterical laughter and interjections of 'Dude, you said anus'.

*sighs*

I wonder if cavemen played 'pull my finger'?

Capitalism At Its Finest

I, due to my location, make quite a few trips to Branson throughout the year. It's a great place (if one ignores the traffic issues, which are legion. The city is built, effectively, all along one central street. Said street is jam packed with tourist attractions such as dinner theaters, concert halls, bumper boats, arcades, shopping malls, golf courses, go karts, etc. Now, imagine about thirty thousand tired, sweaty, cranky visitors crammed onto one street, trying to navigate to their destination while stuck behind a 96 year old woman who can barely see over the dash and apparently can't reach the gas pedal, seeing as how she's driving 5 miles an hour, without killing someone in a fit of road rage. It's a stretch) to go and spend some time (and a great deal of money. Jesus, the money...) chilling out with the family. Good clean fun.

With a monument to tragic death stuck right in the middle.

Right in the middle of thriving downtown Branson? The Titanic attraction. Titanic, people. As in the big boat that went head to head with an iceberg, and lost? Taking the lives of thousands? Ring a bell?

I am still just struck senseless by the fact that people pay money to go and visit a re-creation of one of the single most tragic, horrific events in modern history. It's not like a museum display, where there is at least a pretense of dignity and solemnity to justify the whole thing. No, this is people crowding in with funnel cakes and flip flops. Giggling and pointing and arguing the genius of Vince McMahon. It makes me rather nauseated.

I don't know who the fuckwit was that thought that the perfect memorial to such a heartbreaking event was sticking it on a corner between Ripley's Believe It or Not and the Five and Diner, but they should be smacked. Just driving by and seeing all the people lined up to get a good look at what the Titanic was like before it sank, taking nameless and faceless fathers, mothers and children with it, makes my blood boil a wee bit. It just seems to me to be utterly lacking in all taste, not to mention all human decency and respect. I understand that this country thrives on the idea of financial success and the ability to get ahead with whatever idea the public will pay you for, but seriously... shouldn't there be a line that people don't cross out of their own innate sense of absolute wrongness? Should anyone need it pointed out to them that getting wealthy off the demise of the helpless and impoverished is not exactly the quickest path to enlightenment? My God, what's next? Family Fun At Auschwitz? Tea Time at Tiananmen?

And the best part? The building itself? Shaped like the ship.

Ripped in HALF.

(...)

Yeah, the world's going straight to hell.

Nothing to the Tenth Power

I've had a lot going on lately. I've also, due to what's been happening in my life, done a lot of thinking (I distinctly smell smoke) about where I'm at, both situationally and emotionally. It's hard, sometimes, to look around at where you thought you were and realize that, really?

You're like nine miles that way -->>>>

I've always been someone who feels things strongly, leading some to call me oversensitive, overemotional, overwrought, etc. I've also learned, by and large, to live with it. What's the point of living life if you're going to do it wrapped up in a shell pretending (or even worse if you're not pretending) that you don't give a fuck about anything or anyone? Doesn't that make your entire existence an exercise in tedium and... emptiness? So I'm emotional. Big deal. I think the fact that I've been through the things I have in my life (such as assault and battery, molestation, rape, abandonment, poverty, miscarriages, etc.) and am still able to access even one true emotion, let alone a veritable cornucopia thereof, is a good thing. It doesn't always feel like a good thing at a given moment, but it is. Or so the voices in my head tell me. (It's all in the timing, people!)

I recently blogged about some personal experiences that hit me on a very emotional level. I blogged about them because I felt too much not to let it out somewhere, and I figured this was the safest outlet for what I was feeling. There were situations that developed from my posting... situations that I won't repeat and don't bear scrutiny at this point. The point is that I'm going to try and change the direction of my blog a bit because I don't ever want something I write on here to cause damage to my life in the real world again. It's hard for me, I won't deny it. I use this place both as a true emotional outlet and as a place where I try and make people laugh, even for just a minute, when the daily grind can kill any desire to laugh before you know it. Putting borders on what I write about is something I've never been very good at, simply because I tend to rebel against any kind of censorship. I don't use this space only to rant about others, but also, repeatedly, about my own shortcomings. Those of you that have read my posts for a long period of time know that I've been painfully up front regarding my battles with PMDD, depression, anger, thoughtlessness and general bad decision making. Maybe I shouldn't share so much. Maybe it's not a failing at all. I'm not sure I know anymore. But since the lines have become so blurred, it's best that I take a step back and really assess both what I write about and why I'm writing about it.

That being said, I'm sure I can find a nice fuckwit in office (either party... I'm not picky) to write about with some regularity, or many ghastly stories about my cats upchucking on my carpet. 'Cause nothing says humor like cat barf.

Segue, shmegue.

Freakin’ Taxes

It's that time of year again. Time for me to yank my hair out by the roots and curse the IRS blue. Actually, it's not the federal bloodsuckers that drive me mad... it's the STATE bloodsuckers. The amount of money they want is one thing, but have you seen the state tax forms/publications? It's like they hired Rainman to put it together. Rainman on CRACK.

With JOCK ITCH.

My husband's employer spends the occasional week in our neighboring state. That would be Arkansas, for those of you who aren't currently reading my mind. I have been working on preparing our taxes online and discovered that, thanks to Arkansas, I'd have been better off paying a tax professional this year. Why? Because I haven't been bent over like this since... well... we really don't need to go there, but suffice it to say it's been awhile, and even THEN I at least got something out of it. All I'm getting out of my dealings with Arkansas' non-resident income tax forms is a sore ass, a pounding headache, and the mind-blowing desire to climb a clock tower.

I guess it could be worse. At least we'll be getting a refund. Not as big as I'd initially thought, but anything's better than paying in come April 15th. Oh, April SEVENTEENTH...my bad. Some new 'big two day bonus extension!' they were spouting off about on the tax site. 'Cause that two days? I'm sure will make a huge difference to financially-strapped, borderline-homicidal taxpayers all across the country. Oh, that three grand the IRS wanted? It was a HUGE burden before, but thanks to their overwhelming generosity of spirit prompting a two-day delay? It's now CAKE. A veritable WALK in the goddamned PARK.

Phhhttt.

I wouldn't mind the taxes, really, if they were a)fair, and b)getting important shit done. You know, like, oh, I don't know... health care? Better public schools and playgrounds? More police officers/teachers/emergency workers? Education opportunities for EVERYONE? Call me crazy, but for that kind of thing I'd pay MORE in taxes. I observe some of the countries that so many people here seem to look down on (calling them 'lazy', 'bleeding heart', 'unmotivated', 'liberal', 'socialist', 'over-taxed', etc.) and am amazed at the shortsightedness of the political and cultural machine around me that it can't better appreciate what is important. Most countries that we disdain have long vacations for all workers. People call it laziness or inability to work and function in a 'motivated' way. I call it having your priorities in the right places. None of us should be living our lives as slaves to a job, leaving no time and no room for emotional growth and no opportunity to leave the world a better place that we found it. In those other countries? They KNOW that. Here? Not so much. We're by and large a less happy, less healthy, and less aware population than these so-called 'losers' in countries like Switzerland, so how is it we have any leg at all to stand on when we condemn them disparage their way of living? I wonder what is wrong with people that they can't see the inherent value in a society that cares for each of its members. We in this country are so busy judging people, whether it be by their intelligence, their looks, their family, their financial background... whatever, and deciding who should and should not receive our help based on some fucked up arbitrary standard, that we're missing the entire POINT. Not everyone in life starts out with the same advantages or, conversely, disadvantages. Not everyone is smart. Not everyone is emotionally balanced and full of positive thinking. Not everyone has been taught (or in some cases is able to learn) the so-called value of hard work and initiative. These things are facts. But the problem here is that most people see and observe to be true these facts and choose, willfully, to punish or judge the members of our society that may just not have the basic equipment to do as well as others. Does this mean they should be ignored or, as so often tragically happens, weeded out of the general population, victims of both scorn and apathy?

I make a habit of mockery and sarcasm. It works for me. It's my way of coping with the world around me and the pain and confusion I feel on a regular basis. Everyone has to have a talent. But when it comes down to it, I'm appalled that after thousands of years of alleged progress and evolution, the people around me still find the concept of sharing, regardless of perceived 'worth', to be anathema. I catch myself sometimes feeling angry at people who are milking the system. At first I thought this was because, much like every other political loudmouth in the media, I hated the whole idea of 'handouts'. I finally figured something out. It's not the handout I hate, it's the fact the help that's needed by so many is offered to so few, leaving those that need help but cannot get it bitter, disaffected and in ongoing pain and hardship; that we've created an environment where a handout is necessary, not to mention the fact that the word 'handout' is even used in a negative way. A handout should be a positive word... a hand offered out to a fellow person in need, a person offering another person support and aid when they're not strong enough, or are too traumatized, victimized, and emotionally damaged, to do it for themselves. It should be a beautiful thing. Instead it's used as a derogatory indictment, a way of spitting vitriol on those who aren't in a position to defend themselves.

Man, where the hell was I?

(...)

Taxes suck.