You know, I’m not feeling particularly charitable at the moment. I know I should, I’ve been propped up against disaster by my friends and family. I know that I should be given my current situation, but I am not.
No.
Let’s talk about cops. Generally speaking, I have positive feelings about the cops. They have a hard job, they put their lives on the line to keep us safe (I mean city cops, not you fat bastards in the suburbs). I don’t generally feel that cops are assholes with small penises and tenuous grips on power. No, that’s just not me. I appreciate that there are jobs to be done and there are cops who do those jobs.
But not tonight. Tonight I do not feel so charitable about cops.
I should be posting about how Owen just foiled a cherry pink starburst into my hair and how we made quesadillas and drank beer and watched some shitty show where second rate celebrities sang with a lot of old singers. That is what this post should be about. I’d had most of it hammered out in my head on the way home, all about Owen’s new condo and how gorgeous it is and about how I love my hair and adore his abilities and blah blah blah. It was going to be a happy post, a cheerful post.
It should not have been a rant about cops, and yet officers #4697 and #3955 have ruined my night and my post. Yeah, I got pulled over 5 blocks from home. I was so close. I got pulled over for a fucking headlight being out. A fucking headlight. Okay, I have no problem with getting pulled over, fine, but I got a fucking ticket. A $132 ticket for a headlight. Jesus christ.
Seriously, do you mean to tell me it was such a quiet fucking night in the barrio that you had nothing better to focus your attention on than a burned out headlight? that’s it? Nothing at all going on in the 3rd precinct for you to cover that you had to pass me, drive 2 blocks, stop, turn around, follow me for another 2 blocks and then pull me over? Did you guy debate this? Did you go back and forth and discuss whether or not it was worth it? or did you have to go over your action quotas for the night and discover that it was pretty slow around here and old sarge down at the precinct might figure out how much time you sit with your fingers in your asses eating doughnuts so you figured you’d better get a ticket out for something?
yes, officers #4697 and #3955, I know you’re just doing your job, I know how important it is to the well-being of the city and the people and your own shattered sense dignity that you pulled me over and made me sit in my car for almost 15 minutes while you ‘ran my license’ and printed my ticket on your space age ticket printing machine. I suppose you guys need to collect as many fines as possible to pay for the high-tech gadgetry you use to print up these tickets and keep track of how little else you are doing.
Yes, I’m sure you’ll get to go home to your lovely families and regale them with tales of your bravery…”oh darling, I kept the city safe once more! I worked hard all night making people pay dearly for their criminal ways!”. Your children will be so proud, “oh mommy!!! What sort of criminals did you catch? Burglars? Murderers? Homosexuals?”
And on “What does your momy do for a living” day at school your kids can cite statistics showing how many fewer people died as a result of my headlight getting fixed and my cash being drained from my soul.
So, officers #4697 and #3955, how many lives did you save tonight? How many criminals did you stop?

I was having one of those weeks and I went out to see my dad one morning so he could help me feel better. Now my dad is not like your dad, he’s not a slumlord or a gynecologist or the captain of a ghost ship. My dad has a ‘retirement job’, as in he retired from a job he hated and decided the one thing he wanted to do more than anything was to fly helicopters again.
And you should always do in retirement the thing you love the most! Luckily for my dad, his retirement activity comes with a paycheck as opposed to the whole “villa in tuscany” thing which has the opposite effect.
My dad flies medivac helicopters in town. If you are in a terrible car accident in the middle of nowhere or if you have a strange 14 syllable disease at a country hospital or if you are a teeny tiny baby in need of super special care they’re gonna chopper in help and chances are, my dad will be at the controls and you are in safe hands.
This is his little LifeLink copter. It’s very small, but pretty fast. It’s so small that the patient’s feet sit next to my dad as he flies. (that’s Mike putting new locks on the doors so no one steal the packs of tubes or vials of precious liquids)

This is my dad at the rear of the copter helping them get it attached to the tractor thing that pulls it into the hangar.

My morning started out so crappily and within an hour my dad made it better and we were laughing. I met his coworkers and I could tell they really liked and respected him. I think there is little that a daughter can see that compares to seeing her dad being liked and respected as a genuinely good guy.

You know you are a total nerd when…
David and I finally went to go see Wordplay tonight, you know the movie about the crossword puzzle enthusiasts. Towards the end of the movie Neal Conan came on. You are a total nerd when you see Neal Conan and you get all excited because you listen to him on “Talk of the Nation” every single day!!!!! Oh man, it’s a good thing I already ensared David, because at this point i’m oozing so much nerd stink it is possible I could never get laid again.
In other not so interesting news…
This past weekend was damned near perfect and there was not much of note to report on, we watched crickets breed, there was a romantic picnic by the lake, Jessi and Ahmed had a lovely housewarming party. It was good.
I’m doing crocheted ‘shop models’ for the Clickety Sticks Yarn Shop. Shop models are the sweaters and purses and whatnots that you see hanging in the yarn stores. Usually you see something and say “I WANT TO MAKE THAT!!!” and they sell you the pattern and the yarn. They’re doing that with one of my purses right now (so they’re selling my original pattern. woo) and hopefully I’ll get the damned messenger bag pattern together for them and they can sell that as well. Right now, however, I am making patterns that they give me, not my originals, because they need more crocheted clothing and I just don’t know enough to make my own clothes patterns yet. The goal is to start to attract more crocheters. People will come in and say “I WANT TO MAKE THAT!!!” and then will have to “I don’t know how crochet” and the store people will say “come to our class”. The yarn store will make money, the customer will learn a valuable skill, my work will be on display and I will get paid in yarn. Everyone wins.
Also, where do you get those little tags you can put into your handmade crochet items that say “lovingly made for you by…”? or whatever the hell they say?
Yeah, so I need to get started on my shop model and stop this rambly random post of pointlessness.

So, when you’re a girl and you’re dating a girl and you live with the girl there’s a certain level of familiarity that you take for granted. Panties, fingernail polish, boobs, tampons, bras, hairless chests, shaved legs. You don’t notice these things so much because you have them. They are familiar.
When you find yourself living with a boy and previously you’d spent the entirety of your adult life living with a girl, you have these unsettling moments of realization.
There are boxer shorts, hairy chests, stubbly faces, unintentional division of work by gender (he mows the lawn, I occasionally do the dishes), testicles, tube socks, deodorants with names like “endurance” and “sport” as opposed to “spring” and “rain”.
I was sitting there the other day minding my own business when he walked by in his boxers and I was so struck by the moment. I don’t know that I can describe it fully, but I am still, almost 2 years later, fascinated as all hell by the utter Man-ness of him. He has testicles! I mean lord knows I’ve seen them before but I’m just so charmed that I actually live with them! And I live with boxer shorts and deodorant that can “Endure” and stubble.
You’d think i’d get over it by now, that this would be old news. Maybe I need to take another zoloft!

And on this day of reflection and sorrow, of inner reflection and outward declarations I feel pain.
I feel pain because I do not own www.mightycock.com