A yelling match with myself about the stupid

What were we all told? The devil has many forms. And it seems that since there's always a way to defeat the devil, well, the devil doesn't seem to be very bright. Poor, stupid devil...so close to world domination and then, by golly, someone does something good, and the devils plans are foiled again. What an existance it much me to be the devil...to be a constant failure. Yes, what an existance that must be.

I am not unlike other people. I want to be a good person. I want to do good things. But, we all struggle with our internal demons. I don't want to always live in a heart filled with anger and violence, but damn it, some days that's hard to get out of.

This week the sheer amount of stupid, just plain stupid was thrown at me, at a blinding rate. Today, I am angry. And, I haven't exactly decided what I want to do about it, but that thought is boiling. And I suppose that when it becomes clearer to me, everyone will know. I'm not one to do things on a small scale. And I can not longer just sit on the sidelines thinking. I have been called to action by the stupid. I'm not sure if it's volunteering, letter writing or joining a rally or two, I just don't know. But, I have been called to action by the stupid. I have been called to action by the stupid.

Let's start with the smallest of the small stupid things. The place that I used to work, is crumbling. I have never worked at a place that has drawn so many people to join forces and leave...and then stay in touch, to watch the house of cards fall. I have never had that experience, until now. The sheer dislike of the owners and others in power, has drawn people together, who would normally never talk. Yes, through adversity, we saw how different we really weren't. What a shocker! We all converse on a fairly often basis. We have spys on the inside giving us the scoop...or shall I rephrase...we have other in the trenches that we have yet to help get out...that's really more like it.

I learned this week that the one I call Crazy Lawyer has topped herself, really topped herself. She said, outloud, that in her heart of cold dead hearts, she beliefs that in the next ten years, science will prove that being poor is genetic, that there is, in fact, something physically wrong with poor people. Was I there when she said it? Nope. This is strickly hearsay. However, I was there to countless numbers of times when she said similar things, and acted out in a manor only fitting for a ruthless queen of some bygone time. This is a woman who can't figure out which password goes in which box to turn on her computer, and would scream that the computer was just messed up AGAIN!!! A woman that has more money than sense, and who's beautiful daughter is under thirteen and is on a diet, and this little girl would beg all the secretaries for food and candy. Yes, this was the type of woman who said this.

And I'm not sure that this woman is aware that people have kept folders on her actions and displays...actual folders of infomation and examples. I'm not sure this woman gets just how much she is disliked. For that, I guess I can feel a bit sorry for her. That is her accomplishment, she's has banded a bunch or ragtag poor people against her...What an accomplishment to hold dear to your heart.

I am not rich. I am not the poorest of the poor either. But, I would gladly give up everything, if it meant that I wouldn't have to be a person like her. Completely out of touch with this beautiful planet and all of the things that it has to offer. Including, but not limited to, science that does so much more than look up genes that make people poor.

What a completely stupid woman. Completely stupid. Could choose not to be stupid, but chooses to remain stupid and breed stupid. Is there a gene for that?

Next. On to bigger items of stupid.

I learned of a story this week, where a sixteen year old transgender child was thrown out of her home. Several grown ups were looking for a foster home for this child, so that she might have remained in the area, and finish school. A child written off, just like that.

The story continues that the Texas Children Protective Services. And how there may be new rules against Gays and Lesbians from having foster children. What?!? Are you fucking kidding me?!?

I might give the right wing, Christian movement more pause if they proceeded to have an alternative plan for these children. I have not heard of one yet.

I'm not sure how you write off your own children with such ease. Nobody makes people fuck...and we all know what happens when you fuck. And then, we all know the difficulty of raising a child. This is not news. If you're messed up, on drugs, whatever, you get off your stupid ass and you get your shit together and you raise that child! The child didn't hatch a plan to ruin your life...you did it!

Now, lets say you really just can't do it...it really is that hard. Ok, then the child goes into a system, that's not a great system, but it is a system. If you can forgive yourself for that, then there is a system. And some of the people in that system are foster parents who are Gay and Lesbian, and some are Hetero. No person fucks in front of these children. They are feed and loved, and clothed, and loved.

How can you make a rule that says to that child that they cannot have the basic needs, after already being kicked to the curb...how can you, in a clear heart and mind, say to these children that they cannot live in these homes because of this one item, this one personality trait, that makes up about one tenth of a tenth of a person? Me, being a hetero female is not my entirety. That part of me if very small. The rest of my body and mind are made up of so much more. And I'm not special, that's the rule for everyone.

And moreover, you might feel ok saying to this transgender child that what she feels is wrong?!? Feelings are neither correct or incorrect, they just are.

I worked at a porn shop in my younger years. Easter Holiday was my biggest selling day of the entire year.

It was not the Gay and Lesbian community that was buying porn that day. It was Straight Heteros doing the deeds. It was heteros buying porn in their Sunday, Going to Church, Clothes.

And, I might add that the amount of successful nudie bars in my area of Texas alone that are flurishing, are not Gay and Lesbian bars, they are Hetero bars. The amount of White Collar Crimes being committed in our own Government are not being committed by Gay and Lesbian members...they are Hetero. The amount of violent protests being committed are not by the Gay and Lesbian communnities, but by the Straight communities members. Shall I continue? Have we all gotten the point? I'll take a butch, transgender female, or a fruity, flighty gay man, or a mullet wearing lesbian any day over a right wing, Christian fuck. Yes, I will. Viva la homosexuality. I think they may become the answer to saving not only our children, but our very souls.

I also watched a news program this week where one woman was out trying to fight homelessness by herself. She would feed anyone who needed it, at anytime. This made the news. I admire this woman. But, this should be a regular item, in my mind, not a special occassion, news item. Good things happening have become news worthy...special. I am on the fence about it really. Perhaps we continue to focus on these few, good people until the message gets out, and everyone follows suit. Can it happen this way? That the bad news becomes the special occassion news items? Could this happen? Could we be so bold and smart? Not according to Crazy Lawyer we couldn't. And does anyone want to let her be right and win?

I expect better of women. We really haven't gotten it, how much power we can yield. We, as mothers, need to stop raising our babies to be such scary little mongrels. Stop pointing the fingers at matters that have really very little to do with the benefit of everyone. We could change, and change others. How about no war, no hunger, no drug addicts, etc. How about that? How about really telling our children and everyone else's children that they can be anything that they want to be. When did we become so afraid to do the right thing?

And before anyone thinks that they are speaking for me, a heterosexual female...well, please think twice. I vote, I am active in the community, and I am very tired of stupid. Right now, I am very tired of that.

Om, the true self, and the art of fine blogging

I hope I get in everything that I want to say this morning. At present, I just woke up from a dream of great magnitude and I am trying to comprehend it all - but the coffee is making it dissipate faster than I'd like it to, and the cat is pissed off and tearing up random pieces of my old dictionary and eating it. Fucking cat. I really love him, but when a cat is pissed off at you, they don't play nice. What's going to make it worse, is that I'm completely out of the fake mice that he likes to decapitate and torture. Frankly, I'm a bit afraid of what he'll tear up next if I let him in on that little tidbit of information.

There now...I've gotten him some catnip. He's much more calm, now that he's stoned. Yet, another reason to perhaps make pot legal. Take a hint from the cat. I don't care for it...but, you never see a stoned person freaking out and eating a dictionary....that's for sure. Perhaps if our people in office we more stoned, they'd be less likely to go off invading things, and more stay at home and share to potato chips, less greedy fine dressing and fine buying type. Just a thought.

Back to my dream. My dream recalled a past me. I am a recovering chubby chaser. If you can recover from such a thing. I loved chubby guys...not over obese...just chubby and manly. Once you've had a chubby, it's hard to come back from that. And chubby guys really are jollier, and more up for adventure, and fun...as though not have ridged muscles lines somehow turned off the rigedness of their mind and thinking as well. When your having sex with a chubby, there's no sharp edges or jaunting points...the only thing that's ever going to hit you is soft smoothness. It's all good. I raise my coffee mug to you, the chubby guy nation. I am fond of my chubby guy memories...oh the stories. You would find them shocking, I'm sure of it.

It dawned on me this morning that a diary or a blog, or whatever vehicle you choose...you can be just as you are. You're thoughts can be recorded just as you are. And we do spend so much time being not as we are. I was dreaming of a Junie that used to be. I was a bit more free. Then I had a child and the fear of others set in...an I became a responsible, more conservative, masked human, in order to protect my child. Dreaming last night, I thought this morning if that is the legacy that I want to leave him with. Probably not.

I might be more inclined to be a right-wing, conservative, Christian type - as I had been led to be through all of my formative years - except for the amount of hypocrisy in that faction. Here in the US, in Texas, there was recently a National Day of Prayer. This group read the Bible from beginning to end, right in the State Capital Building. Everyone was offered the chance to come and join them. With the amount of poverty on the rise, the amount of war on the rise, drug use, gambling, and porn on the rise....well, I declined. I'm not really seeing the benefits of that culture. Nope, not so much. I was saddened that other prayer groups were not invited to join. If it was truly going to be a National Day...then the entire Nation should have been invited. And I can't even really get started on the separation of church and state that is no longer observed. God and religion is used to control the masses. That not so tangible promise that if you join, you're afterlife will kickass, more than your sorry shitty current life. I'm not sure that's what God meant. Why would we be given paradise and then be locked out forever? My only thought on that, it that God said to himself "Oopsy! I made a shitload of jackasses." And then, has left us to flounder alone until his embarrassing mistake just dies off, and hopefully goes unnoticed by the rest of the cosmos. Yes, a big, giant Oopsy...that's what we are. Poor God...everyone can make a mistake, right?

Anyway...I recently did a voice over, a narration of some dirty stories that a friend wrote. Hopefully, these will be made public soon. I think people will find them funny and entertaining, and probably offensive. One person that I know, who was completely offended by these stories, on every level, asked me why I would lend my voice to such a thing. Why not?, I said. I don't have to be the person in the story, I am reading the story. It's like acting. We don't really believe that a actor playing Hitler is really Hitler, do we? It's our imagination, that's it. Also, I think people need to be offended sometimes. Being offended brings you back to yourself. And saying offensive things is fun. When we tell dirty jokes or say a cuss word...it's the same thing. And perhaps, in narrating these stories, I got to see the part of myself that remembers to be funny and carefree. So, I'm ok with that. And when my child is old enough to hear these stories, I'm ok with that, too. He should know what kind of mother he really had, and take whatever lessons he's going to take from that. I should not mask those lessons from him, frankly, that's not being a good parent.

I guess my dream was one of confliction. I miss the purple haired, sometimes drunk, tattooed, chubby chaser. How am I to get back to that person, when I just spent $100.00 on conservative clothes to mask myself at the office. It's funny how we do those things. As though, sitting in my Sammy Hager (who I don't like, and that's why it's funny) t-shirt, means that I would be less of a person, less of a diligent worker, dumber than normal worker. How am I do teach my child that he can be anything he wants to be, except in our world where that means not really? Are we to teach or children the fantasy or the truth? Should I tell him that the majority of people go to the prayer circle and when it's over attend the circle jerk to relieve their oppressive feelings? And how his own mother didn't escape this, as his own mother wore the conservative mask the majority of her life to feed and clothe him, but then wrote, painted, and lent her voice to sometimes dirty art in hope of retaining some of her own normality? Is that what we're going to say?

Am I to say that the world is only itself on the weekends?

Yeah, go ahead and tell me God isn't saying Oopsy.

Viva la White Trash and All It's Complications

Today, I'll write about being White Trash.

I grew up in a small, Texas town. Where Men were Men, and Women were Woman. Where the terrain is just as hard as the people who've chosen to live in it. And anyone who believe that Texas is not it's own special breed of Southerners, are mistaken. It is, at times, it's own country...not just a bumper sticker.

Everyone I know has asked if I've seen the Johnny Cash movie, and when he came to town, everyone asked if I was going to go see him play. My answer was no, to both. I don't like Johnny Cash. And I don't care how great the movie about him movie was. I don't care how great his music was. I rarely explain why. But, today, I think that I will.

I was a small girl when I began to understand what was up with Johnny Cash. I don't really remember what show I was watching, or what magazines I read, I was small. But, I do remember the beating of his wife and his dependency on drugs and alcohol. There was a time, even at my young age, that I knew that I was surround my people just like this famous man and his wife. And this man was so famous, and got so much money, for not just his music, but for being an asshole. Something in my childhood, in my little girl mind, thought that what he was doing was so ordinary, so plain, so everyday. I knew there had to be more.

Thus, Johnny Cash didn't ever represent anything cool to me. He was just another drunk, high, singing cowboy that went home to his life, probably saying he made all the money, through a slightly lipstick stained mouth from another woman, stinking, wanting to eat and screw again in his own bed, and if wifey didn't- he would kick her ass, guy. Shit, my whole entire State was full of these guys. So, having seen this scene already, even being small, I didn't care to watch it again.

And don't get me wrong... I do have some self-hate, some self-distain for the White Trash in me. One the other hand, sometimes I relish in it, as it's not like anything else on the planet. It has made my tough and strong. I still believe that a handshake says a world about a person. And anyone who can't look you in the eyes may not be all their cracked up to be.

And I will say that sometimes the White Trash in me, shields me from a vast majority of idiots who use $ .50 words to commit the same atrocities in society, but then think their better at it, or smarter at it. Thinking I'm dumb, they will generally meander off without much effort on my part. Very nice side-effect to have.

And for years I ran from being White Trash. I ran from being myself. I ran because of love for myself. I ran. Perhaps, Johnny Cash and I have that in common, and that's another reason I don't like him. Probably. But, at least being a man, he would get the better end of the deal. Yes, he would.

I think even now, there are still times when I cannot consolidate the upbringing of the Man is the Man and the Woman is a Woman, in my head. I'm quite sure that this will be an internal struggle for perhaps my whole life. It does rear it's ugly little head every once in a while. And I have to check myself. I'm am conflicted at times about it. But, then the reality of myself settles back in. I wouldn't want to stay home and take care of the house and kids. I wouldn't want to cook three square meals a day. I wouldn't want to make military corners on all the beds.

I like having my own money. I like going to work. I like all of the independence. I wouldn't trade the risks that I take on the everyday basis, for the Johnny Cash ordinary. No, I wouldn't like that at all.

However, the playing field is still not quite equal. Even after the protests to win the right to vote, the struggle to get equal jobs, etc. Even now the playing field isn't still quite equal. But, it's happening, maybe not to complete itself in my lifetime, but it's happening.

Where I work now used to be traditionally men. Now there's women everywhere, and in key places. The old white men are dying out. Some, not without a fight. As to be expected, it seems to be in a man's upbringing or nature to fight. And the tides are turning, it has begun to be in the woman's upbringing or nature to fight as well.

At a ladies lunch, this last week, there came the topic of all the beauty shops, now in the area, where men can get jacked off and a hair cut. They can actually walk in, to a respectable looking beauty shop, and while little old ladies are in the front getting their hair dyed blue, these guys are paying a little extra and getting "the special" shampoo job.

I started laughing. I started big laughing...deep in my gut laughing. You don't really see very many woman stopping their cars to ask how much, or going to nudie bars, or massage parlours, or "shampoo" places. I just laughed. We all did.

We all work around these men. And they seem so sad, and even after all the trouble of getting their wiener blown dry, they still seem so stressed out and pent up. I'll admit that it must be weird to have to show your dominance under a haircut apron. I've been in meetings where some of these men have tried to push me a bit, show me where I might be wrong about something, dominate me in an effort to remind me of my place. None of which has worked, not just with me, but the other woman as well. And these guys end up looking so angry, frustrated, small and sad.

So, to find out that when this occurs, they run off to get "haircuts", well, it just cracks me up. I should be shocked, I should be bothered....and I am, but only a little. On the other hand, it's a side affect of our progress as women. We have made the men run to the beauty parlours...to get their hair and wieners did. Tell me that's not funny.

( My thought on how they don't have to get perms, because pubic hair is already super curly.)

The conversation then turned to the also, nearby, nudie bar and strippers. And how much society still held distain for these places. I nodded in agreement on this topic. But, what surprised me, was that I was in a room full of Texas born and raised women, who were not angry with the women...it was the men they were angry with. That was a surprise. Perhaps the tide is turning in the masses as well on this topic.

I recently watched a news program that were the topic was the Duke team's rape case, where the woman who alleged rape, was being talked about as a stripper, and a stripper only. There was little talk about the fact that this was her job, just like any other job. There was little talk about the fact that these boys were paying for a stripper. There was little talk about any questions of their morality in ordering a stripper for a party. This woman didn't just show up off the street. She didn't just crash their party. This woman was doing a job. And whether the rape occurred or not, this woman was at work...so, if you want to lay blame on the immorality of the evening, look at the boys who sought this out. These boys were paying for boobies, plain and simple.

And for once, at the ladies lunch, I was in a room full of women, who were doing just that, blaming the men who seek this shit out. That the women who do this work wouldn't be doing this work, if there wasn't droves of men with their wieners out, running towards, if not demanding with fists, full of dollars, for these services. It is a supply and demand occupation.

I was amazed. This, up until now, was a rare woman, indeed, that I met, who shared this line of thinking. These women who agreed that women need to step up, we need to raise our little boys better, and our little girls better. We all needed to quite dating, marrying, living with these men who sought out haircut aprons for anything other than getting just a haircut. And as for the Johnny Cashes and other old white men relics, that would be dying out all on their own. Take away the comfort of at home boobies and men will change. They would have too. It's very simple, really.

And, yes there would be still more risks for our equality. There would still be more violence and other vile nonsense. However, these things weren't anything that women weren't used to dealing with, surviving, moving through. And in the end, spilling a few teaspoons of jizz, will always cost more to the man who did the spilling of it, than the woman who saw it happen. Women are strong like that.

So, today, I still don't want to see anything about Mr. Cash, but I will tip my hat to him as he has started the trend of dying off. And even the old relics deserve some sympathy and recognition for their efforts and contribution to the change in our society. I'll give him that.

As women, as a group, we are definitely learning what we don't want...and that only leads to discovery of these bright, shiny things that we do want.

When will mother take over the world? Soon, I hope. Before it's too late for us all.

I haven't had time to write. I haven't had time to think. I haven't really had time to do anything. Why you say? All because of a lie, I respond.

I was lied to. It was a big one. As if there is some hierarchy of lying. But, we've all collectively, subconsciously agreed to this scale of lying. When did this become ok? It had to have started at the beginning. It had to have started with some basis. But, we pretend that we're all not liars, and that there aren't consequences to everything we do.

Aren't we all taught not to lie? Aren't we all taught the farce, the lie, of not lying? However, we live in a society who doesn't learn, and doesn't practice, doesn't care, and I realize that I've brought a life into that world.

Lies grow. Lies spread. What an unproductive waste of human energy. But, it's not the first time we've all seen examples of our wasted efforts. Our world is being built on a mountain of lies. The difference is when one lie sweeps itself into our homes, attacks our very beings...that's when it seems to matter most. Am I right?

Do I sound bitter? Perhaps, I am, on this subject. Yes, I am.

This lie, this time, blindsided me. It hit me in my gut with the force of a tornado throwing a roof chunk. The air and all of its molecules stopped. I was in shock. At first, I was in shock.

Then, the repercussions of this lie, and the far reaching black, slimy, tentacles of this lie began to awaken in me. They began to squeeze my brain, my heart, my lungs. And my brain, my heart, and my lungs began to harden, turning to cold, grey stone, right there in my body. I could feel it. I could actually feel it happening. I could feel and see the spreading of this lie.

And then, the anger. This lie was no ordinary, garden variety, tiny,white lie. No, this was the life threatening, life changing, dark, black kind of lie. And this lie could have a huge effect upon my child. My innocent, unwary, small child.

This anger was a new anger for me. I've not had this type of anger before. I'm not even sure that the word "anger" is the word to use. I'm not really sure that it fits. The word anger does not have enough syllables.

To look at my child, or any child for that matter, and not be able to put your crap aside, whatever the crap is, well, that's just stupid. It's unbelievable. It's stunning to me. I cannot believe people. I can make good healthy decisions about the environment that I want my child to be in, no matter what's going on inside of me. I can do that. And I'm not special. So, if I can do it...well, then, any other stupid mother fucker out there can do the same.

It's when we choose to be selfish, when we choose to be a fuck up...when we choose to be a shitass...then ergo the problems. It is a choice. And none of that: "my parents did blah blah blah" or "this happened to me so blah blah blah". There is a fundamental choice.

There is a fucking fundamental choice. There is no compulsion...there is a choice. Compulsion has become an all to familiar excuse in our society. I can't help it...do you hear the whine? Well, fuck you and your lazy ass compulsion. That's what I say...loudly...fuck you. Compulsions have made therapists so much money, to a tune of the giant whine. I'm sick of it. We've created it. That's how not real it is...we've just created a sickness. It's not like cancer, or migranes, or even manic depressive...it's bullshit. We've created a psychosis around bullshit. Show me a compulsion and I'll show you a person using that compulsion to cover up something else...it's bullshit. The something else may be real but the compulsion is bullshit. Yes, I said it, and I'm sticking to it. (I have examples, but not enough time.) (I site one example: The hoards of men who got to jack shacks to jack off with other strangers who are jacking off. Compulsion?, you say. Bullshit, I say.)

Compulsion is just a lie. Not a sickness, a lie. We should stop making lies a sickness...they are just a lie...a choice.

The anger in me, about this lie, set forth a protective shield around my child. This lie set forth plans in my head. This lie set forth the words from my mouth that were not to be described as a tongue lashing. My words words more than swords, more than knives, more that any weapon ever invented.

My words were final. Non-combative...just final.

There were some excuses. But, these excuses dissipated with my words into the vapor that they came from. Ghosts of human communication, fading, to not be a registared thought, ever. There was nothing left but shame. And I wasn't even buying that. I didn't care about the shame. I didn't care to help anyone out of their shame. I didn't care to listen about the shame. I didn't care to listen to anything. I didn't care. The liars had made a choice. And in the face of my child, there was an unforgivable part of me that solidified.

Once you lie, that's the consequence...the removal of trust. And the lie takes away listening. No one listens to the liar. How soon we forget the little boy that cried wolf. No one listens to the liar.

Now, rationally would I forgive? Don't we all talk about how healthy forgiveness is? Yes, I know about that, too.

This is why I say it's a new emotion for me. When you have a child, I'm not sure that I will ever reach a level of forgiveness about that. I can forgive what people may do to me. During this, I found that I really cared little about any effects this lie would have on me. Maybe, I will get to that later...I don't know...maybe not. But, my child, can there be forgiveness when it's my child? This pile of shit that was given to my child to have to work through? I shielded him from most of it, but not all of it. He is smart, he is aware. Can I forgive anyone that gives anything to my child that's not sheer joy and happiness? Can I forgive anyone that exposes my child to shit, to their shit? I'm not sure. I'm just not sure that I have that in me. And I'm not sure that a mother's physiology permits it. A switch has been turned on.

I can go on. I can pretend. But, that part of me, will now always be turned on, tuned in, my senses aware...that doesn't feel like complete forgiveness to me. I have been changed because of this. As a mother, I am changed.

I was amazed that my focus what so sharp about this incident. I was amazed that it didn't wreck me. As though, having a child, somehow changed this part of me, somewhere. I just went straight to fixing, to moving on, to securing, to comforting, to insuring. As though I was wearing armor of some sort. What an amazing gift.

My advice? Don't fucking tell lies. Just don't fucking do it.

A dear friend once told me: "Your shit affects other people." I have carried that quote for years. No truer words were ever spoken.

Your shit affects other people.

Yes, the ever so convoluted, multi soap box. It's new! Welcome to my hamster wheel.

I was in a terrible mood last night. I do know why. And it was the kind of bad mood where you just don't feel like doing anything about it, and then that just ends up making you mood worse...It's a cycle. However, you do have to be careful not to inflict your bad mood on others...such a struggle. Do, I ever write about the great stuff going on? No, probably not. I suppose that I don't like to share that stuff. That doesn't need to be worked out, and for the most part, I'm very selfish about those things. I just want to keep them to myself. I suppose that's a bit backwards. Whatever. Lots of topics to cover, so this post will be as such...diary of a mad woman.

Oh, but I had dreams last night...lots of dreams. I was running so fast in my own head, hard to say if I truly got any rest.

It was a long week at work. I'm learning so much, very quickly. I'm currently buried under text books. I'm not really much of a text book learner, but, the woman who could train me, is ever so grouchy and resistant to help. For the most part, she seems to go out of her way to make me feel like a dumbass, that I'm inconveniencing her at every possible moment. I don't think she does it on purpose...she's just very unhappy. It's been noticed by others, and I just end up covering for her about that, as she may be one of the smartest people that I know, and she is a value to the company with her vast experience...she's just a lonely, socially inept, pain in the ass.

But, back to me...I'm buried under textbooks and that always makes me grouchy. I will always learn things one way or another. And the funny thing is, we both have the same goals...we're just completely different at arriving at the end. She doesn't like to network, she doesn't like people. Well, to tell you the truth, I don't either. However, I see this as a necessary evil in business, and can be the less painful route to go through in process, and often time involves a lunch..or, at least, a delightful desert and a great cup of coffee. She wants to advance and so do I. And I've come to find out that the field we're in is becoming a woman dominated field (something I've never seen, that's not nursing or cooking, or naked dancing...). We can advance. But, we're not going to just be recognized for our knowledge...that never happens. You have to market yourself.

That's why, she's traded companies and kept her same type job, and I have always continued to move up. I can see this to be a problem later. She's going to get mad, and jealous...and that sucks for me. What she doesn't realize is that I don't really like people anymore than she does, and I don't expect them to like me...but you have to work within the system for greater good. You have to. So, this makes me grouchy. No help and a lot of extra work. Nice, fucking nice.

And one of the guys at work, well, we talk. He finally shared a secret with me this week. It was interesting and I'm not going to publish this because in this case, it's not right. I felt honored that he told me. It was to relate to my own situation. And to tell you the truth, it was team building. If he gets stuck out, I intend to help him. We both share a love for great and different socks, as well. Socks are those little fashion tidbits that can remind you of who you really are when wearing your office monkey suit; without be oppressive to the rest of the group. He has great socks for a man.

One thing that he says though, on a fairly regular basis, is that he already knows my whole life story. I try to remind him that isn't true. Sure, I talk a lot. But,really, he only knows what I want him to know. And I really believe that you can live your whole entire life with someone and never know it all. What are you kidding me? Case in point: The doctor with the big house convicted of being a serial killer after the cops dug up his backyard to find multiple bodies. That must have been a shocker for his family. I'm not saying that I'm that type of person, mind you. I'm just saying that one must never assume they know the whole story. It's just not humanly possible. Perhaps, in time, now that he's shared a secret, I will let him in a bit more. He does have a great wife and kids, and they would be a great addition to the other great people I know. We'll see. I'm not really that fond of mixing business and my personal life. I'm not fond of being found out too much.

And to top it off, I watched a woman's movie last night. I really should have known better. It was well done. And when a movie is well done then that means it has an affect on you...that you can relate. Oh, I related alright. All the struggles this woman went through...I related alright. I related all the way back into my memory bank of stored crap. That dark crevice of shit that I don't really like to go to. Some of those places, all the therapy in the world will never cure. Some of those places. I have the hardest time understanding some of the bleeding hearts of forgiveness out there. Yes, I know what it takes to hate, and I know what it takes to forgive. Hating can take it out of you. And you would like to forgive, but, maybe it should just be alright not to do so, as well.

Sometimes there are violent things that go on in a person's life that changes that person completely and forever. I would like to think that I no longer hate, but I'm not sure that I will ever forgive. And I don't think I should have to or need to. So, I do support locking some people up forever, or getting rid of them entirely by death penalty. I know it's sad and hard to do...but, I'm not feeling like I can't get over my own feelings, when it's rape, molesting, murdering, that's up for the death penalty. Those things rape, molest, murder someone else's life forever and ever, changed. Light sentences, and rehabilitation should not be given out to those that commit these types of crimes. Come on, not really.

There are so many others that I know and love so much, and they, too, have been changed by some act of violence. In our society, we excuse these acts, all to often...and sometimes we hail them as acceptable. Example: Making taking a client to the strip club, tax-deductible.

Would we like to think that those places are just for healthy, light-hearted fun? Sure. But the reality of it, is that their not. And we send our most young, our most impressionable, our newest...to these places to work. I dare you to tell me I'm wrong. I fucking dare you. I've got stories, and more than one.

I worry these days. More than I let on. I know what's out there. And I'd like to think that my life and a few others are just isolated lives in the greater scheme of things. But their not. Hence the crappie mood. I never just have a crap mood about just my own stuff. I have a big brain and there's lots of room for everything.

We have continued to be lead around by our asses, and now the world, and our country, are paying for it. We have made this world a rich person's playground. And our people are suffering. Not just at the tax-deductible nudie bars, but even at the gas pump or the grocery store. Should I buy gas or should I buy milk? Which to buy. And, frankly, we're all working so hard for our scraps, and bombarded by so much information that we only get tiny glimpses of the full on shit machine at work. Example: Trying to read my email etc. by saying that, first it's to prevent terrorism and now it's because there's so many child molesters. Controlling by fear. I don't care. Read my emails, read my blogs...but when you find nothing but general shopping and bill paying, and the grumblings of a mad woman...I want to know what the bill is that we're footing for that luxury, you Nosey Parker? How much does something like that cost? Could it have saved us more money at the grocery store or in health costs or in feeding the hungry? Where exactly is that money going? That's my question.

I sat an watched some of the FEMA/New Orleans trials/committees. I thought to myself, I wondered, how much did that fiasco cost? If I was displaced from my home...if my home was still moldy and jacked up...I don't want a blame game committee being run...I wouldn't want money spent on copying memos and storing files and techs paid to hook up mics so everyone could hear. I would want the help that was promised to fix my city. That's what I would want. Less talk and more action. It's been months for those people and nothing. That's brilliant. We are truly a brilliantly dumbass society! Morons!

But, the thing about people that's funny...is, time and time again, rich people only have this for a bit...then someone somewhere has had enough, and then they move, or there's war. Our country was founded on it. We were out manned and out gunned, and we still kicked some serious ass. Vietnam did the same. They held their own, when invaded. My family still feels the smack of that. And, now that the planet is used up, there's nowhere to move. Statistically that does not bode well. And you can kill some of the rebels...you can kill most of the rebels, but never all of the rebels. If you kill all of the rebels then who's left to mow your lawn or clean your house? And you cannot defeat the rebel mentality. It's impossible. If someone is backed into a corner and feels that there is nothing left to loose, then there is nothing to loose and they will fight, even to their own death. Death does not scare people who have nothing. So, you're again left with...who's going to wash your car and mow your lawn? We must start to make wiser choices. It's not completely too late, I don't think. Wiser choices...that's going to take some textbook reading of course. Boring, I can tell you, but not impossible.

I would hope that people chose compassion over having it all. But, using my own life examples, I'm not sure that's very realistic. We have bred ourselves to be selfish, little snits, without much brains and a bunch of ever so flabby brawn (can you call cellulite brawn). We have become a playground of excess only. Not a community of hard work with great solid production...we take all the short cuts to excess that we can get a hold of. Example: Everything has to be SUPER...Super Kal-Mart...Super sized...everything's just fucking SUPER.

Is it?!? Is it?!? IS IT FUCKING SUPER?!?

Are you feeling SUPER?!? Cause me and my fat ass, who can't afford vegetables that aren't in a can, isn't feeling so fucking SUPER!?!

My only saving grace this week it the Gay/Lesbian family group that I have joined. In their most recent family poll, most of the children are boys being raised by mixed families. My own son, not being raised by Gays or Lesbians, but definitely a mixed family...so there is a common thread. That was my saving grace. In the end, it will be the Gay, Lesbian, Transgender that will save us all from ourselves. They are gaining in numbers and rights, and strengths. This community, being a supposed unwanted community, has taken in all of the unwanted children from the heterosexual community. And people try to stop it...except, up to taking in these children and providing for them, themselves. No, not that. The phrase:"I don't want them but you can't have them either.", well, it's not flying so much these days. These are children...who will grow up to be adults. We should all mind our P's and Q's, because children remember.

This situation is both funny, and fitting, I think. This community raught by violence and disapproval will be the one that takes over. I'm not psychic, but I'm prophetic. And in the end, you find that they're not that different. The only real difference, is the strive for family values, hard work, kindness and compassion. That part is the kicker for all the I'm Right All the Time Wing people. I have found I have more in common with this community, than I ever did at the First Baptist Church I grew up with. And these men and women have great socks, too.

And, the majority of white male America and other's have already begun to tailor their lifestyles to be inclusive of this group, only missing the bigger picture by their us of the male prostitutes, glory holes and jack shacks...but, I'm thinking they'll come along eventually to the goodness and put this all behind them (no pun intended).

And what cracks me up even more, and perhaps makes my mood even harder and edgier...it that I read and what the science channel and magazines and books have to say is going on...and there's so much more out there that we destroy every day without even noticing in all of our excess. Things we will forget before we even learn about them. But, you never see that on the news...never that stuff. We are making ourselves stupider by the nano-second. And sometimes it's lonely not having that many people to talk to about the wonders of the world. And it's sad for me that my time is so short, and I will never learn it all. So much that's so cool.

So, today, I will study, I will take to my textbooks and advance my career, I will play with my child, and I will dream of a better place filled with kind men in dresses and beautiful make-up that lead me to fountains of great food and good knowledge. Isaac and Rosie will be my new Gods for this day.

Hair Scare

Can you can wisdom from a show about a hairdresser? Well, maybe. That is where I found some wisdom this week. There I was, on the couch, in yesterday's, or at least some time this week's, dirty clothes, snacking on chocolate cereal because I'm too lazy to actually make the chocolate cake, without a shower or anything. Yes, there I was.

I'm always so nervous, and I second guess myself to the trillionth degree. And usually come to find out, I am smarter, I do know more, and if I'd only gone with my gut instinct without hesitation whatever it is or was would have been better and stronger in the first place. Instead, I find myself picking up after myself way to often.

I found that I haven't been dying my hair enough lately either. That show sure did teach me a lot. With many things to consider.

I sat at lunch the other day, with three college graduates. I being the only one who did not go to college. I read on my own, and I traveled and had many many many other life experiences.

The three of them all were talking about how college is a real must. How going to college was very important. How you couldn't learn anything, not really, i.e. critical thinking skills, unless you'd been to college.

I really had nothing to say on their experience...except I had the same job as they did, and didn't go to mo' fancy schoolin' like they did. It was only one of them that might have realized a tiny bit what they sounded like. Hard to say. I politely waited until this part of the conversation was over with.

I'm not down on college, mind you. I don't regret not going for the learning part. I sometimes regret that we have a system that makes us have a little tiny signed piece of paper that allows sometimes complete idiots get into power positions just cause they have a signed piece of paper approving them for positions in our society. A comfort zone for jackasses...that's what we've made. I always wanted the idea of college to be the actual collection of knowledge in one place to go. But, most people don't use it for that. It's a means to an end...not the means to a beginning that I thought it would be. So, I didn't go...I took off for Mexico for a couple of years.

These three talked about late night discussions with other college people...and how they all we exposed to new ideas and ways of thinking...just from the late night coffee sessions. I thought about all of the times me and a few others dropped acid and talked until the wee hours of the morning at the local coffee shop. Not so different. And mine cost the price of the hit of acid and a cup of joe.

So my thoughts on this conversation was they did in fact have a real experience, but they were still tooting their own horn a bit about this wonderful institution that had taught them that in this place that they went, it was the only place in the world to get that experience...that was it...critical thinking inside the box.

And me, I sat quietly about it...I was remembering the people that I've had and still have the pleasure of knowing who can draw from experiences that weren't so institutionalized. A paper degree does not make the person. And how sad to hold onto it, that piece of paper so much...to validate oneself with it. History has shown us, that most of our critical thinkers, our inventors, our entrepreneurs...didn't go to college.

If I had said all these things at the lunch...It wouldn't have been very good...so I didn't. I didn't want them to feel like their bubble was being burst, or that I just didn't understand because I was one of "those" people.

So, instead, I sat on the couch today...gaining knowledge from a hairdresser...realizing that I have yet to realize my own dream. I have yet to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I do know that I'm not going to stay very long and hang out with fancy schoolin' people tooting their own horns over a cheap Mexican food work lunch. I'm pretty sure that I'm destined for something cooler than that. And if I'm not, at least I didn't spend a shitload of money to get there.

On another topic entirely...I read that Andrea Yates' ex-husband got remarried, just two days before his ex-wife's retrial was to begin, in the church where his children were buried less that two years ago. My thoughts on that are how sad I am that these children were killed by their mother, and their father knew she was sick...so sick, and he left them there alone with her, and he's off scot free....so these children were abandoned by their father once, and yet again, when he felt comfortable enough to hurry and remarry in their very shadow. I am certainly appalled by the mother's actions, but at least she may really be sick...the father on the other hand is just an asshole. If I were to pray, I would pray for any more children that he chooses to produce, and a society that would feel comfortable letting a man like this continue to walk free and do so.

But, really...I don't exist...so I really shouldn't worry about such things. (for my friend Ric.) I really do hear you when you talk. I am listening. And at some point, I will dye my hair, take a bath, get off the couch, and be my very best non-existant self. But, today I allow my mind to focus on small things to avoid the great cosmos. Sometimes, not so smart, I begin again to pick up after myself.

http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com/column.php?id=63575

It is much, much louder than they care to remember

This week in a nutshell, can I put it in a nutshell...can you do that with yours? It's a hard thing to recap all the tastes and excitement, but I'll try.

My new job wasn't being so good to me at first. The computers wouldn't to as they were told...as it's certainly not because of human error...no it couldn't be that. Then our office moved done the hall into a bigger office suite, because we've grown. There were miscommunications abound, and a flurry of small disasters, etc. I was beginning to think maybe I was over my head. Then when I was complaining out loud to my baby's daddy. He asked it wasn't this something that I had already been taking care of and straightening out at my other job? I replied, yes. Then he said, wasn't this what I was hired to do/take care of/fix at this new job? I sheepishly, cause I knew where is was going with this, replied, yes. Well, then, he said, this is the stuff that you already know about, and where hired to take care of, and already know how to do in your sleep, and your stuck complaining?...does that about sum this conversation up? Yes, I said. Well, you're being a dumb ass.

He was right. I was being a dumb ass. I went to work with a new lease on office life the next morning. I took charge of my destiny. I made folders and made calls, and arranged office supplies....I prepared to do the work. Next week is the big showdown. I will begin to be the master of my own universe...within the office suite. It's all very exciting.

Part of my job is marketing. I was asked to do some research and make some calls. My boss has the confidence in me to set me forth on his public and get us some business. I on the other hand wasn't feeling the confidence vibe. This is a new business for me. I know little about it, actually. I left messages, and I then, did get a call back. The call was transferred to me, the man was on the line, the questions were coming, the panic was starting...what to do. Well, I bullshitted. That's what I did. I explained that I didn't really want to take up too much of his time, as I knew he was busy. And I, myself, had a meeting to attend in about 15 minutes, but I did want to talk to him.

I referred him, while he was on the phone with me, to our website. We pointed and clicked together, through the pages of information, that he was welcome to visit anytime on his own. I recapped bits of information out of each of the paragraphs, highlights, as we call them in the biz, on what we do. And this man loved it!!!! I made it!!!! He immediately emailed me his V-Card, and I emailed him back. We were in!!!! I set up a meeting with my boss, and away we went. I was finally there. I realized that I could bullshit, and it was ok, and it worked, and I could use this power for good instead of evil. (unlike my other job) I got off the phone, with a huge smile on my face.

My co-workers started laughing, big laughing. I, out of all of the office staff, is the least likely to have an actual "meeting in 15 minutes" about anything. And now, this is the office joke, about everything. But, they knew it was good, and they knew that it worked....but it is still very funny. Now I have meeting in 15 minutes about everything: going to the bathroom, going to the supply bin, going for coffee....that's really a code word, that everyone on my level uses.

Listen and you will know that if someone says that to you...they're really just going to grab a snack or perhaps poop...but it's very important snacking and pooping. I am learning it all! The other code word that I learned was "out in the field working". That really means, sitting on the patio of that over priced Mexican food restaurant, or the coffee shop, or maybe even your back porch. I've not really gotten to the level where I can use this phrase yet. I will. I am going to try it out a bit, next week. Test the waters if you will. I have a doctor's appointment, a haircut appointment, and an appointment with the acupuncturist on back to back days. I'm going to gather my papers and cell phone, etc., and explain that I'll be working from the field for a bit, and return after lunch.

I'll have to keep everyone informed on if it works or not...hard to say...I'm still new, so it could fail...OR, I could just be falling into line, and really look like I've always belonged there. I'm up for the office biz challenge. Yes, Pat, I'll take Office Phrases and Actions and What They Really Mean for $2,000. Ding-Ding - I win!

Now, with any good office situation you must observe the other office suite people and surroundings. Our new office suite has widows. Our boss was out of town...and we all took the best spots, over him, facing all of the windows. I think that I may have gotten the #1 spot, right in the corner facing two windows. Someone else wanted it, but she really has to be by all of our office equipment, for her job, and "her control"...so, I did remind her, ever so gently of this, and she knew it to be true (as she had made such a big deal about before), and she is facing one window next to me. It worked. The other office mate, will be "out in the field" most of the time, so he wouldn't REALLY NEED the best window spot, but he's cool, and does need a window...so, he's on my other side. Our boss has a dry erase/black file cabinet wall, and another big white wall...no windows. He's going to be gone most of the time, too. And, he wasn't there to help lug the office equipment during the move....so, naturally, it is quite fair. And really, I don't think he'll care one way or the other actually. He'll be back on Monday, and we'll see. I'm hoping that I don't have to give up my precious corner though. Maybe I can be just as rational about it and he will see it my way like the others did...hard to say.

I do feel special in my double window corner...I do. Maybe the others just let me have it cause they're kind like that, and I have a cane. I don't know...but I really love it. I can see birds and trees and the other smokers, all the stuff I love the most. I might cry if I have to give it up. I will cry on the inside.

I have also, discovered the secret coffee machine. This is not an ordinary coffee machine. And, frankly, I've never, ever seen one like this before. On the right of the actual coffee making part, are rows and rows and rows of little, happy, colorful coffee/tea/cocoa packets to choose from, a bevy of breaktime delights. I am in awe. And, as I've found the combinations, and possibilities are endless. It's magic.

You choose a flavor packet...like, let's see, Sidamo Gold. Then you look at the little maker itself. It has a screen that has buttons that allow you to tell it which drink your having. You push the button, the choosen button that matches your special packet, a special, secretly hidden, drawer opens up, you pop in your special packet and close back the secret drawer. Then the machine tells you that it's preparing the drink, in six, five, four, three, two, one...Your beverage is prepared...And it reminds you that your beverage is hot...so Caution. (www.flavia.net) I did research this on the web, as I think that I want one at home. Your brew time is only 30-35 seconds to wonderful, special, drinking delight.

I go to this machine to pay homage, several times a day. It makes me feel better. It consoles me. We have bonded, and have a relationship based on that caring for me in my time of office need. In my head it talks to me, much like Hal did for that other guy. Good Morning, Miss June. I hope your having a lovely day today. Miss June, On, Thursday mornings, you usually choose Cocoa...would you like me to prepare your Cocoa for you? Miss June, the Peppermint Tea is out...May I be allowed to suggest another selection for you? Etc.

Maybe even further in my head sometimes: Miss June, the bald man in the office next to you is really just after your favorite pen. Here's your Espresso Roast with an extra shot for better alertness.

I love this machine. You can even make your own foamed milk for your Cappuccino. I have taken the foamed milk topping and experimented by putting this with many of the different flavors of coffee, just to keep myself entertained and fresh. I know though, that I have to be careful that no one is watching. I don't want to be the office person that used all of the foamed milk packets, and someone in dire need of one, and finds out that I have used the last one, on one of my crazy coffee experiments....I was the one that put the foamed milk on my Hazelnut Noisettes. Yeah, I don't want to be found out. So, it's just the secret that me and the coffee station share, because, at all, that coffee machine is just for me, makes that coffee, just for me, warns me of the dangers of the hot beverage and the other office fuckers. All the caring.

There is also another gimp on the same wing as us. Hard to say if we were both put in the same wing together for control, or maybe the comfort of the other office people. I don't know. He's, of course, more fucked up than me. He has stubs for arms and I think fake legs...I can't be sure about the legs, because I lost my X-Ray glasses and have yet to find the time to send in my $3.00 to the special place listed on my comic book, but I think it's true about his legs.

I'm not sure that I like us being in the same area. One, we have to compete for sympathy...which I hate. I want to be the Special Needs Person, and I don't want to share. Mental note to discuss with the coffee station. And, Two, he gets all the attention anyway, because he has no arms and all that, and still makes it around. Fucker.

Three, he's very much in shape than I am. You know the kind. You know the kind. Those over achiever handicapped people...who prove that they're the same as everyone else, maybe, even better, all that inspiring load of crap. I've seen the looks when we're walking down the hallway at the same time. Why aren't you more like Stumpy? Look what you could do if you only applied yourself a little.

Yeah, he's a fucker alright.

He walked outside, with a friend one day while I was smoking. I had just eaten an entire, giant, Three Musketeers Chocolate Bar, the King Size version. The tsk-tsk looks were there. I fought hard within myself, not to stick my cane out and trip him up a little to see if he was really a fucking badass, and would catch himself with his stumpy little very tan armish appendages.

We will need to have a chat at some point. Maybe divide that hall and people up a bit. I will promise that nothing will happen to him, as long as he stays on his side. Stumpy, Gimpy Fucker. We are going to have to come to some agreement. My agreement.

Also our office watches the people, from our new windows. The view from my corner is quite spectacular. In and out of the building, the people go.

There are a few of interest that we discuss.

There's an old man. We think he's a Gumba. He's very Italian looking. And there's something fishy about him. Twice a day, he drives up, gets out of his car, walks into the building, gets a cup of coffee, does something that we don't know about, comes out of the building lights a cigarette and then leaves. We don't know what the something that he does it, but it never takes very long and it's twice a day. Exactly twice a day. Maybe his picking up money...we just don't know.

Of course, it has occurred to us that he just drives around to various office spaces and gets free coffee, and he's not really apart of any of the businesses there. We just don't know. But, he's very clockwork about it. I, of course, hope that he's not using any of the foamed milk packages from my precious coffee machine. And he does have expensive shiny shoes...it's all suspicious. We haven't followed him yet, but maybe next week.

There's also, a man/woman who smokes and wears the same black Beret every fucking day with that fucking hat. We can't stand it. We think It might be bald or balding, kind of like the Snickers Commerical.(If you haven't seen it...that will mean nothing to you, but trust, it's fucking funny.)

We have found out that It is a computer programmer, which does lead some credence to the weird garb...they all dress weird and think it's cool, they can't help it, really. But, we can't tell if it's a man or a woman. It has breasts, but it has big ass hands, too. And we haven't heard it talk, on account of the windows and everything. It's a long standing debate in the office. But, the beret...on the beret. I, personally have a thing about ethic hats. Only a few, select, privileged people can really where them and get away with it. I know that I cannot were a Sombrero...I know that. I know that I would look like a complete jack ass. However, I have seen people in Sombreros and they look just fine, quite normal...but I am NOT one of the Sombrero People.

It is not of the Beret People. And IT'S bad. And it's the same favorite Beret everyday...a favorite, sacred, Beret for It. I voted that no matter how silly we thought It looked, that we might caution ourselves about making statements against the wearing of the Beret. We don't really know It, so it's not our place to make the intervention. Or is it? Do, we as a society make the intervention on crack whores and bad hat wearing people alike? Do we have those rights?!? Do we?!? This is obviously a subject that needs much reflection before action.

And last week was the office suites manager's birthday. None of us, really know her that well. But, in the world of officey stuff, that's is not a person that you want to piss off, EVER!!! But, it's not payday yet, and none of us have any money. I said that I would take care of it.

I went home and dug through all of my garage sale jewelry that I never had really used, and it didn't really sell. There it was, right on top...the gift. It was a bracelet. I had bought it, thinking that maybe someday, I would grow up and be an officey person and wear this shiny trinket. I go through this every so often. But, then I realize that I won't ever be that person, and I have to get rid of whatever it is, and the cycle starts all over again.

It did have one very tiny stone missing but that could have happened at the store that I bought it from, that story that was going to be, not the garage sale pile that was the reality. I took it to work. We didn't have wrapping paper or a box or anything. I used my Ginger Tea box, and one of my office ladies helped me wrap it with a magazine ad. As I carried it down to the office party, I began to panic a bit. Everyone was bringing in very expensive, fancy gifts from all of the fancy places that surrounded our office. I gave the gift to one of my office mates to actually carry in and set on the table so that I could blame him later, if it sucked real bad. And our gift did look like shit, sitting on the table with all the other fancy gifts...it did stick out. We all knew it. We hurried to eat our cake, and smile and chatty mcchatty, and bailed before the gift opening happened. Chicken shit?, you say. You betcha'! Fuck that! We were outta' there.

My office mates weren't convinced that I had really done a good job with the "taking care of it". But, then came in the boss lady later. And over the next few days, again and again. She wore that bracelet for three days in a row. She loved it. And loved the wrapping, and really thought that it was special for her. And really, in a way it was. And maybe that bracelet just didn't sell, because it knew it's home was coming soon. I don't know. But, when she thanked us, my office mates were happy to help take the credit for the gift. It did work. Problem solved. I had taken care of it.

I must visit the coffee machine now. It's time. I'm thinking perhaps a coffee/cocoa combo for this afternoon.

The End...or is it?!?