16 Offensive Thoughts for 2016

With the new year, I'd like to clear up a few things about my opinions and thoughts in general. If you are offended….well, I’m going to get to that here….

1] If you have a penis, you are not a woman, you are just a guy who likes to put on makeup and heels. If you don’t have cramps because you had to have a penis cut off, reshaped, turned inside out or whatever…you are not a woman.  I’m okay with that despite what you think; I just don’t think you’re a woman.  You can’t identify with being a woman because you didn’t grow up having society tell you that you have to be skinny and pretty and quiet and demure. You never got looked over in math class or science glass or woodworking shop because someone took a look at you and decided you weren’t right for the answers. You never had to call your father or your brother or your neighbor to open a jar from the grocery store. You remain a man/boy who maybe prefers dresses to jeans and likes makeup and heels. But you have never been a woman or a girl and you never will be any more than I will wake up and decide that I’ve had enough Chinese food to totally identify with being Chinese.  Doesn’t matter how many surgeries and how many language lessons and how many bowls of rice, I will always be an American who wants to be something I am not. You are a man who likes to wear dresses and heels and make-up. That’s okay. So don’t tell me that you aren’t still pretending. You are.

2] I don't care what pronoun you prefer to use on yourself, I prefer to use pronouns that make sense to me..it causes me stress and anxiety to use your pronouns when I want to use my pronouns...why is your stress and anxiety not as important as mine? What kind of insensitive cad are you?

3] Bad people will never be stopped by laws. Murder has been wrong since the beginning of time and yet we still do it. People will constantly try to take what is not theirs. There’s a speed limit. How many times have you broken the speed limit in your life? How hard was it to do that? You are a criminal. We are all criminals. Laws are the construct of man, man is flawed and twisted and fallible. That is life. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need laws for guidance; we would know. In a perfect world, we would feel empathy and think ahead to possible consequences. None of us are perfect. Stop trying to legislate us to perfection; instead strive for empathy and thoughtfulness and strive to teach it to upcoming generations.

4] I will vote for who I want to, your memes and opinions mean nothing to me and I'm really not sure why my opinion is so important to you that you feel the need to attack it and generally call me a bad person because I don't agree with you...I mean, who in the HELL made you any more of an authority on anything than me? What is it about you that makes you think you are better than me? Because when you tell me I’m wrong and you tell me I’m stupid, you are essentially telling me that you’re better than me. I would like to think of you as an equal with a differing opinion instead of an egocentric douche with a closed mind. It’s surprising to me how many of you “open-minded” people try to tell others they are closed minded for not thinking like you do.

5] Ownership of a weapon does not make someone inherently violent, and just because you don't understand that shooting is a sport doesn't make it wrong. I don't understand the sport of javelin throwing. What's the thrill of throwing a giant pointy stick that could impale unsuspecting passersby? I don't get it; but, you know, I feel you should do your thing. Don’t understand hunting? Funny, I don’t understand how you can eat bacon. Perhaps you are not aware of where bacon comes from? At least hunters give the animal a fighting chance. Trust me when I tell you that the burger you are eating had no chance. I fully admit that I’m a hypocrite here. I’m not sure I could ever hunt. But at least I admit it while I’m scarfing down my holiday meal.

6] If you don't believe in God, church, abortion, guns, carnivores, gluten eaters, or feather dusters…that’s just fine by me. However, let’s understand that other people don’t believe that and let’s respect that about them. I don’t like the color pink, but I’m not going to stop people from wearing it or painting their walls pink. I don’t have to live in a world of pink, I just have to tolerate it from people who make that choice. It’d be nice if you all were as accepting and open-minded.  Or perhaps you just don’t trust yourself in a world where others are doing the things you think are wrong for you. That sounds more like a problem you have than a problem anyone else has.

7] Drugs and alcohol. One is legal and one is not. Both involve a measure of personal responsibility. Some people will rob to get their next fix. Some people will drive while drunk. This all goes back to that empathy and consequences thing. I’ve known people who have indulged in both and indulged too much at times. And yet these people have held jobs, never robbed anyone, been sober for work, and never taken a dime out of the pockets of their family. Actually, I’ve known people with expensive hobbies that have been more damaging to their families than people who drink too much.  As long as you aren’t putting anyone else at risk and you’re not shirking your responsibilities, I’m good with just letting people do what they want. I don’t want to go on a heroin binge anytime soon. Still, I understand that some people get wrapped up in addictions they do not have the ability to control. I believe we should help those people if they want and need help. I believe I should help old ladies cross the street and I believe I should help people better themselves, too.

8] Why is everyone taking offense at everything?  What the hell happened to the balls this country had? I mean really. Damn. Words are the enemy? Really? The most sacred point of the Bill of Rights and people are willfully trying to hide from it. Life isn’t a convenience. Life isn’t meant to cater to your every demand. I’m damned sorry if your parents made you think that you deserve to live in a bubble where everything is all pretty. Life doesn’t work like that. It’s work. Sometimes it sucks. People have minds of their own and they don’t conform to your little visions of how they should react. When you’re a toddler, you get to pretend that the world is perfect. But when you’re an adult, you should be well acquainted with the fact that you’re not going to like some things. And as adults, you just have to figure out how to work with that. If you can’t deal with the fact that you aren’t the painter of your own reality and you get pissed at people who don’t fit in, then you are nothing better than an emotional toddler. Don’t expect me to treat you any differently. Stop whining or get treated like a child.

9] Yeah, life is an inconvenience; but, life is wonderful too. Nothing beats the thrill of working hard and accomplishing something. I’m pretty sure nothing beats standing at the top of your own Mt. Everest…except turning to your right and seeing that someone built an elevator for someone else who thought that since you saw the world from the pinnacle that they should too, but they weren’t capable or willing to make the effort.  Hey, that’s life, whiners. You can’t have everything you want. If you want it bad enough, keep trying.  Now I know that on some level this suggestion belies what I said before about letting people do things their own way.  But this is about choice. And if you make sacrifices for an award, you shouldn’t have to deal with someone who demands the prize without the sacrifice.

10] The willfully ignorant get no sympathy…They shall not be given quarter. Yes, I am a pirate who demands that people constantly strive to learn. If you’re done learning, then I’m done with you. If you’re happy to wallow in your trough of bad decisions, then wallow. I’m good with leaving you there. You want out? See #9 .  However, I am also good with not dealing with you when you just want other people to think for you.  Once I was told by someone “I don’t read. I let other people do that hard work.” Uhm….good for you. Go away. I don’t want to be around anyone who brags about how stupid they are.

11] People who don’t like animals cannot be trusted.

12] People who lie (I’m talking big lies, not little white lies) to their significant others cannot be trusted. You give a solemn vow to one person other than your family. If you can’t keep that vow to someone you profess to love, then what would prevent you from lying to me, a person you don’t give a crap about?

13] Gay marriage.  Well, I don’t want to marry another woman, but hey, whatever. You have a person you want to share your life with and be devoted to? You’re a lucky person. I really can’t fathom any place where this would be considered a bad thing. If you are against gay marriage, you are allowed to not enter into a gay marriage...problem solved.

14] Evil exists. It has nothing to do with laws or history or being made to feel bad during childhood. People are evil. People will want to destroy you. People want to kill you. Not everyone, of course. The world is still filled with good people. However, to deny the existence of evil or think that evil can be solved with a hug is wrong. This is my opinion. You are welcome to believe that. Just don’t try to convince me I can leave my doors unlocked or walk a dark ally in a big city without looking over my shoulder. People are evil. They will kill you for your shoes, they will kill you because you don’t believe what they do. They will kill you because of the color of your skin or the color of your hair or because you call carbonated beverages soda instead of pop. It doesn’t really matter why or what excuse, these people will hurt you and kill you because they are evil and empty inside.

15] I am tired of hiding my happiness because you are unhappy. I’m tired of trying to be careful of your feelings when at every opportunity, you attempt to throw gray clouds around everything. I’m sorry that you cannot be happy. But dammit, that’s about you not me. If I hear one more person say they wish they had a significant other in their lives because they can’t understand how I can and they can’t since they’re so much better than me, I am going to punch them in the face and give them something to really cry about. Honestly, I was happy before I met someone. I was content to live out the rest of my life without any significant other and I planned on having a super life. So, now I have someone. Life doesn’t like plans. Remember that while you’re pining away and telling yourself that you’re better and prettier and nicer than I am. I am me. You are you. There is no ladder or scale or test to find out who is more desirable. I’m happy. I was never unhappy and no matter what happens in my life I’m going to work to make it as awesome as possible. There will be no moping in my world—no moping and no pink.

16] There’s a lot to be said for accepting life the way it is, for just experiencing life rather than

fighting it. Long after you and I are gone, the grass will still grow, the sun will still shine. One cannot fight these things. Be thankful, be empathetic, be loyal, be true to yourself, don’t try to paint the world with the brush you carry with you, just let all the brushstrokes from everyone around you color the world and stand back to enjoy the painting. It might not be the painting you were expecting, but it is beautiful none the less.

And yeah, I get that some of these opinions start to conflict with each other. That's life. It's not a science experiment...well, it kind of is, but not one that follows the laws of science.  Dammit, now I've gone and broken some of those too. Not even a full day into the new year and my resolution to be perfect is already destroyed.

A serious list: the Proverbs of Being Me

It’s taken some time but I’ve learned some things in life. Some were hard lessons and some were easy lessons and most were lessons I could only learn through experience. Some are observations, some are rules. Periodically, I have to remind myself of these things.

1] Money doesn’t buy happiness.

2] Material things don’t buy happiness.

3] The only way to insure constant praise is to be mediocre. The harshest criticism often goes to the best and for reasons which are often as conflicted as this sounds: some are jealous, some can only feel good about themselves if they tear someone down, and a very small percentage of those harsh critiques come from people who want to push the person to become more.

4] Fear has never motivated anyone to do anything constructive.

5] Every single person out there can teach you something, you just have to listen.

6] Everyone plays a role designed to hide the person they are on the inside.

7] Emotion lacks purity.

8] The universe is filled with people who have never left that stage of psychological development where the world revolves around them. They expect you to prove yourself to them over and over again and yet they never feel the need to reciprocate.

9] The most arrogant people are often the ones with the lowest self esteem.

10] People who are unhappy with themselves often seek to lower the self esteem of others.

11] You’ll never find what you’re looking for, but you’ll always get what you deserve.

12] If you’re looking for what you deserve, you will never see it and it will pass you by.

13] You can’t make people behave the way you think it appropriate. People cannot be controlled. Trying to control people will only make you unhappy.

14] Anger is over rated. Anger never made anyone else perform better or faster or to your liking.

15] No one deserves to be used. No one can use you if you don’t let them.

16] Everyone has a struggle. Don’t wallow in yours.

17] If you throw a life preserver to someone who is drowning, sometimes they think that’s not enough, they think you should have jumped in and put the life preserver over their head and dragged them out of the water onto the warm sand, and then done some breathing for them.

18] Self centered people will dictate how you help them while they sit on their couches and complain about how no one will help them.

19] The people you help the most are often the ones who get most angry with you for not helping more.

20] Nothing is without the possibility of humor. Nothing.

21] People will hate you for your laughter. Pity them.

22] People who tell you how religious they are end up having the most to confess.

23] There is no point telling someone they are stupid, more often than not, they are too stupid to understand what you are saying to them.

24] People are different. We are not all the same. To say we are all the same is insulting and oppressive. We should strive to be accepting and respectful of our differences instead of trying to be the same.

25] People are worse than animals. People are capable of inflicting unimaginable horrors upon each other. Never trust a predator. Predators can laugh with you before they rip out your heart.

26] No one gets mad about honest curiosity. Be curious about everything. Ask lots of questions. Feed your brain daily.

27] Don’t be afraid to ask.

28] The same things don’t make everyone happy.

29] You can be more alone with someone than you can ever be while you’re by yourself.

30] Don’t judge yourself by other people’s standards unless they are living up to yours.

31] You are a warrior. Your code is your own. Your only obligations in life are to support yourself, to not be a burden to society, and to not damage others.

32] Do not believe the lies others say about you.

33] There are a large number of people who believe their opinions are more important than yours and they demand you respect them while stomp on yours. Do not be friends with these people; they will suck you dry.

34] Live with your decisions. Accept your failures. Suffer the consequences of your mistakes.

35] Savor simple joys like a child.

36] Don’t be afraid to: fail, laugh, love, be yourself

37] Accept quirks in peoples’ personalities but never trust someone who purposely hurts someone else to their own advantage.

38] do the right thing even when it hurts

39] learn what the right thing is, don’t just assume you know or that what someone else is telling you is true

40] some people not only willfully live in ignorance, but they wallow around in it like squealing pigs mixing up mud with their own piss and shit…these people deserve no sympathy

41] keep laughing

42] not everyone is going to like you. That’s okay, you’re not going to like everyone either. Being civil is a sign of character.

43] You can’t take the choices your friends make personally. You just have to be around to pick up the pieces.

44] never forgive someone who goes out of their way to hurt you or someone you care about.

45] If someone lies to someone they claim to love, there is nothing to stop them from lying to you.

46] If someone believes what they read on the internet, they deserve to be lied to. Feel obligated to help them learn this lesson the hard way.

47] Han Solo shot first

48] Don't climb to the top of the nerd scale.

49] Use coupons and discounts for life, not people

50] Never take someone's trust for granted

51] Never take someone's love for granted

52] Spoil the person who spoils you, but don't be the only one who gives.

53] Strive for consensus rather the compromise

54] Do things you aren't good at. Embrace humility

55] Cyberstalk all you can

56] Gather all the information you can and get all the opinions you can, but make your own decisions.

57] If the river has dried up, it's okay to burn the bridge.

58] Karma listens to your laughter, beware.

59] You have a right to be happy. Don't feel guilty about it.

60] Spiders are evil.

61] Most people make their decisions based on fear. Don't be most people.

62] Wait a week before making any major financial decision. Do not do this on impulse.

63] Pet your dog.

64] Clean the litter box often. Both figuratively and literally.

65] Step away from the Oreos.

66] Try not to hate people who stay skinny and eat twice as much as you.

67] Enjoy life. It ends too quickly.

68] Do not be bullied.

69] Yes!

Trolls in Hell

“Welcome to Hell.” That’s how we were greeted by our hibachi chef on a special night out.

When you’re planning a special night, it might be best to not make the mistake we made.  That mistake: not specifying that by “special night” we didn’t mean “fill it with “special” people. Special people aren’t supposed to make your night special.

First stop, we went to the TransSiberian Orchestra concert. Pretty cool. The second half was definitely better than the first half. And if you have to listen to Christmas music then you need to have it loud and with electric guitars, in my humble opinion. The show itself would have been special and a memory made and all that sappy stuff, but the people…omg, the people. It is my opinion that for a concert like this one, one should dress appropriately.  Country music show wardrobe: who cares. Rock concert: black t-shirts and jeans. Broadway play: dress-up. Orchestra: business clothes.   In appropriate wardrobe choices:  shorts and sandals with black socks, slippers, and velvet lounge pants with flying pigs on them.  Leggings with boots are okay if you are under 350 pounds (even then you should wear underwear of some substance); but, for our purposes we’re going to have to put them in the inappropriate category since there were an abundance of people who didn’t get the memo about the rules on leggings. To be fair, one woman wore leggings which were not too small…they were really loose, with big baggy pockets of over-stretched material at the knees and a dropping crotch.

We were lucky enough to have seats on the end of a row. This allowed me to observe the comings and goings of people while watching the show. One “super-sized” man went back and forth to concessions several times. During the course of the show, he purchased the following:  two hot dogs, 5 sodas, 4 big tubs of popcorn, nachos, and two soft pretzels. Granted the show was three hours long so perhaps he was just trying to keep his blood sugar stable. The number of stains on his t-shirt increased as the night wore on. Another couple came to a row and passed two empty seats to inform another couple that seats 3 and 4 in the row were theirs. An usher became involved. The people in seats 3 and 4 stayed, the offended couple who by-passed two empty seats in the sold out show never returned.  Seats 1 and 2 remained empty for the entire show. A ten year old, accompanied by his mother, passed by 4 times. They never brought anything back. I can only assume these were restroom trips.

Which brings me to eavesdropping on people in the restroom. This Christmas season has taught me that women will say the damnedest things in public restrooms. It’s like they think they’re alone, in their own private space where everything is safe. I’ve been trying to drink lots and lots of water after I read some article about how 95% of Americans are constantly dehydrated. Of course this week I just read an article that someone can die from drinking too much water; so, this trend might not last. 

Anyway, I think the first horrific thing I heard in a quasi-public restroom was at a business holiday party in mid-December. It was held at a resort and there were several holiday parties going on at the same time. I stopped at the restroom near another party. Two women were in there, adjusting their fishnet stockings, holding their skirts up with their chins and revealing thongs that split their woman parts like dental floss strung between two flattened baby monkey heads. They’re having a discussion about how many blow jobs they think they’ll be able to give to the men at the party and talking about separating them from their wives so “get the job done.” The women’s bathroom at the show was no different other than the fact there were more women in there. At the TransSiberian Orchestra concert, the topic of discussion between three women was yeast infections and how one woman thought it was just something that came off a new underwear she bought at WalMart because normally she washes things first but she didn’t this time.  My bathroom trip was spent making awkward eye contact with equally repulsed and uncomfortable people who would have preferred to be spared this discussion.

After the show, we were off to dinner. I won’t even talk about the traffic and people’s driving skills. That comes as a given any longer.  We decided to stop at an Asian Sushi and Steakhouse in Westlake for dinner. We figured it would be fun and memorable.

We get into the restaurant and we’re told that they are cleaning off a table for us and we can wait. Right after we come in, two big families come in with kids.

Some guy comes up and seats one of those families even though we’ve been waiting longer. You know, now I’m predisposed to disliking this people. The hostess returns and is distressed to find out that someone was taken before us…then proceeds to sit us at the hibachi grill with the very people who gleefully butted in front of us.

The tables are these huge double hibachis. One side is completely filled with a large party. Our side has the interloping family grandfather, grandmother, mother (who I thought was a guy) and two kids. Apparently the interlopers have already ordered stuff.  We make our orders and the waiter tells us that all the chefs are busy so it might be a bit.  In the meantime, the chef for the other side of the grill and the big party comes out and we watch their show.

As we’re watching, I notice the woman at the end of the big U-shaped group. She’s older. Her hair has been dyed blonde, but gray roots have ground out about three inches. Her hair is pulled back with a plastic hair band; so all the blonde is at the back and her face is surrounded by gray. She looks unhappy. She looks like she didn’t want to come to this party but she was obligated. She looks like she’s at the end of the group because no one wanted to deal with her.

She’s miserable. She tells the cook he didn’t give her enough fried rice. And then….wait, we need an aside.

When you go to a hibachi restaurant they usually give you some dipping sauces. Usually these are ginger and sauce known as Yum-Yum sauce.  This Yum-Yum sauce is basically mayonnaise, tomato paste, some garlic, a pinch of cayenne pepper, some butter, some sugar.  It sounds horrible when you spell it out, but it actually tastes pretty good. Just not THAT good.

This woman who I have dubbed “The Yum-Yum Troll” pours the dipping sauce over her fried rice. She steals the yum-yum sauce from the kid next to her.  She asks for more.  She eats rice dripping with yum-yum sauce like heavily applied salad dressing.  She sticks her tongue out to capture each drop before she shoves the fork into her mouth. She asks for more. The waiter brings her an entire container of it, just for her.  She pours more on. The rice is gone. She’s still eating yum-yum sauce. Sticking her tongue out before each bite. “It reminds me of a frog catching a fly,” says my companion. Only the fly is made of yum-yum. I wonder if she eats mayo out of the mayo jar without anything else. She looks angry as she licks her fork like some puffy lizard clutching a cane. She starts talking to the interlopers. “That’s my favorite sauce,” she tells them.

Yeah, no kidding.

Finally our chef gets to the table and we find out the interlopers want specialized hibachi. They have demanded: no butter, no oil, no shellfish, no egg, and no salt. Great, I’m at a steakhouse with a table full of vegan wheat germ-drinking naturalists. This explains why the mother looks like a guy. It’s that thin, pale, washed out, I don’t eat any meat or anything non-organic look.

The chef lights things on fire. “Welcome to Hell,” he says.  He clarifies all the specifications of the interlopers. And then he looks at us and says, “What about you?”

“Oh,” I say, “we’ll take everything you got.”

My companion whispers, “With extra butter.”

The chef shares an evil grin with us. We grin and smile at our shellfish, rejoice in our eggs, and we get extra butter. He joked with us. We were old chums now, sharing in the ridiculous of the interlopers and thankful that no one had asked for gluten free hibachi. He rolls his eyes when the Yum-Yum trolls tells him that he seems like a better cook than the one who made her meal because she wasn't happy with him and she was not given as much fried rice as the others.

Knock. Knock. Who’s there? It’s the yum yum troll. She walked by on her way out and eyed our yum yum sauce. It was uncomfortable. It made us feel all yucky and unwashed and vegan-y. But the food…it was Yum Yum. Our night in hell was an adventure. Trolls slain. Interlopers sent off with grandparents who stopped to tell us that they had no idea what their daughter had turned in to with all these demands she made for her food. 

Who's that clip clopping over my hibachi? It's the yum yum troll!  Beware!

Hey, kids, leave them birds alone! You're just another brick tied to the body

I’ve given up television!  The last frontier of my addictions.  I nearly have one week under my belt and I haven’t killed anyone yet.  I suppose this is a good thing, but let’s face it maybe if I just let loose a little the planet would probably be improved. Yes, that’s right, I said it. I’m the one who should be in charge of who lives and dies. This no television thing is fucking empowering, I tell ya.

Someone said to me the other day: “JoAnn, it’s so fascinating, you live such an interesting life. Something unusual happens to you every single day.”  One, it’s not that flipping great. Two, I think it really happens to everyone but I’m just noticing it because my perspective is…outside the norm.

First point of news. There is a hawk killing things in my backyard. I call him Hannibal. Because he kills other birds, eats them, and leaves the parts around for me to find each and every morning. My backyard is the avian version of the killing fields. With all the heads laying around, I could start a business of Godfather like intimidation for the budget conscious, leaving bird heads on door steps. Right now, I’m just throwing them away in the trash.  I keep expecting the FBI to show up after the garbage men tip them off about the body disposal….does this make me an accessory to the crime?

I think the neighbor kids are bigger accessories than I am. I just caught them throwing bread crumbs out, luring potential victims into the hunting grounds.  I called the kids Nazis. I told them they were luring all those pretty song birds into the showers. They ran inside crying. Hey Ezekial and Edith Schmeil, I hope your parents explain to you that life is hard; that’s why your dad works those long ours at the family’s kosher deli. No use crying, you were only following orders. Stop being so sensitive, but don’t be Nazis.

Second point of news, I’ve been letting my hair grow long. This seems to be perplexing to a great many people. I was in the salon the other day, just to get the ends trimmed and the hair “stylist”…I called her a “cutter” and she got offended…asked how long I was going to let it grow.  I told her, “Probably until mid-July when it’s 95 degrees and really humid.”  She said, “No, how long?”  She enunciated the word “long” as if I didn’t understand it.  So I replied.  “Until it gets hot.”  Speaking equally slow.  So, now I’ve got blonde streaks in my hair. I think is spells out something, but I can’t quite see it…

Third point of news.  I broke down and got another tattoo in October.  It’s a butterfly that looks like a watercolor painting. It’s really cool and it covers a scar I’ve had on my leg that I’ve had all my life. Not really what people expected of me, but people tend to think of other people in one dimension, or one mold. Most of us are round; except for those annoying skinny people who can eat as much as they want and never gain any weight.  These are the people I would eliminate first by the way.

 

 

Worked in the yard today. Put out the garden zombies and the wind chimes. Now I’m sitting here watching the neighbor kids pee on each other. This is not a game we played as children. We had kick the can and freeze tag and hide-n-seek, which I always thought was boring. It’s getting cold out, but these kids are out in shorts and tank tops. This is probably so their mother and her new boyfriend can make baby number 8.. I mean it’s been a year and a half since she’s added to the brood. The new boyfriend looks like an awesome catch. I mean he’s so cool he wears his baseball cap backwards with a straight visor…DEAR GOD MAN the proper way to wear a baseball cap is with the visor part bent. That’s the first thing you’re supposed to do when you get a new hat. Bend that rim.  WTF is wrong with you....okay, sorry, about that, my own little rant. The best thing about the new boyfriend is undoubtedly that he has no job so he can devote all his time to Mama Sponge who also has no job. This no job thing makes it easy for them to go “shopping” in the middle of the night.  Apparently that’s when all the sales are happening and how they got this new grill and two new lawn mowers.  Okay, these people first, then the skinny people…then the damn hawk….

Proven Medical Fact: Bicycles Cause Insanity.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a blog entry.  I’ll still get to the Thailand entries, but let me catch you up.

I still have this damn 5k goal.  It’s stupid probably.  My body was not for running made.  But my buddy MC gave me a good suggestion last winter before I left for Thailand.  Maybe I should try a bike.  It would ease the stress on my body, allow me to get my heart rate up and maintain it, and build strength.  Now, I have to admit, I don’t like to give credit to MC for the good advice he often gives me; but, it was good advice.  More better (ha! Cringe grammar Nazis, cringe!) is that I used to ride my bike everywhere.  

When I was 8 years old and visiting Holland where my mother is from, I went with her uncle and biked all over Holland on a bike that the uncle tied blocks to so I could reach the pedals.  When I was in junior high and living in Lima, I used to bike to school every day that I could.  I used to bike to a friend’s house who lived way out by the reservoir.  I remember it took about an hour and a half to get out there.  And back then I was young and fast.

MC was going to help me buy a bike when I got back from Thailand.  Well, we kept trying to get together but our schedules just never meshed.  But after talking to him and my other “biker” friends, I made a list of the things I should ask and look for on a bike.  In the meantime, I took out my old bike a couple of times.  But the bike is too small for my long legs and I wasn’t liking it much.  Still, I made the commitment and purchased a bike online from Dick’s Sporting Goods.

When the bike came, I found out the frame was too big.  Still, I recalled that old bike with the blocks on the pedals when I was 8 and I told myself I could make it work.  Sure that had been a woman’s bike without the bar and this was a men’s bike, but I’m older and wiser now…

Famous last words.

I got the bike home and like any excited new bike owner, I decided to take it for a spin around the block before the approaching rain got here.

I got on the bike easily enough.

I wobbled a little.

The wobble wouldn’t have been a problem, but it seems the handlebars hadn’t been tightened.

So I couldn’t correct said wobble.  I fell.

Hard.

On the concrete.

People in a passing car stopped to ask if they needed to call 9-1-1 while I sat there in the grass and watched the blood run down my leg.  I waved them on and told them to please just forget they’d ever been around.  I got up when I was sure my knee cap wasn’t broken.  The bike was mashed up in the front.  My entire leg was skinned up on one side and bruised on the other.

The next day I returned said bike to Dick’s.  I have to give them kudos, they did everything they were supposed to, to make things right.  They replaced the bike with one of a proper size, they made sure it was put together properly the second time.

I get on the bike.  I ride it around the neighborhood.

This is really nice.  I really like this.

Over the next couple of days, I take it out around the neighborhood again.  Getting comfortable with it.

Then I take it on the road, heading to the park near my house and back.  Each time, I’m going a little farther.

I have had the bike for one whole week when the weekend of hell hits me. 

It starts off innocent with the promise of fun—that’s how all evil things start, with the promise of fun…hell, that’s how my marriage started.  I’m going to meet my editor on the islands.  I decide to take my bike with me and after having lunch with her, I’m going to spend the day riding around and meeting up with some friends who are camping.  First, the close ferry is sold out.  I head 45 minutes across the bridge to Port Clinton to catch the other ferry.  I get it.  I get the bike on.

I am on the island!  Yay!  God, I’m so happy.  I love riding my bike.  Finally an athletic activity that I really really enjoy.  I get on the bike.  I ride.  It sounds funny.  I get off.  I look at it.

The back tire is flat.  Not just a little flat, but no air at all off the rim flat.

I walk the bike to the park.

I lock the bike up.

I meet my editor.

I drink.

I call my camping friend who is the kind of person who would have a bike pump while camping.  He comes to my rescue.  He and his wife teach me how to get the tire back on the rim.  But the tire isn’t holding any air.

I walk back to the ferry.

I drive back home.

One youtube video later, I have the tire off and the inner tube out.  

I go to Dick’s.  They don’t have the right size tube in stock.

I buy a patch.  The patch doesn’t work.

I have had it.  I have reached the end.  Screw it all.  Screw the universe.  I’m buying an Xbox and three dozen packs of Oreo cookies!

The people at Dick’s are really nice and patient.  The bike tech takes the bike and tries to put a patch on it as well.  They order a tube.  They’re going to pay for all this.  Then the manager has an epiphany.  They replace the tire with the good tire of the crashed bike.

I go home.  I think I'm happy.

Tomorrow I will ride.

Right after I mow the lawn.

While mowing the lawn, the stupid welfare brats across the street have apparently left a superball on the sidewalk.  Or maybe they planted it, the fucking bastards.  Afterall, I’m the neighbor who tells them my dog will eat them if they step one foot in my yard.  I’m the one who tells them no when they want to borrow things and suggests that their parents get a job so they can buy things without having to humiliate themselves with begging and stealing.

I, of course, don’t see the ball until after.  This is after all, the weekend from hell.

I roll my ankle.  I hear a pop.  I don’t really fall down.  I stand there for a second.

I can put weight on it.  So, it must not be broken.  I finish the lawn.

But the more I go, the more the ankle hurts.  I opt to go in and put some ice on the ankle before trimming.

Turns out I’m putting ice on it for a week and popping ibuprophen while it continues to swell.  When I walk, it crunches.  I’m wearing work boots to work because I can’t wear tennis shoes.  I certainly can’t ride my bike.  I fell when I had an ankle that could catch me.

Finally I go to the doctor and ask what to do.  Me and my really crappy health insurance prepare.

I get vicodin and xrays.

The xrays show that I did indeed break said ankle.

So, it’s off to the specialist.  Which is probably going to give me a nervous breakdown since I have to pay for this crap.  The irony that the kids across the street get medicaid which I pay for with my tax dollars but I can't pay for my own does not escape me.

And it’s on with a soft cast AND an air cast.  Robo-Jo.  My nephew says I look like a stormtrooper.

I have been ordered off the bike until the cast is off.

The universe wants fat girls to stay fat.  This is BS!  God, I’m so fricking bored.  I can’t drive for long distances because I have to ice the damn thing all the time.  I have to hire someone to mow my lawn.

This bike thing is getting rather expensive.

I have been reduced to watching bad television.  I can’t read on vicodin; I read the same page five times and I still don’t know what it says.  I can’t write on vicodin; it doesn’t make sense when I’m sober.  I can’t work in the yard.  I can’t work in the garden.  I can’t walk the dog or play with her.

And there’s this itch…this itch right by my heel.  Hidden and protected under a hard shell it’s festering and keeping me awake at night.  But at least I have this really cool helmet to wear while I bang my head against the wall.

Wat Pho We Having too Much Fun

***all photos copywrited by Nancy Hesse

It’s pretty cool to see something you’ve seen on TV and in movies and in books and never thought you’d see in person.  The Reclining Buddha statue in Bangkok was one of those things for me.

After the wonderful massage, I got to walk to the temple that held this statue.  Good thing I don’t carry my stress in my legs or I would have needed a wheel chair.

Anyway, here are the useless facts.  Wat Pho is named after a monastery in India where Buddha is believed to have lived.  Prior to the temple’s founding, the site was the center of education for traditional Thai medicine (ha!  This is where the sadists come to learn “massage”).  Statues were created showing yoga positions. Under King Rama III plaques inscribed with medical texts were placed around temple.  Adjacent to the building housing the Reclining Buddha is a small raised garden, the centerpiece being a bodhi tree which is propogated from the original tree in India where Buddha sat while awaiting enlightenment. Wat Pho is one of the largest and oldest wats in Bangkok with more than 1000 Buddha images as well as one of the largest Buddha images.  The Reclining Buddha is 160 feet long and one of the largest Buddha statues in the world.  The temple complex is also regarded as the first public university of Thailand teaching religion, science and literature through its murals and sculptures (Thanks Wikipedia!)

You take off your shoes at the entrance to the temple.  You put them in bags.  In most of the temples you take your shoes off and you go back and find them untouched and unmolested.  There you get a bag to carry them with you because you don’t come out in the same place you go in.  Still, I think in America, there’d be some idiot out there stealing shoes.  There is a sign that says “Beware of Pickpockets” though.  First time I saw anything that resembled that kind of warning.  Welcome to the tourist trap, folks.

You know you always have those friends who say you should avoid the normally touristy things and “immerse yourself in the culture.”  But you don’t go to Hawaii and avoid Pearl Harbor.  You don’t go to Yosemite and avoid “Old Faithful.”  And you don’t go to Thailand and avoid the Reclining Buddha. 

Clearly, I was not alone in this opinion.

It was crowded.

But it was worth it.

To say that the Buddha is immense does not do it justice.  The thing is awe inspiring.  The detail is fascinating.  The face of the Buddha is a soft smile as it depicts the calm passing of the Buddha as he tells his followers not to mourn his passing.  There is little talking amid the crowd.  There’s lots of photo snapping.

Nancy is in heaven, snapping away like a turtle on crack.  For the rest of our trip, I’m going to have to look at her photo of this Buddha’s face, positioned between two large roof supporting poles.  Nancy will say “I just love this picture, it’s so perfectly aligned.  I’m definitely going to get this one enlarged.”  She will say this approximately 5.3 million times over the next ten days.

The bottom of the Buddha’s feet tell the story of the Buddha and it’s depicted in mother of pearl.  No picture in the world can do justice to this.  Sorry.  It glows, it reflects a million colors.  It’s amazing.

As we finish taking pictures and gaping in awe, we meet Miki at the end of the building housing the Reclining Buddha and turn in our shoe bags.  We put our shoes back on.  As I do this, I note that my neck kind of hurts.  I wonder what I could have possibly done.

We drive from Wat Pho to a boat on the river.  It’s a big barge like boat that doesn’t move much.  It’s here that we get our traditional Thai food in buffet form.  Apparently this is where all the tour companies bring their charges.

Nancy and I get a seat and while our food is paid for, drinks are not.  Everywhere in Thailand you pay for drinks.  It’s hot.  They know where they have you.  Pay for the drink or drink your own sweat, you stinky foreigner.  Okay, they’re much nicer as a whole than I am—at least they were to my face.

I try a little bit of everything.  Different fruits, different sweets.  They offer Western food on this buffet.  But have I mentioned it’s hot?  So, not wanting spaghetti with marinara.

The highlight is what Miki recommends.  Thai noodle soup.  That’s what she’s having and that’s what all the Thai guides are having.  That’s what I’m having.

It’s a good soup, a broth with rice noodles and veggies.  You can add fish sauce and hot sauce to it however you like.  I like mine hot.  It’s also got mystery meat in it.  Don’t know what it is.  Could be chicken balls, fish balls, who knows.  I can’t get my soup through it to cut it in half and I’m not sucking in a ball in completely without first knowing where it’s been.

I order extra water too.  Hoarding water has become my primal occupation.

Nancy shows me her picture of the Reclining Buddha.  “I just love this picture,” she says.  “It’s so perfectly aligned.  I just love this picture.” 

I nod.

To be fair, it is a good picture and I am very grateful that Nancy was there to take all the photos to free me up to absorb all the details and sights and smells that I could.

Lunch smells like cloves and curry and spice.

The other tourists are pigging out on salad and spaghetti.  None of them are at the noodle soup bar, the guy serving up the broth – you pick the bowl with the noodles and veggies in it, then they add the steaming hot broth to cook them—is standing alone after he finishes serving the guides.

After lunch, I try the desserts.  This is the first place I discover khanom krok, the little sweet coconut pancakes that they serve all over Thailand on the streets and everywhere.  Holy crap, I hate coconut, but I frickin’ love these things.  They’re fried on the outside and creamy pudding stuff in the middle.  I even came home and looked up a recipe for them.  I’m going to make them soon!

Finished with lunch, Miki takes us to the other end of the boat and we step out onto a rickety rotting dock.  

“Time for boat trip,” she tells us.

Across the uneasy river, a narrow longboat starts up, billowing black smoke from its engine as the wiry, hard-looking captain pulls the lawnmower engine to a start.  The motor has a long pole at the other end, and a small propeller at the end.  He maneuvers his boat to the dock.

The top edge of the boat is about an inch wide and about a half foot below the edge of the dock.  There’s nothing to hold on to when jumping down into it except the canvas awning.

“You step down and then you sit down right away,” Miki advises.  “I’ll do it first so you can see.

Uh yeah….what I see is my impending drowning death in a sewage polluted river filled with toxic fish and bobbing discarded condoms and milk cartons.

 (to be continued in next blog.) 

Thai Massages: They're Dandy, I ain't Lying

It will feel good, they said.  It will be awesome, they said.  They are trained to find where you keep your stress and they will help work it out, they said.  It will get all that stiffness and kinks from the long airplane flight out of your body, they said.  Thai massages are world famous, they said.

According to our guide, Thai massage is one of the ancient gifts to the Thai people and the king provides schools and training to the Thai people so that they can perform this craft.

So, after a morning spent going through temples and the Grand Palace in Bangkok, I was heading off to get a Thai massage.  I should mention that it was my second day in Thailand, it was 90 degrees already and to go through the Bangkok temples and the palace one was required to dress in long pants and with sleeves. Back home it was 20 degrees and snowing.  I was not adjusted to the temperature yet and was sweating like a hairy biker during Bike Week.  And the pants I had were special moisture wicking pants that I’d bought specifically for the trip—unfortunately, I’d bought them six months earlier and they were too big.  They were designed to roll up into capris, but they rolled up into regular pants and the thighs of the pants had enough extra space that I could have put both legs in one side and still had extra room.  So I was kind of uncomfortable.

Driving through traffic from the Grand Palace through streets lined with buses that had hauled crowds and crowds of Chinese through the narrow streets of Bangkok—hey happy Chinese New Year, guess what, there are a LOT of Chinese people on the planet.  Anyway, our guide tells us that the drive is about 45 minutes, depending on traffic.

As we turn a corner, we encounter our first traffic hang-up.  There’s a guy who stopped in the middle of the street, dropped trou and was dropping a deuce right there on the median line of the street.  There was a street dog standing on the sidewalk staring with a “What the hell” look on his face.  The traffic just flows around him.  There’s no road rage in Bangkok despite the traffic.  The traffic flows around the pooper and keep going.

The guide doesn’t quite know how to react.  She’s amused and she clearly doesn’t want this to be the impression of her country to the foreigners in the back seat of the car—and she sees that I have seen what we just passed.  She laughs it off.  Miki is a great guide, full of energy, excited about her country and proud of it and excited to share it with people who want to know more.  “Well,” she says laughing, “I guess now you can say you’ve seen everything in Bangkok!”

I laugh with her and chug water while Nancy, blissfully unaware, snaps pictures of the palace through the car window, having missed the “squat and drop” completely.  I was blissfully unaware that this was an omen, a cosmic commentary on my near future.

Soon I see the signs for Wat Pho.  Wat Pho is the home of the famous reclining Buddha statue and it’s on my list of one of the things I really really want to see.  Like most of the wats in Thailand that we visited—there are thousands of wats and temples and places to worship everywhere you go and it would take a lifetime probably to visit them all—Wat Pho is more of a complex than a single building.  Each wat seems to have at least few buildings with shrines and Buddha statues, housing for the monks, and a school for the monks.

So we are dropped off and go through the line that says “foreigners.”  All Thai people get into the temples for free.  Seems kind of right to me, somehow actually.  If you want to take pictures and gawk at our religious icons, then pay us for it.  If you want to worship and drown yourself in your cultural and spiritual history, then by all means, come on in. 

Anyway, we walk in and our guide points out the restrooms.  So, yeah, we’ve been drinking lots of water all day and we’re about to get a massage.  Restrooms are in order.

I go in.  At first glance it’s not unlike the restrooms at roadside rest stops or national parks or campgrounds.  A line of metal doored stalls.  The concrete floors are wet.  The place smells vaguely of stale pee in the heat.  I go into an empty stall.  The seat is soaking wet.

There is no toilet paper.

There’s a sprayer on the wall.

What in the hell is that sprayer for?  Cleaning?  The restroom actually doesn’t look that dirty except for the smell.

Not only is there no toilet paper, there was never any toilet paper.

There’s no empty roll.

There’s no toilet paper dispenser niche or rack on the stall wall.

It’s a metal box with a wet floor, a wet toilet and a kitchen sprayer on the flipping wall in a holder.

I have to pee.

No moving between stalls.

I pee.

I do what guys do – the wiggle and shake.

I wash my hands.

I go outside to wait.

Nancy emerges a few moments later.

She looks at me as the guide starts to lead us to the place where we’ll get our massages.

“Did you notice there was no toilet paper?” she asks.

I nod.

“Thank goodness I had some Kleenex with me.”

I nod.

“Not just in my stall.  There was no toilet paper in ANY stall,” she says, seeming to want a response.

I nod again.

I’m not talking about this.  (call this foreshadowing for future blogs)

We go to a building.  It’s air conditioned.  It’s filled with beds and Thai massage therapists walking on top of Western tourists.  The “therapists” seem to be enjoying themselves.  Nancy is handed off to some cute little perky girl.  They hand me off to the only Thai person in the country who is taller than me.  The guy grins at me.  His eyes sparkle.  I want to believe he’s amused by the fear in my eyes, but in retrospect, I’m pretty sure he’s a sadist.

The room is long and narrow.  There are four double sized mattresses across the room, two on each side of a center aisle.  It’s shaded from the bright harsh light outside, that combined with the air conditioning might have been comforting if it weren’t for all the people lying on those beds being twisted into pretzels by Thai “professionals.”  I take off my shoes, I’m instructed to put all my stuff into a small box at the head of the mattress that has been designated as mine.

Nancy has the spot across the aisle.  There’s a woman on the mattress next to mine.  Her eyes are squeezed shut; her mouth is twisted in a grimace.

My first impression of this stranger:  wimp.  I’m judgmental like that sometimes.

Sadly, I’m in the land that karma calls home.

The first thing he does is stretch my hamstrings, by kneeling on them.  Oh, they’d cramp up if it weren’t for the unrelenting pressure.  Then the soles of my feet are gouged with knuckles.  My arms are stretched behind my back.  My knees are twisted until they touch the back of my head.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks.

I look over at Nancy.  Through the tears welling up in my eyes, I see her eyes are closed and there’s a blissful look on her face.  “I’m fine,” I say.

Oh and our guide wasn’t kidding about them being trained to find the stress spot.  A while back, I had a bulging disc in my neck.  It presses on a nerve and makes my right hand go numb.  Back then I went through 12 weeks of traction and therapy and drugs to get it right again.  Now, I have exercises to do when my hand starts to go numb.  And it was, the 24 hours on the plane did it.

But I didn’t need to do my exercises, because my wonderful massage therapist decided to apply traction with his hands—or he was trying to pop my head off like we used to pop off the flowers of dandelions when we were kids.  He had really strong hands.  With his knuckles on my shoulders and his thumbs on the base of my skull, he tried to decapitate me.

Ever have something hurt so bad that you really couldn’t make a sound?

Yeah.

It was like that.

He didn’t let up. 

Someone came by and said something to him in Thai.  He replied. 

I don’t speak Thai, but I’m pretty sure he said, “Momma had a baby and its head popped OFF!”

Finally it was over.

He walked away.

Someone handed me a mineral water.

The Thai drink a lot of mineral water.  Apparently this is allows them to lower the pressure on the toilet kitchen sprayer.  (more foreshadowing).

We walk out. 

Miki is waiting.  “How was it?” she asked.

Nancy speaks first.  “It was wonderful!  I feel so good now.”

“I think I’m bruised!”

Miki laughed.  “Did it hurt?”

“Yes!”

She nodded.  “They won’t let me back to get a Thai massage.  I scream.”

Long story short.  I had bruises.  My shoulders and the base of my skull was tender for three more days.  Every time I turned my head I was aware of the tender spots.

Okay, my bulging disc was back in place.

I think that guy was proud of himself for damaging a fat, aging foreigner.  He grinned too much.  Never trust a man who grins too much.  Never trust an Asian who’s taller than you and has hands that look like they might be able to hold a basketball without much effort.

And start screaming before you can’t make a sound.