» The Police

Redneck military sherrifs
You can tell when there's not enough crime in an area if a cop has to harass you for walking down the street. It was 1988 and I was 22. It was the safest and most boring new subdivision near Visalia California and it was only about 10:00 pm. I was walking and listening to my headphones when these lights come out of nowhere and shine on me from close behind. I turn around and all I hear is this voice saying "Are you ok?" I wanted to say, "No, I'm being strangled by these metal aliens on my head who are trying to take my brain out." Not seeing the siren due to the blinding lights from law enforcment heaven(or hell, take your pick), or the owner of the Voice, I start walking faster. The car follows, asking the same annoying question, so by this time I think it's some creep harassing me. Now I start running and the car follows. No siren, nothing. I run around the block to where there's a convenience store and try to duck down behind a counter to no avail. The car stops, I run out the back door and am stopped just two blocks from my aunt's house. Enter Barney Fife on crack, yelling at the top of his lungs. "How was I supposed to know you were a cop?" I protest, which falls on deaf ears. More yelling, cursing, threatening. I get shoved into the cop car and told he almost shot me in the leg. Then he had the audacity to tell me, "maybe you should come down to the station with me, to see there's nothing to be afraid of." Can we say IDIOT? I could have walked the two blocks to my aunt's house, but he wanted to show me who was boss. He even walked me up to the door and embarassed me in front of my aunt and uncle like I was a runaway. At least I got to keep my leg. A simple walk turned into a flippin' fiasco. All that was missing was the theme from NYPD Blue. Assholes.
(Fri 23rd Sep 2005, 21:49, More)

» Strict Parents

The good ol days weren't always good...
I had no problems with my real parents except for them trying to make me eat brussels sprouts, asparagus and cauliflower in my pre-school days(I hate that crap to this day...the first two taste like barf and the last smells like baby shit).

Enter the stepmother at the tender age of 10 and over the next two years all hell breaks loose. First, it was my hair. I wasn't allowed to have it long because she thought I didn't brush it well enough. Puberty was a death sentence because all of a sudden I was the Scarlet Woman not allowed to wear makeup, tight clothes or go out with boys she didn't approve of...which usually meant anybody who wasn't the nice, boring guy next door, Beaver Cleaver types. Bed curfew till my mid teens was 8 pm on weekdays, 9 pm on weekends. She'd kick me under the table for even slightly clanging my teeth against my fork or spoon when I was eating. She'd forbid me to wear modern trendy hairstyles and try to do up my hair the way it was popular in the 60s, in her generation. This was in the 80s. No feathered hair or long sweeping waves for me. It was either macaroni rolls or a bouffant. Mind you, this wasn't an every day humiliation, but way too often for me to establish a reputation of coolness. Every time she'd finish came the warning, "don't touch that hair or I'll blister your butt!" Typical redneck woman trying to fit into our middle income, well educated family. Why my dad picked her I don't know. Funny how we actually get along now. In grade school, I'd be forced to spend days or a week with her slovenly redneck relatives with their fatass brats in small podunk towns , and then get my radio privilges taken away because I was uncommunicative and withdrawn while I was there. Well, I never asked to go there I was forced, so what did they expect? It was like going to visit the Beverly Hillbillies, which I was sure was some of their relatives. Ignorant, dirty arses, all of them. Same thing for Girl Scout camp between the ages of 10 and 12. I wasn't an outdoor girl till my late teens and I'd have to spend two weeks of torture being thrown in glacier cold lakes, forced days long hikes into the boonies with girls that hung my underwear on trees, and apathetic counselors who were only nice to their "favorites". Of course I love all that camping stuff now, but as a kid it was hell. Thank God we didn't have cell phones back then or my stepmom would have been constantly calling me whenever I left the house, and grill me when I got home if I didn't answer. Every time any of the three kids(usually me) did something she didn't like, we got swatted by a big board that always sat on the fridge. This thing was shiny with the sweat from our behinds, it was used so much. I once got spanked repeatedly(bent over grabbing my ankles for some reason, like that's supposed to hurt more...I think my stepmom was just a sadistic pervert) when she went into my room and saw a scrapbook I'd made with pictures of outfits I wanted to wear. This was a punishable crime to her, because the dresses and outfits were all sexy, stuff I wasn't allowed to wear under any circumstances except when snuck tube tops and tight jeans into school to change in secret. Oh yeah, and they didn't like my music because it wasn't country or easy listening, which was all they listened to. My life was threatened on almost a daily basis. I had no privacy and had to get creative to get it. I never smoked, drank or did drugs or got pregnant yet she still thought I was the devil's daughter because of my "wordly" music, spending too much time alone in my room and sneaking away from the house. My dad was mostly easygoing and only disiplined me when it was called for, in other words, when it made sense. When I actually did something WRONG. Even then, he never hit me like stepmom did. He really pissed me off sometimes, because he only stood up to her sporadically. I moved out when I was 16 and went to live with one of my brothers. Wish I'd done it sooner...
(Sat 10th Mar 2007, 19:06, More)

» Evidence that you're getting old

I don't lie, I deny
I have decided not to grow old gracefully. I will go in kicking and screaming, with my recent navel piercing glinting brightly.

I do not want to admit I am only a year and 3 months away from being 40. Hell no, I won't go! But nature is already winning the heated battle. How do I know?

1. I sound like a woman in labor lifting reams of pizza boxes above my head to the shelf.

2. My fingers swell during sleep and will not bend until I walk around for awhile.

3. Despite the purchase of dozens of bottles of advanced moisterizers, the battle lines drawn upon my face during my 30s are now turning into trenches.

4. I've got old lady hands. My skin is thinning and the veins and tendons are popping out. And they always look dry, regardless of how much lotion I apply.

5. I listen to the Classic Rock station that was once the mainstream pop station.

6. I no longer feel the urge to white water raft or travel too far from home.

7. No matter how closely I follow the fashion trends of hair, clothes and makeup, any guy below the age of 30 somehow knows, even in near darkness of the hip nightclubs, that I'm not 25 anymore. They must have middle aged woman radar.

8. I like taking long walks...alone.

9. I mutter to myself, even in public

10. My cat is my best friend

11. I yawn in the middle of telling someone off, then promptly forget what I was mad about and zone out.

12. I need at least 8 to 9 hours of sleep.

13. Birds, small animals and kids love me.

14. I catch myself saying big words like "exasperate"

15. Last but not least, I forgot what I was just talking about;)
(Wed 3rd Nov 2004, 4:07, More)

» Jobsworths

To Mr. Salt Lake
One word: MORMONS. What else can I say? My condolences. And I hope the beer was worth it;)
(Fri 13th May 2005, 15:41, More)

» Walkman Flashbacks

TURN UP THE RADIO!!
(composes self) by Autograph. Reminds me of my trampoline jumping days in the late 1980s in my early 20s, when I used to wear a walkman on my head in the backyard and jump on the trampoline for hours in moonboots...and nothing else;)
(Thu 24th Mar 2005, 17:33, More)