WARNING: POLITICAL RANT TO FOLLOW

READ ON AND COMPLAIN IF YOU MUST

I have some strong political beliefs and rarely rant and rave on them. However, prepare.

I was surfing BE and found an entry on another blog announcing the testimony of some somewhat well known people who will be testifying on an extremely touchy situation. I wish I could give you some more information, but I scanned it quickly, got pissed, forfeited my half a credit and moved on before I even knew I was going to respond.

The issue they are going to speak about is "I Regret My Abortion." Get ready! Who the hell doesn't regret their abortion? I had one, and for whatever reason I or anyone else gets an abortion, who wouldn't regret it? Anti-choice rhetoric aside, what kind of bastard dare insinuate that any of us who were in that position don't have regrets.

I am definitely pro-choice. I am also aware that with proper education, access to adequate medical attention and information and a more balanced distribution of wealth the question of abortion rights would be less of an issue. Why aren't you spending your time on that, oh wise ones (?), instead of taking it upon yourselves to become such moralistic, judgmental voices?

You are a Radical. Right on!
What kind of Sixties Person are you?
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Wow, man, far out. As if I didn't already know. There are many stories from those days that I could tell...here is one. There used to be massive anti-war (Viet Nam, for those not old enough to remember) demonstrations going on at Griffith Park on a regular basis. Those with attitudes could be expected to be arrested. Guess what? Yep, I was arrested.

In those days we didn't carry ID for good reason. So, when arrested, fake names were given since we were bound to be released rather quickly because the jails were not set up to handle a lot of long haired hippie freaks. On two occassions, one day right after the other, I was busted. The first day my name was Holly Focker. Said without blinking, this went right past the overworked booking officer as she printed me and pushed me into another line to be taken to a holding cell. The next day, the same booking officer booked me as Olivia D. Puck. Ahh, the idiocy of childhood and ideals. The second day, however, they weren't as friendly.

Apparenty, the cells weren't as crowded and I found myself being hustled off to a cell in Sybil Brand. That was the name of the women's jail. I started getting just a little nervous. I mean, if they were going to hold me to be bailed out, none of my friends knew just what kooky name I had given them. So, I started arguing. Or, rather, yelling and cussin'. This led one of the big, burly female guards to threaten me. Or, so she thought. I believe her exact words were, "Calm down, little missy, or we'll throw you in the Daddy tank." Daddy Tank? Well, it took me all of two seconds to figure that one out and I responded by trying to swing on her.

True to her word, into the "Daddy Tank" I went. For those of you who don't know what the Daddy Tank is, it is where they separated the "Lesbians" from the rest of the population so there would be no "problems." I was nineteen and looked about fifteen and these women were no threat to me. So, there I was, finding true love, getting free cigarettes and being treated like the Princess I was to become. This was well before the days that people recognized that "Lesbians" or bi-sexuals could look like anything other than a white t-shirt-wearing-women-with-Marlboros-under-the-sleeve dyke. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...tee hee)

I was out within two days and had absolutely no problems with the women in the "Daddy Tank." I still chuckle today when I think about it. The biggest concern I ever have had was if I was to get hit by a car with no id on me, how would they know who I really was? Olivia, Holly or ??????

BLOGGING IS TURNING ME INTO A CALLOUS, INSENSITIVE MONSTER

We've had some pretty crappy weather up here in MN lately. Between sub-zero temps, ice storms and 14 inches of snow it has been just delightful. And, delightful to drive in. In the Great Northwoods it is common to see dead animals at the side of the road all year round. What happens in the winter is that there are dead, frozen animals at the side of the road.

Here is where the monster rears her ugly head. This morning as I was driving to work, I turned left onto one of the many country roads that I take into town. I check to make sure that there are no animals waiting at the side of the road to jump out and use me as a manner of suicide. And, I'm a little confused. There's something weird sticking out of the snowbank about a half a block ahead. I slow down, take a look, take another look, and the first thing that pops into my head is, "Damn, I wish I had my camera...nobody is going to believe this and I could post it on my blog."

What was it? It was a dead dog that had been hit by a car and then scooped by the plow to the side of the road. What made it interesting...or bizarre...was the fact that it's back legs were in the snowbank and it was facing the road with its paws up and looked like one of those statues that people used to tie their horses up to...you know the ones.

Holy shit. Here was a dead dog at the side of the road and all I could do was think about how I could exploit it. All day long I worried about whether or not it was some kid's dog...and then I'd switch to...I wonder if it will still be there when I head home, maybe I could get my camera and come back. Back and forth it went, "Gosh, I hope someone moves it before the owner sees it," to "Please let it still be there when I go home."

I feel bad, but, I justified by the fact that one year I kept a running total in the car of the kinds of carcasses along the road. Yeah, it's an exciting life, I know. But, the bottom line is, it was amazing. I wished you could have seen it. (Yes, I own a dog, yes, I would feel terrible if it were my dog, and yes, I would have taken a picture of it if it had been my dog. I'm just sick that way and besides, the dog knows just how weird I am.)

ON THE BREAKUP AND OTHER THINGS

Oh, the sorrow and sadness. Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston have separated. My life will never be the same. They are committed to remaining friends and have nothing but the utter respect for each other. Give me a fuckin' break. Every relationship that I have had ended badly. If we had been friends and had nothing but the utter respect for each other, we would still be together. Admittedly, I wasn't the best "picker" when it came to having relationships, but, when they were done, they were done. But, I digress from what the real point of this post is to be.

I hate "Pretty Men." Look at those faces up there. Brad Pitt, Ricky Nelson and Troy Donahue, for those of you not old enough to remember. What is the problem with them? They are prettier than most of the women on the face of the planet. It creeps me out. I want a man to look like a man. Give me some character, give me some scars, stubble, and uncombed hair over those guys up there who look like they took someone's estrogen. If I want a woman, I'll go get me one...but when I want a man, I want a real man! Capice?

You have all put away your New Year's memories by now and are well into your ordinary, mundane lives. I, however, have been cherishing my memory of New Year's and am now willing to share it with you.

I thought it was going to be a typical evening for me. Some tv, a dvd, maybe some brownies and my beverage of choice, Diet Coke. Yes, those evenings of true debauchery are behind me. No more stripping at midnight, no more awakening with the knowledge that I had some disease with the symptoms of acute brain explosion, acute stomach explosion or acute memory explosion. I had settled in with my memories and was working hard to forget them.

Then, the next thing I know, there I am, there Queen Latifah is and row upon row of bright shining faces. Yep, the Queen and I had a project. We were going to teach these children...Unity Songs. (Aging Hippie Reference) I kept remarking how I couldn't believe we were doing this, we were the same size (I wish), and what a good thing we were doing for these children. Teaching them about "unity" and all.

Unfortunately, when I woke up I was unable to remember one of the "unity" songs that we had taught them. The only thing that went through my mind was the old Coke commercial. "I'd like to teach the world to sing..." But, how many of you spent your evening doing something as worthwhile with whichever star you were dreaming about?

This is becoming a habit with me. A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed I was having bbq with Tom Waits and we were singing in a campground. To be honest, my voice makes Tom sound great!

I think the sixties had quite a profound affect on me and I am just now beginning to pay the price.

I GOT AN AWARD! I GOT AN AWARD!

NANNER NANNER NOO NOO!!!

Yes, folks, step right up and eat your hearts out. I got an award. Well, actually, I took an award. And YOU can, too.

There are those BoB Awards floating around out there and if you were so mundane as to have been overlooked in a finalist category, or, not even nominated, Kirk can fix you up. He even created two templates for you, depending upon the background color of your blog.

How the tiny have risen! Before long, we'll all have awards and can glory in our new found fame! If only money would follow.

So, don't waste time. Head over there and pick up your award and you, too, can say:

"YOU LOVE ME, YOU REALLY, REALLY LOVE ME!"

By the way, my award came to me in the category:

MOST INANE RAMBLINGS OF A FIFTY SOMETHING BITCH FROM MINNESOTA

That's the nice thing about this award. You can name your own category. Now get over there and get one for your wonderful self!

I see you all are scratching your head and wondering, "What is this woman up to now?" This is a collage of my future life. Okay, maybe not my whole future life depending upon how successful I become at the goals I am setting for myself. Not resolutions, mind you. Goals. Theoretically, goals are more easily attainable than fulfilling resolutions. We'll see. I am going to make a journey and you will probably have to accompany me on some of it.

The picture on the left is good food. Good for a number of reasons. I usually don't have to cook it. It tastes good and the number one reason...I LOVE 'EM! So, to show that I am a person of great willpower, I will limit, if not eliminate, these foods. (Except for the cheese. I love my cheese. Here is the first bargain...if I get rid of cake, ice cream, and chocolate, can I please keep my cheese? Done!)

The person on the treadmill. Ah, yes. The treadmill. The piece of equipment taking up room in my office that I figure I have contributed a total of two and one half hours of my life out of the past year and a half that I have had it. Please, if I could put it under my bed, I would. Nope, this is the year I am going to use it for something other than hanging the ironing on. I figure five miles a day for the first month. And work my way up. Hell, it even makes a hill for me to run up. Run. My theory has always been, "Why would you run if no one was chasing you?" So, walking, uphill, exercise, daily. Got it. I'll start tomorrow.

Books. Ahhh, books. This is a simple one. Or not. I promise to read more books than I buy this year. This is for a couple of reasons. The first is: I love to read and need to prioritize it into my life. Perhaps if I say I have to read two books for every one I buy, no, make that three books for every one I buy, I will be able to save a bit more money. The second reason: I will most likely save my life as the piles of books diminish, I will not have to fear being killed by a falling tower of the world's best literature.

Now, what have you got to lose? How about an ass wide enough to carry a tray of drinks on. How about the belly that makes your grandson mention that his invention for his school project will be to help people who can't bend over, put on their socks. "Like you, granny." Listen, kid, I love you dearly, but you are getting close to the edge. Do you remember that teacher you had in the third grade that had those flappy things under her upper arm? Welcome to my nightmare. I had lost weight last year and then suffered a kidney infection, a couple of kidney stones, and discovered that Lortabs go down much easier with Peanut M&Ms. I don't want to be a skinny old lady, but, I'd like to weigh less than most football players who are getting paid professional salaries. I wouldn't mind hitting running back weight, but that is a dream!

And then the picture of the woman with that thing in her hand. What is it again? A spoon? A pogo stick? Oh, that's right, it's a broom. I will develop a more healthy relationship with the utensils of cleaning. I found that by listing what was in my bed on Tuesday nights embarrassed me to the point of keeping it open of food, more than two books, newspapers, telephones, ad
nauseum. If I don't get to work cleaning my bedroom, I will start to post pictures which will thoroughly depress you as much as me.

So, there you have it. My goals for the year. I will re-open this in a few months and cry over my failures and grin over my successes.

Did you think I had forgotten about all of you. No, I have a goal for you, too.