Twisted Spinster

Just heard now from a couple walking their dogs past my apartment: “Come on, Gigi! Turbo, come on!”

I didn’t have to look at the dogs to know what sort they are.

“For us, there’s a zero-tolerance policy of adding or subtracting actual content from an image,” said Santiago Lyon, AP’s director of photography.

Aaahhhhahahahahahahahahahahah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hahahahah!

(Gasps. Wipes eyes.)

Ah hahahahahahaha! Hahahahaahah!

I need a laugh at times like these.

If I were in this establishment and this fellow walked by I would be so tempted to yell “faggot!” just to make him cry. This being a Canuckistan uni, though, it won’t happen. Nor will any of the conversations this fellow and his compadres barge into for one of their state-mandated “teachable moments” result in anyone saying “Go fuck yourself.”

Do they not use the term “busybody” in Canada? Remember, this is the nearest country that Our Betters, who have just voted themselves into office, look to for examples of how to behave properly.

(Via.)

I don’t usually dream — at least nothing I can remember. But when I do, the dreams are invariably weird. Not so much for their content as for the complete conviction, while I am dreaming, that this is real — it’s actually happening — but not only that, I am equally aware (while I am dreaming) that I have a waking life, and that that waking life is false. Also, my dreams are usually just fragments, as if I suddenly broke into my “real” life in mid-happening, I’m me, but I usually don’t remember any specifics of who I am in my dream when I wake up. (I’m just “me” — I just don’t know who “me” is. It could be me, as I am really, or “me” as I am “really.” Confused enough?)

Anyway, in my dream last night this time I am suddenly looking up into the night sky because a very bright, lightning-like formation has broken across it. But the formation isn’t so fast that I can’t tell that it’s not lightning — it’s something else, a gigantic structure of some sort. I’m standing outside somewhere near a swampy area that is also near buildings — something like the neighborhood near where I used to live in in Miami, out in the west part where Tamiami Trail continued on past Sweetwater and a cement factory and on into the undeveloped land next to the Everglades, from about SW 112 Avenue to Krome Avenue. (That area has since been built up, I believe.) At the time there was an apartment or condo complex and a housing development on 112 Avenue, and then the homes petered out into flat lands that were mostly lots full of nothing but grass and stands of melaleuca and Australian pines.

Anyway, the landscape in my dream was sort of like that. I was standing outside one of the condos, staring up at the structure, which was oblong in shape, and could only be seen when something like lightning ran across it in a kind of zigzag. My first thought was “that’s an alien space ship, and it’s going to crash. That light is either something hitting it, or it’s own sort of distress lights.” I am vaguely aware of some people around me, the people of the community, all as shocked and worried as I am. And stranger still, we all know what the ship is, who it belonged to — there’s some sort of recent history involving aliens which had been the main worry in recent times leading up to this, and these events were somehow expected.

Anyway, the structure slid across the sky as a barely-perceptable shadow, and then the lights ran across it again, and we realized it was closer to the earth and also farther to the west. I had the perception that is was going to land in the sea on the other side of the land, and that the sea was far away like the Gulf, but not so far away that this was not going to be a disaster for all of us standing there. I started to turn away, realizing that it surely was going to crash any minute. An interval of time passed — not very long — as I made my way back through the crowd, which was just starting to panic. I was thinking of my cats. I didn’t think I could take my cats with me as I fled — I remember clearly thinking that the electromagnetic pulse would surely knock out all the electricity for miles around, which meant my car wouldn’t work, which meant that even if I did manage to drive some ways before the pulse reached us, meant I would end up having to walk, and my cats were indoor cats — they couldn’t walk with me and I had nothing to carry them with. I was thinking of just leaving the cat food bag open, and filling all my bowls with water, and trying not to realize that the cats would probably end up dying anyway, from the force of the blast if nothing else. And in fact, I doubted I would survive.

Then there was a low but heart-stopping “boom” and I turned involuntarily to see that the entire sky had gone pearl white. Then I saw the vast, grey-white (I remember the two different shades of white very distinctly) cloud of the blast, rather oval shaped instead of round, coming towards us from the west.

Then I woke up.

It’s not easy losing weight when you’re broke — those boxes of mac-‘n’-cheese are so much cheaper than fresh fish and vegetables — but I’m going to try. I’ve already started eating more fresh fruit, which fortunately I love, and my next step is to cut back on the pasta and bread and eat more lean meat and veggies. I notice that when I eat better I feel better — really, it’s true! — and also those cravings for sweet desserts go down. I think that a high carb intake (like, pasta and rice every night) makes you crave more carbs, so you find yourself stopping at the Little Debbie shelf. Or at least, that’s how it works for me.

I tried to up my protein intake with eggs, since they are cheap, but either the eggs have gotten bad lately or my tolerance for them has dropped. After the last upset stomach I tossed the rest of the eggs in the garbage. I do real well with fish, and there are brands of frozen filets that aren’t too expensive. Protein for breakfast is more difficult — I really can’t eat much right when I wake up, all I can do is drink my coffee. I’ve started eating fruit and this breakfast bread Publix sells which has dried fruit and nuts in it. That might be a little fattening but it lasts me a long time so I don’t really get hungry until much later. I also have oatmeal (I prefer the Irish or Scottish style) but it’s such a lot of trouble for me to make in the morning I don’t have it every day. Really it’s the best I can do to turn the coffee pot on when I get up.

The main thing I need to lose is this gut of mine. I am really beginning to feel it as an actual weight.  I don’t know if I’ll ever have the flat stomach I had when I was younger, but I can at least get rid of some of the belly fat, I hope. I won’t even worry about my massive thighs — that fat is supposed to be even harder to get rid of than stomach fat, I think. Anyway, despite the fact that I used to be skinny elsewhere I always had substantial thighs. I am, or was, rather gourd-shaped. (Now I am starting to even out, but in a way I don’t want to.) I haven’t gone up a pants size yet, and I don’t plan to, believe me. And now that the weather is nicer I can go for walks.

I finally dyed my hair — I just don’t look good with my natural gray, just old. I guess I’m getting vainer as I get older and less attractive (not that I was ever a bombshell, I just used to be contemptuous towards the very idea of caring about my looks). It also occurred to me that it would be easier to get a job if I didn’t look so old and clapped out. The other day I looked at my reflection in the mirror and it said “one step from lady pushing shopping cart down the highway and muttering to herself.” Not exactly what employers are looking for. I might also get a haircut, though it’s not at the uncontrollable stage — yet.

Anyway, that’s my shallow me-post for the day.

Here’s a long web forum entry my fellow election-day losers may want to read (and the winners too, but they’ll never give up their dream of being led by the Holy One to the Big Rock Candy Mountain) on what to do in case things go haywire and a rich country with abundant natural resources and a civilized population becomes a crisis-ridden dump. I know, I know, this is America, we’re impregnable and impenetrable and invincible and in any case nothing bad ever happens to me. But it’s interesting anyway. It was written by someone who actually lived through a SHTF situation, as he calls it, in Argentina. Those of you who are about to burst into mocking laughter might want to scroll down his site some to where he points out that once Argentina was known as the “the world’s granary.”

I’ve been through a bit of a rehearsal of his situation myself. After Hurricane Andrew basically decimated Miami my neighborhood was out of power for three weeks. I had to stay with friends whose power came back on after about four days (just when we were about to kill each other too —  yes, life in a city with no electricity will turn nice, normal people into psychos, and we were already somewhat psychotic to begin with). I went back to my place exactly once while the power was out, mostly to finish cleaning what little rotten food I had left out of the fridge, and to take a cold shower because I didn’t want to use up my friend’s hot water (power was still rather uncertain for quite some time after). There was widespread looting, and everyone who had a gun set up a guard in their own home. The National Guard was flown in, but it took a while for everything to calm down, and the place was upended for years after. One of the people I worked with lost the home he had almost finished selling and the home he had just signed the papers for (both were in Coral Gables By the Sea, a ritzy neighborhood in south Dade county next to the ocean, which was virtually destroyed) and he and his son and pregnant wife had to live in a hotel for two years. Graft and corruption was rampant in the aftermath as well. Not only was much of the destruction due to the fact that the building codes were outdated and building inspectors were often careless and/or corrupt, resulting in crappy construction (roofs not properly attached to houses, sub-par materials being used), but every thief it seemed in the world got the idea that they could clean up by pretending to be roof repair people etc., and tons of homeowners woke up to find that the “contractor” they had paid thousands of dollars to had disappeared with the money without any of the work being done.

And so on and so forth. Anyway, I do know a little bit about living in near-Third-World conditions. You can’t ever take good fortune for granted.

(Via Sondra K.)

(Blows dust off keyboard.) Well, that was a longer hiatus than I meant to take. Don’t know what happened there.

Anyway, yesterday when I was out and about, it was hot and humid as if it were still September. But it was also very windy. This morning when I stumbled out of bed and went to wash my hands I noticed that the water was freezing cold — this is usually a sign that the temperature has dropped considerably. And according to the weather report it’s currently 55 degrees, and the high is supposed to be around 63. So naturally I have my sliding glass door open and have already had to rescue two sluggish lizards from my cat. (One lizard did not want to let go of my fingers when I tried to set it down outside. “Nooo! Your hand is so nice and warm!”)

Anyway, it’s such nice weather I don’t know what to do with myself. I really should clean this place up, and sort out all the stuff I want to get rid of before my move in a few months. But who feels like working? I could work on the novel I said I was going to write… Hahahah!

I watered and fertilized my pot of edible goodies today. The one tomato is now as big as the end of my thumb, and there are more blossoms. I will have tomatoes for Christmas! Or maybe even earlier.

I wonder if I should set up a store and sell my stuff that way. My hosting company has web store software — I might set up a site and give it a try. I’d sell through Amazon or something like that but they make you pay to use their site. Ebay is the same — also I can’t remember my Ebay password. I have books, furniture, clothing (not much of that is sellable, though). But I need to do something. Money is scarce around my house and now that we have a Carin’, Sharin’ Messiah in charge of the country I don’t see my monetary situation improving. I’m currently on unemployment again, but that will be for only a couple more months or so and then it will run out. And it’s not much — just pays for the bare minimum. I’m probably going to get rid of cable tv and just keep the internet part, no more eating out (not that I will really mind — the last couple of times I ate out somewhere my bowels made me pay), and so on. I need to find a job, but this job market down here continues to suck — I’m still getting nothing but come-ons for sales positions. I guess I need to rewrite my resume to downplay the “customer service” aspects and up the office clerk duties. Also I need to write a snazzy cover letter and I haven’t actually felt inspired about myself. And all this is just so temp agencies will notice me, for God’s sakes. I don’t want to get into anything too permanent as I am moving. I could lie and accept a permanent position and then quit, but I’d feel dishonest. At least the unemployment pays more than part-time positions. Salaries aren’t worth shit in Florida.

The best presidency money can buy!

Agh. Still down with sinuses. They’re a little better today, but not perfect. I’m out of decongestant too. I may emerge from my cocoon and go to Walgreen’s for the hard stuff (you know, the kind that works, that you have to give your ID and all sorts of info to buy) later.

In other news, I think I may have my first tomato developing on my huge vines. So far I have a lot of buds, but only one developed a flower, which is now withered and that’s where I saw the little green round thing that just might be a baby tomato. I can’t wait — I bought some tomatoes at the store the other day and they tasted like cardboard.

A national holiday? Are you fucking kidding me?

In totally unrelated news, just a few minutes ago I heard through the front door of my tiny studio as my next-door neighbor got a midnight visit from the repo man coming to get their truck. Now how will they get to McDonald’s for their Obama cake?

(Via Protein Wisdom.)