tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-371416922024-03-13T15:35:30.390-07:00Wading In the Shallow EndPeople are different in the Shallow End of the Gene Pool...and the difference isn't always pretty.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-66423444944535990132009-06-07T13:13:00.000-07:002010-04-26T16:49:00.734-07:00I don't understand people, not at all. There was a time when I thought I had them pretty well figured out. But I was mistaken. <br /> Case in point: The property next to mine has a structure on it that actually is a mobile home with two rooms added on and a porch. It's a common thing to do here in the forest Primordial. Generally when a couple gets married they place a mobile home somewhere on either his or her parent's property. Then when children come along, they just add rooms. Anyway.<br /> The homeowners went through tons of time and expense to put vinyl siding around what was essentially a 30 year old mobile home. They also purchased a little cottage and to remodel, thinking they were going to flip it for a huge profit. (Keep in mind that our county is the most impoverished in the state.) They got a finance company to loan them 50k based on an inflated appraisal of the mobile home. Then the little Mrs. decides that the grass must SURELY be greener in the land of cotton, so they moved kit and caboodle to South Carolina. And said mobile home remained vacant for some 9 nine years.<br /> In the mean time, teenagers began to use the mobile home as a party den. They moved in candles, blankies and other comforts, they also broke out every window that faced the north, punched holes in the walls and just generally made a mess of things.<br />And the weeds grew up and the whole place began to look like the "Adamms' Family" house, if the Adamms family had been rednecks.<br /> So...in April 2009 the Little Mrs. next door returns. And Lo! she has exchanged her old model hubby for a new improved hubby. Old hubby was 23 years older than the little Mrs. sort of a 'Daddy issues' model. New hubby (Spouse.09) is her age but falls more into the category of "I never really lived my adolescent "Love me some Bad Boys" phase...so I am doing it now".<br /> Eggs--cept at 47 "Bad Boy" equals "Loser" unless you are a celebrity. And he's not. Jail house tats over a beer belly are so not where it is at. And both of these men are whipped to the nth degree because the little Mrs. is able to control them with the amazing 54 G Boobapaloozas. Seriously, she just points them at men and renders them speechless, their minds become the consistency of oatmeal.<br /> How else do you explain "Daddy issues" hubby allowing her to drag him through bankruptcy not once but twice? <br /> And "Spouse.09"? Well he is living in a house with no windows, no running water and no working toilet. On an unemployment check. <br /> You know what I think? I think I need to get me some breast implants.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-46943955360948828182009-05-03T08:57:00.001-07:002010-04-28T07:51:58.757-07:00Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf? Not I. But I am a little worried about the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">little</span> innocuous pig. Or maybe that should be the big pig. As in swine flu. I mean, I read "The Stand". I know what a pandemic can do...I also have read the history books. That, added to the fact that medically I fall into the high risk category tends to make me cautious of people who cough in public Not to mention the walking wounded who drag themselves around the grocery store and to work, certain that they are so mission essential that they workplace would collapse without them.<br />The problem is that all of these cases of swine flu are being diagnosed after the fact. The incubation period has long since passed. Those little snouted microbes were growing and spreading in the weeks before the CDC started telling us to beware of the dreaded flu and the pandemic it could herald.<br />Then came the stories of people who thought they were safe because they have little or no contact with actual pigs. Helllooo??? Syphillis comes from sheep....and you can get it even if you weren't on Brokeback Mountain recently. So to avoid confusion, the CDC decided that we should start calling it H1N1, not swine flu. Even worse in my opinion because now it sounds like one of those mutated super bugs that they grow in secret government labs for germ warfare.<br />H1N1 or swine flu...it's out there. Please keep your pigs at home if they are coughing.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-24129335287483020382009-04-25T08:58:00.000-07:002009-04-25T09:13:54.110-07:00It's a glorious day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the neighbors are out in force. Why is it that the people in this neighborhood think that the way to dispose of trash is to burn it? Not only does the smoke fill my house and make me cough (even if I close the windows!) ...the stench is awful. Burning leaves is bad enough but I suspect they are also burning old Little Tykes toys...and those thing are made of some durable and probably carcinogenic plastic!<br /> Gertrude and I have a tray full of plants that need to go into the ground. The sooner the better. But I am not going out while Mrs. Always in Her Nightie is outside in her nightie. Seriously...Do you think that Mr.No Shirt Plumber's Crack is that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ummm</span>...insatiable?<br /> Maybe I could email her an anonymous link to <a href="http://www.muumuuheaven.com/main/home/index.php"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">MuuMuu Heaven?</span></a> Although I can tell you from experience some of those dresses are absolutely gorgeous. Island Formal wear rocks! It isn't all about shapeless sacs. Just go look--and wearing one makes you feel like you are ready for the islands.<br /> Or I could send old videos of "Three's Company"--she might enjoy channeling <a href="http://www.sitcomsonline.com/photopost/showphoto.php/photo/23123/sort/2/cat/929">Mrs. Roper</a>. Those technicolor caftans would be a huge improvement.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-87787921387515118672009-04-18T12:25:00.000-07:002009-04-18T12:56:49.763-07:00I sat on my porch with a cup of tea and listened to the birds this morning and the air was full of the fragrance from my neighbor's lilac bushes. Last night Gertrude brought me a handful of flowers from those bushes, with the neighbor's permission. While I was relaxing on the porch the local thug wannabes were making the first of many shirtless walkabouts. Slowly Spring is coming to the primordial swamp...I can already smell the sweet stench of unwashed redneck....MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-9852267120953558652009-04-10T12:18:00.000-07:002009-04-10T12:20:35.182-07:00I keep telling myself that this too will pass. That everything will be all right, it's just a matter of time. That I've done every thing I can to make things work out.<br /> But I don't believe it.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-62046082967762902322009-04-01T13:19:00.001-07:002009-04-01T13:24:42.018-07:00I must be a masochist of the worst kind. There is a new puppy in the house, Sadie the bloodhound.<br />She is 10 weeks old and already can reach the kitchen table. Big huge baby. We went for a walk today and she was not happy about the leash but she was very happy to be outside. Until Rock, the mastiff next door came outside. Sadie laid down and made herself very small (yeah, right!) while Rock sniffed her over. Then she barked at him and he ran over to his own porch...'cause he is basically a big baby too.<br /> Anyway, Keesh seems to accept the puppy with no problem but Caesar and Louis are insanely jealous. It's worse than sibling rivalry among children.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-235299595459524372009-03-28T20:15:00.000-07:002009-03-28T20:33:43.985-07:00I should have known when the man on the other end of the phone started his directions by saying, "Once you get off the highway, turn right and go back under the highway about six miles until you come to a bridge. They call it the Primordial River but there is no water there, it's really just a ditch. When you cross the bridge, you'll see a red pole barn off in the distance. That's the house. The next right will take you right around to the front of the house."<br /> Sounds simple, right? Wrong.<br /> We got in the car and drove to the south end of town where we got off the highway and turned left, driving away from town and into the country. We passed the new county jail, a tractor dealership, a large commercial bakery (the one where they make the gummy gooey white bread that Tallulah loves!) and a soft drink bottling plant. Then we drove into an area of open fields and crossed over a small bridge that spanned what amounted to a large drainage ditch. But there was no pole barn, red or other wise. Both girls pointed out every shed that might pass as a barn but they were dismissed as not actually being barns.<br /> Goober, always the soul of patience, snapped opened his cell phone and handed it to me. "We've gone too far...call them." So, while he turned the car around, I called and was assured that we had not gone to far....we actually had about two miles to go before we would reach the bridge we were supposed to use as a land mark.<br /> Sooo, we turned around and drove further. We came to another little bridge, this one was full of water but still ---no pole barn. Finally, Goober turned the car around, it was getting dark and we were a good ten miles from town.<br /> "These weren't very good directions." I said. "Next time, I'm going to ask for more land marks."<br /> "Don't these people know that Everyone has a pole barn around here?" Gertrude asked.<br /> "We live near alot of farms."MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-26012705092971296602009-03-27T09:16:00.000-07:002009-03-27T09:33:10.969-07:00We were running late to Gertrude's science fair. That doesn't excuse Goober for driving like a manic bat from you know where, especially on the winding back roads here in the Primordial Forrest. But it seemed to be the option we were operating on. I try not to say much but I don't like being in the passenger seat when the driver is agitated in any way. Particularly when I know the driver has had more accidents than I care to think about...like five in the 16 years I've known him.<br />I just try to sit calmly...and not be a back seat driver.<br /> But this night, there were two pick ups on the highway in front of us, one of them was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"></span>weaving back and forth across the lanes, over onto the shoulder one minute and crossing the center line the next. The truck between our car and the seemingly drunken driver in the old green pickup managed to pass...and as we got closer, I could see that there was only a head visible in the passenger seat. Sure enough, when we passed, the "impaired" driver was impaired by his age. He couldn't have been more than 9 or 10.<br />Gertrude was aghast that a kid younger than her was driving.<br />I know that the papaw let different ones of the grandchildren drive. I even know that on at least one occasion, he allowed one of the uncles drive him home from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kaserne</span> to the housing area in Germany. But, it wasn't on heavily travelled main roads, in an area where speeding is the order of the day, with literally no one driving the posted limit of 45 and so many blind curves that the truck was in danger of being rear ended at any time.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-85073583034050981812009-03-25T08:14:00.000-07:002009-03-25T09:18:57.999-07:00<a href="http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com/2009/03/meet-joe.html">Because I Said So- The official Blog of Author and Mom Blogger Dawn Meehan</a><br /><br /> I just discovered Dawn's blog when I read my Guidepost magazine for this month. I was so happy to discover that I am not the only mom to ever discover a petrified piece of hot dog in her child's bedroom...I knew I just had to read more!<br /> My goodness did that mention of the petrified hot dog ever bring up memories...<br />Tallulah was three and she wouldn't stop taking food into her room and leaving it in the toy box.<br />When I told her bugs would be attracted to the food, she was delighted because, as she put it "I LIKE BUGS, Mommy!" Errr well, yes.<br /> There is a button I added that will take you to another site...<a href="http://www.mycharmingkids.net/2009/03/outwardly-calm.html">my charming kids by MckMama</a><br />MckMama's sweet baby boy Stellan is having serious health issues with his heart. Follow the link to read more. MckMama takes the most incredible pictures of her children...even Gertrude likes to look at them...and she is usually so jealous of other children getting my attention, she likes to be the star, you know.<a id="publishButton" class="cssButton" href="javascript:void(0)" onclick="if (this.className.indexOf("ubtn-disabled") == -1) {var e = document['stuffform'].publish;(e.length) ? e[0].click() : e.click(); if (window.event) window.event.cancelBubble = true; return false;}" target=""><div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner"><br /></div></div></div></a>MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-55418777243974071922009-03-24T12:48:00.000-07:002009-03-24T12:58:35.902-07:00He doesn't look like Butterfly McQueen, but he certainly does a good impersonation of the actress standing in the street beneath the window of Belle Watling's whore house in "Gone With the Wind". Indeed, he knows nothing about birthin' babies and even less about birthin' kittens. Or maybe it's just being able to keep his cool in a crisis that he can't seem to wrap his head around.<br /> Last night at about 2am, Goober got up and discovered that Tallulah's cat had given birth to a kitten on the floor in front of the computer desk. Instead of simply getting the cat and kitten into a box and tucking them into a corner somewhere, he began to scream and woke everyone in the house up, including poor Gertrude. Tallulah fixed a place for the mom cat and the baby to rest, we did a quick search to see if she had any other babies under the desk and left her alone.<br /> The thing is this...the poor cat had been looking for a good place to nest and was showing a marked preference for Goober's sock drawer. Not wanting to give up his sock drawer for a kitten nursery, it was simply a matter of providing a suitable replacement birthing area. That being done, she was able to settle down to the job at hand and delivered three tiny kitties, gray and striped.<br /> Fortunately, cats don't need the services of a midwife...MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-65912729500957311912009-03-17T05:34:00.000-07:002009-03-17T05:53:12.232-07:00White trash nightmare...that's the only word to describe it. I hate letting my children spend the night at friend's houses. I know some people would jump at the chance to get their kids out from under foot but I like knowing that mine are tucked in their beds (or at least sprawled on the couch watching a movie!) when I get into my bed. BUT every now and then I give in and let them go off with a friend. <br /> I always meet the parents of the other children involved. I suppose what I should request in the future is a quick walk through of the home where my children will be staying.<br /> Sunday night, the Diva begged to go to a friend's house and sleep over. I had talked to the mother before and J had been inside the house, spoken to the mother and her boyfriend who has assumed a parental role (it's very difficult to find a married set of parents here in Primordial) He pronounced them "just good people", which should have been a clue.<br /> Evidently, the house had no working indoor plumbing, there were holes in the wooden staircase<br />leading up to the sleeping area ---as in whole risers were missing. And, the mother of the children took her own child off to an appointment at 53opm and still hadn't returned when J went to pick her up at 8pm. Not only that but the male adult left and my daughter was left there alone with two older boys. Thankfully, she ignored their admonition that she not use or answer their phone while they were gone and called me so I could send her father to pick her up. It seems that those were only a few of the things that went wrong. Right now I am torn between calling the idiots and giving them a piece of my mind and smacking her father on the back of the head for telling me that these animals were just "good people".MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-43348161306628722832009-03-16T11:23:00.000-07:002009-03-16T11:41:34.841-07:00Well enough, the old adage tells us, should be left alone. I would have thought that corporate America would have learned that lesson from the "New Coke" fiasco a few years ago. You remember that? Coca Cola unveiled a "new" version of the sacred beverage only to find that the tide of public approval can be pretty nasty when it turns against you. For those of you who can't remember, think of your cola addicted friends clutching their cans of Coke Classic and muttering that old NRA bumper sticker about taking away guns when they are pried from their cold, dead hands. Well put "Coke" in place of the word "gun" and you get the general idea of how cola drinkers felt about "new" Coke.<br /> Now Mattel and Nickelodeon have announced that <a href="http://tv.msn.com/TV/article.aspx?news=357010&GT1=28103">"Dora the Explorer" </a>is going to be allowed to grow up. Blasphemy! Heresy! How could they?? Visions of Dora with a pack of Jolly Ranchers, a cell phone and one streak of white blonde hair calling "Aye Papi, What'sup?" to Boots the monkey dance through the mind. Dora can't grow up, can't turn into a tween then teenaged bimbet. She is and always will be an adorable preschool, sweet and inquisitive. Dora growing up would be like Charlie Brown growing up, (although Charlie Brown would probably make a sensitive caring adult man, one we would all like to know despite his need for years of therapy. Actually Linus would make one heck of a guy to know, grounded and spiritual) it just isn't supposed to happen.<br /> Dora and Charlie Brown are cartoons. Part of their charm is that they don't age. What would happen if Blondie and Dagwood aged? By this time Mr Dithers and Cora would be dead and the kids would no doubt have Blondie in a home, Dagwood having long ago died from heart problems from all those years of fatty foods.<br /> Mattel promises us that we will like the grown up Dora. I hope so. I don't want to see Dora get mouthy, join the Crips or whatever else some corporate exec decides she might need to do to stay "relevant". Dora will always have a new generation of little girls who will find her relevant .<br />They will love her for a time and then when they are ready, move on to the next phase. It's what we do. Growing up means putting aside some of our old friends. What they leave with us is the lessons we learn from them.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-57321057008871583922009-03-16T09:28:00.001-07:002009-03-16T09:32:52.985-07:00Spring break has stopped being fun. I must officially be OLD! Both kids are very excited, of course they would rather be trekking South for the week (who wouldn't) but even with out the added fun of seeing the cousins and Mamaw, just not being in school for 5 whole days rocks their world.<br /> Kid one sees this as a chance to talk on the phone, eat popcorn and watch movies. Kid 2 sees a chance to play Wii, watch videos on YouTube and hang out.<br /> I see it as my daily routine getting swallowed up because my tv and my computer are being monopolized by children!!!!<br /> Fortunately, it's only 5 days....or my children might have to go live with gypsies!MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-18893147147790736472009-03-15T18:38:00.000-07:002009-03-15T19:01:29.812-07:00The thing about satire is that it sometimes hits on the truth in a painful way. Case in point: I stumbled on a blog titled "Stuff White Trash People Like", a parody of the book "Stuff White People Like". I read the entries while I sat over looking the back yards on either side of mine. And laughed out loud at how accurately the writers described the folks here in the shallow end. They didn't miss a thing from Rent to Own Furniture to Settling out of Court for big Settlement Checks. Everything was there right down to the Pit Bull puppies.<br /> Our newest citizens of the Primordial Soup aka the Shallow End have only been here for about a month, having migrated north from a trailer park in another state. Already they have added three pit bull mix puppies to their growing collection of pit bulls.<br /> Yesterday, my good friend MissG. and I amused ourselves for several hours planning a<br />"Redneck" BBQ. We selected outfits, (muumuus, bedroom slippers and pink foam hair rollers!),<br />crystal (mason jars) and even decorations (year round Christmas lights). Sadly, I need only look out my window to see those things. And they aren't a satire. They are someone's idea of living the good life.<br /> Of course my neighbors inform me that things are going to get better. The new administration is going to change things for them. Now that the Republicans are gone, they aren't going to have to pay all those taxes. Yessiree....life is gonna be good.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-8278324093821641352009-03-13T19:19:00.000-07:002009-03-13T19:20:08.596-07:00Guacamole!! Carramba! And a lot of other words that I am going to substitute for expletives. Though I must admit that swearing would really feel wonderful at this point. I was running my usual search for new sex offenders (hey! a girl has to have a hobby!) and I discovered that one of the men I used to chat with in the computer lab is a big time habitual offender. Even doing jail time and being required to register for life. Yikes! Yuck! That really does make me want to chase him down and throw things at him. How dare a person like that come to the University and pretend that he is a normal person!?! Because he is not a normal person. No way.<br />The thing is this...there is no "cure" for child molesters. There is no pill, therapy nada, zip, zilch. There are just some demented sick individuals who manage to dilude themselves into believing that their "urges" are normal. They are not. Someone should make them sit with a victim and let them listen for an hour or two to how badly their "urges" mess people up. Like forever. Expecially when they don't tell anyone for years and they very nearly convince themselves that they had imagined it.<br />The other kicker is that the goober is getting federal financial aid. Now explain what sense that makes...If you sell drugs you cannot get financial aid. BUT if you get found guilty of sexually molesting a child not once but three times...Uncle Sam will pick up the tab.<br /> God Bless the Democrats!MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-25578610384771639332009-03-13T17:32:00.000-07:002009-03-13T17:47:11.071-07:00I've come to a terrible conclusion. I do not like other people's children. This is alarming to me because I've always thought of myself as someone who likes children. Not only is it politically correct to like children, they are generally endearing and sweet. Well, babies are anyway. And toddlers. But sometime around the time the world gets them, they lose their charm.<br /> I think it comes when the doors close behind them on the first day of school. They say goodbye, go into the big building with a hundred or more of their peers and they come out changed beings.<br />And the change is not always for the good.<br /> Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike all children. I love my own and the children of my siblings and kids belonging to the wider circle of my extended family. But when we start talking about children other than those select few, I start advocating Skinner boxes.<br /> Maybe though the problem is just that we are in the second weekend of sleepovers. So there are other people's children in my house, turning their noses up at my dinner and questioning my authority. And we all know that questioning authority is only good when I do it.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-72740232292530059842009-03-12T05:04:00.000-07:002009-03-12T05:44:53.292-07:00"Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them" is the title of a book by Al Franken. Franken, who used to be a regular on Saturday Night Live back in the days when that show was really cutting edge and not just a weekly assault on good taste, graduated from Harvard with a degree in Political Science, also wrote "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot and Other Observations". Both good books, considering. <br /> I say that because I am "borrowing" Franken's title for this post.<br /> The subject for today is Lying. My fictional second husband, Gregory House tells us that "Everyone Lies". And I believe Greg is correct. Everyone does lie to some extent. We all tell little white lies, even if it is only telling our best friend that "no those jeans do not make your a** look like twin bulldogs fighing under a sheet" or " size doesn't matter." Both lies. But those lies that we tell to spare people we love. Polite society would crumble if we all went around speaking our minds. That priviledge is reserved for the very young and the very old. When your three year old tells embarasses you by speaking out about someone's weight, height,lack of hair or general butt ugliness, they are told that it isn't nice to make those remarks. That a lie of omission is socially acceptable. My mother in law and several older women I know are hurtful to others under the banner of "telling it like it is"..."for your own good" or, my personal favorite.<br />"telling you this in love". Trust me. If someone is going to tell you something " in love" you don't want to hear it. And lord knows, if they tell you "in Christian Love" take cover. You don't want to hear what is coming. In fact you will probably be praying for them to lie, wishing that they had lied.<br /> The thing about lies is this.. it is almost inevitable that you will get caught in your lie. The bigger the lie, the more intricately woven, the more likely you will be caught in it at some point.<br />(just watch "Larry Boy and the Big Fib"!) And when you do get caught, it is vital that you man up and own your lie. Accept the consequences and move on. Don't stand there with your metaphoric pants around your knees and continue with your lie. It is over. Especially if the person who catches you has some kind of physical evidence of your lie. To whit: If they are standing there with a photo, archived IM conversation, phone tap recording, ANYTHING CONCRETE own up to it. It's your lie, you own it. Be a man for once. Or a woman. This kind of concrete evidence is impossible to escape. So don't stand there, mouth gaping and say it isn't true. Admit that you lied. It will only hurt for a second, like severing a limb.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-29327352852095553482009-03-11T05:24:00.000-07:002009-03-11T05:55:48.001-07:00No one will ever know what was going on in Michael McLendon's mind yesterday. In the coming days various talking heads will air their opinions but none of them will be able to tell with any accuracy what drove the man to first kill his mother, then drive to the factory where he once worked, leaving 12 people dead including a child who was transported to a hospital in critical condition. Words like "shocking" and "tragic" will be bantered about but ultimately, no one will be able to tell us. Because the one person who could tell managed to kill himself before the police could stop him. Not that I believe that the police would have allowed him to give his pathetice excuse for whatever enraged him to the point of homocide because two of his innocent victims were the wife and child of a sheriff's deputy. I am sure that he would have died in a barrage of gunfire and I could empathize with the rage of the officers involved in such a shooting. They followed his twelve mile path of destruction, they knew they were dealing with someone who could kill without blinking. <br /> Someone may even be bold enough to suggest that Michael McLendon killed himself because he knew there was no way out and that there was a glimmer of remorse for his action that brought about his suicide. I can't buy into that theory. Whatever drove him to matricide stripped Michael McLendon of his humaninty. The man who drove down Highway 52 shooting randomly as he went was someone who had lost whatever vestige of civilized behavior he once possessed. He was rogue and needed to be cut from the herd like a mad animal, by whatever means available. Sadly, Law Enforcement couldn't reach him in time. Thankfully, they cornered him before he was able to add to his tally of death.<br /> Once upon a time, I might have been upset enough to cry over a story like this. I watched the events at Columbine High School and other mass shootings and cried. But the world has gotten crazier, and I've become a little calloused. "Oh no, not again." has been replaced with "Oh no, where now". <br /><br /> <br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2009/CRIME/03/11/alabama.shooting.spree/index.html?eref=rss_topstories">http://www.cnn.com/2009/CRIME/03/11/alabama.shooting.spree/index.html?eref=rss_topstories</a>MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-70631545661011029612009-03-10T07:42:00.000-07:002009-03-10T08:26:40.808-07:00People complain and make fun of the Southern states as if all of the rednecks, illiterates and inbreds of our nation lived in that area. Not so. I happen to know that there is just as much white trash society in the Northern states.<br /> A case in point: Southwest Indiana. I lived in Southwest Indiana and I am here to tell you that the trailer park mentality is alive and kicking in Knox County, Indiana. Saturday afternoon my daughter had several of her friends over and one of them asked me if I knew that the Ku Klux Klan was once actually centered in Indiana. Many people think of the Klan as big bellied good old boys who hide under white robes and create mayhem. And by good old boys they mean Southerners.<br />Nothing could be further from the truth.<br /> First: A good old boy is not some inbred mouth breathing redneck with poor social skills and even poorer hygiene. A good old boy is a good natured, easy going gentleman who, though he may not be of the finest pedigree, is certainly not a skirt chasing liquered up night mare. Good old boys may or may not be poor but they are most certainly not mysogynists nor are they racists. I love good old boys and have several who are dear friends. And I tell you this: when I was in Europe and I had to call across the Atlantic to speak to someone at my bank I was most relieved to hear the Southern drawl of the gentleman who answered the phone. Without patronizing or creating a big to do he quietly handled my problem. He was indeed a good old boy.<br /> Second: People seem to think that Southern men are somehow related to the inbred hillbillies of "Deliverance". And while the novel and subsequent novel were both set in rural Georgia. And though I myself have found myself in backwards areas of Alabama where, I promise you, people still think Jefferson Davis is the President of our great Confederacy. Those kinds rural inbred communities exsist everywhere. The worsening economy and the growth of the uneducated lower class has created an increase in these areas. But for some reason, Knox county seems to have a plethora of them. The tooth to IQ point ration is in the negative and seems destined to stay that way. Just drive out by the river bottoms and listen for the banjos.<br /> Because they are pickin' away out there, waiting. They are playing in rural Pennsylvania, and Lord knows they are alive and well out Wyoming and Nebraska.<br /> D.C.Stephenson, a Grand Poobah during the 30's lived in Indiana. White Supremists and others of their ilk are not solely creatures of the South. They are everywhere. I lived in the South for years and came to Indiana and was amazed that there were no black people in Knox county. Especially not in the little cess pool called Oaktown. The ones that came here were migrant workers and were treated with less consideration than the Mexican migrants. Come to Indiana during the harvest season and then tell me about how prejudiced we are in the South.<br /> <br /><h1><br /></h1>MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-15019516223258177992009-03-09T08:43:00.000-07:002009-03-09T09:38:26.790-07:00I just spent catching up on the blogs of a wide assortment of friends and relatives. And I can't decide if I should laugh or cry....or just take a xanax and try to forget that some of these people I choose to associate with and some I am compelled to associate with due to family ties. Even that is not a good enough reason anymore. Because even though you cannot choose your relatives---you can choose to associate with them. No one says you have to pal around with them if being best buds means something destructive for you.<br /> It seems like it has been a busy weekend for everyone. I really can't believe how much of a freak show life can be at times. People constantly surprise me at the complete lack of self awareness they show. They all seem to suffer from "terminal uniqueness". I suppose the fallacy here is that anyone is immune from "trailer park syndrome". The middle class is shrinking and the chasm between "good" people and trailer trash is shrinking. Sadly, with the recent election, the great unwashed masses have found their "voice".<br /> I realize that I live on the perimeter of the trailer park...I've done everything but string up concertina wire to keep it at bay. Still I see it encroaching my space and I have to run out with a gallon of Agent Orange or Roundup or whatever defoliant I can lay my hands on and fight it off.<br /> There are two young people I know who are gay. And for some reason I get the feeling that they believe their generation has "discovered" gay rights. This makes me want to laugh until my sides hurt. Somewhere in a box I have a book on the history of homosexuals in the United States. (Oh, we didn't invent it either, btw.) Or maybe that is one of the books that I gave to David, in which case it is in Florida with his mom and dad. The point is that since the Greeks, homosexuality has not been accepted by the mainstream. And it isn't going to start now. It is an alternative, not the norm. And it isn't going to be the norm. People in the mainstream are more than likely always going to be a little put off. Because being gay is NOT the NORM!!! And you jumping up and down and making little sniping comments directed at straight people is not going to change anything. Back in the days when San Francisco still had bath houses where anonymous trysts were the norm, gay men were very discreet and still were the targets of homophobes who had to prove their manhood by attacking them. In some parts of the country this sort of thing is still very much a reality. It makes me want to shake these two kids and say<br />"Look it isn't right that you have to hide who you are and what you are but it is the reality of the situation. Deal with it. Don't expect the rest of us to jump up and down commending you for your lifestyle." And it is a lifestyle. It maybe a societal taboo that springs from societal mores but at its roots, it is a choice. It is deviant. My acceptance of it does not make it any less deviant. I also accept people with leather and feather fetishes. That doesn't mean I would march in the streets to obtain special rights for them. I don't believe unmarried hetero couples should have the same legal rights that married hetero couples have been given.<br /> You are not unique because you are gay. Your whining is annoying. Your parents have been haters all their lives, did you think that a dawning of enlightenment would spring from your announcement of your sexual preference? Be real!!! They were two of the last white people who still used the "N" word to refer to blacks. They practically shaved your head and made you a baby white supremist---you thought they were going to welcome a gay child???!!!<br />Have you completely come off your chain?? They would almost rather you come to them with a drug problem.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-83989048024521047302009-03-08T19:24:00.001-07:002009-03-08T19:45:49.365-07:00What a weekend! First there was the big sixteenth birthday party for the oldest kiddo. She hasn't had an actual birthday party per se since she was in elementary school. So we opted for the blowout of her dreams. Kind of. Sort of. Almost. There was disc jockey who came with his lights and smoke machine and every song known to the universe. That was all very cool.<br /> And there was cake and the obligatory ice cream. Which no birthday can be without. What we didn't have was the throng of friends. BUT and I say BUT loudly because the friends we did have were true and good friends indeed. Right down to the smallest princess cousin who entertained all by oogling the bright lights and smiling her beautiful baby smile at everyone. We were also entertained by the crazy monkey girl, who is all a kindergarten person should be and more. She hand jived and cha cha'ed with the best. Of course she has the dancing queen mommy and cousin who were shaking their things and throwing down some wicked moves.<br /> Sadly though, my good time was shadowed, as it always is by the niggling feeling that somehow what I am doing is not good enough. That there should be more. I didn't make the tropical fizzy punch with the floating ice rings, didn't spend the time carving the adorable little crudites for the snacking dancers, and --Lord help me! I did not have the matching table linens and cutlery and serving pieces. So once again, I fail at the whole Martha Stewart/June Cleaver/Marion Cunningham thing. My children will undoubtably require years of therapy where they will spend countless dollars explaining to some shrinkette how their mother never loved them enough because she didn't carve radishes into rosettes so their friends could have cute healthy snacks while they partied.<br /> All good things must come to an end though. The party was over at 9:30 and even though all of the other sidewalks in town had long since been rolled up, we only went home because the evil agents of parental control called all of the partiers home. (Cursed cellular leashes!) Just when the Geek Love was heating up to a fever pitch the voice of paternal authority called Geek boy home. And Romeo took his Juliet home. Biff the friendly purple Ritalin boy lumbered off into the night and the rest of us packed up our balloons and went home.<br /> I almost relaxed long enough to have fun myself. I even only cringed slightly when another adult human being touched me. I came home and was entertained by YouTube videos then I went to bed.<br /> I don't know if every parent thinks that they are not doing enough for their children or if it is only my feeling that I have somehow brought these hostages to fortune into the world and it is my responsiblity to make their lives seamless and perfect. No, not perfect because that is impossible. But I get these visions in my minds eye as to how things are supposed to be. And when they don't turn out as they should---I spend hours agonizing over the outcome.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-48471686883762497452009-03-06T19:50:00.000-08:002009-03-06T20:07:02.832-08:00This then is indeed the shallow end of the gene pool. A lonely little burg in the wasteland of the American mid west. The so called "Great Plains" of our fair nation. Except unless you farm or make your living catering to the farming community there is nothing of any merit here. No manufacturing to speak of, not even any academia or artsy community. No, this is the land of the endless corn fields, rows of watermelons ripening in the June sunshine. God help you if you don't either own a farm or work for Farmer Brown. Because if you don't, you are some kind of after thought. As for the rest of the nation, the people here don't seem to acknowledge it.<br />So what if New York boasts a glittering array of theater and art? Or that the West Coast gave us not only Hollywood but the Silicon Valley and the onslaught of the dot commers? Here there be farmers and all hail king melon.<br /> This is not to say that I think there is anything wrong with being a farmer. There isn't of course. It is a noble profession and we would be in deep trouble without the farmer. It just gets a little annoying being around people who think they are the be all and end all.<br /> I digress.<br /> My little prejudice is showing. I dislike people who have an over inflated opinion of themselves.<br />Sadly in the time I have lived in this little corner of the state, I have run into an abundance of people who think that they are someone very special because their daddy/granddaddy/Uncle Slomo own several hundred acres of prime farm land.<br /> Not impressed. I went to school with people who had daddies who walked on the moon...and they were not so full of themselves. Hmmm.... walk on the moon---grow a stalk of corn. Both very important. And both cases people living off the achievements of others.MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141692.post-4994236101893164892009-03-04T12:23:00.000-08:002017-05-29T08:55:02.223-07:00Another glorious day in paradise--not! The temperature outside is a brisk 26F. It makes me feel like a bad mom when I set the girls off to the bus in the morning. Then I remember how I walked to the bus (and sometimes all the way to school!) and no one worried too much about the possible frostbite I was sure to endure.<br /> We've become so much more protective of our children. Maybe too protective. When I see kids at the university level who have no life skills I have to wonder...MissCRegretshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041783039631309493noreply@blogger.com