PhD in Cutting Paper

Today I don't want to talk about the fact that I had to be enveloped in a strangers fart at the check-stand at Safeway.  I don't want to talk about eating a donut.  I don't even want to talk about the rage I felt when I walked over to get the boss a quarter-pounder with cheese at McDonalds and then decided to get a happy meal myself so that I could get a swearing minion toy, which I didn't get.  I don't want to talk about how I had to say good-bye to another friend that is leaving the Glass Palace.  I don't.  None of that.

Today, I want to talk about the inevitable end of society as we know it.  How do I know end of times are near?  Interns, that's how.  The project was simple.  Take these flyers and cut them in half.  Use a paper-cutter.  There were somewhere between 2-300 sheets of card stock to be cut.  Intern#1 (whom, I really do like) brings me the box of flyers and says, "We tried to cut these, but....it didn't really work so well."  I looked at what they had done.  It was paper homicide.  I said, "Were you using scissors or a paper cutter?"  She said, "The paper cutter...but we couldn't really figure it out."

STOP.

A paper cutter is a block of wood with a straight blade on a handle.  This block of wood has a grid on it so you can line the paper up for a straight cut.  You don't need a degree to operate it (but thank God I have one for times like these).  You don't need safety goggles, you don't need a certification or steel-toed boots.  What you need is some common sense.  This baby isn't the "i-cutter Galaxy s6" okay? You don't need an app to use it.  You put the mother trucking paper in there, line it up and pull the handle with the blade down.  There are no instructions or operation manuals with the cutter. Just keep your fingers out from underneath the blade.  And, I do know, from past experience, you can fit your neck under it, but it won't actually chop off your head.  We just don't keep it that sharp.  Anyway, There is no self-help for this thing on-line...or wait...let's go to "The Google."  Turns out, that indeed, there is a video for that:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25x-zoLcLmE

So, anyway, I look at the box of uncut flyers that were handed over to me.  You could tell they had put, like, 30 sheets, at one time, into the cutter and used brute force.  Why didn't they just ask me for the hack saw I have in my drawer?  Why didn't we rent a chainsaw?  I took it to my desk, got the archaic paper cutter and started in on my task, 2 - 4 sheets at a time.  Lo and behold, they came out great.  Is this a ploy by the interns to get out of work?  Did they form a master plan upstairs and then come down to see if I would perform like a monkey?  If so, well played, interns, well played.  If not, were they really not able to figure it out?  Did they circle it like a coon dog circles a porcupine wondering the best angle of attack?  What happened up there?  Did all of them pull their long, intern Barbie hair back away from their face and apply lip gloss so they could think more clearly?  Did they Google it?  I did after this incident, just to see if they had options.. Found a video within seconds.  They had options.  I'm just saying.  I mean, I don't even care if they wanted to take a selfie of themselves using the paper cutter for Instagram, just use the damn thing.

I didn't ask them to cut the flyers into the shape of a swan taking a dump on a lily pad.  It was one straight line.  These people are our future.  They are going to make decisions for us. They are going to go to school to become doctors.  If they can't cut paper, how in the hell are they going to cut open my chest and get to my heart?  What's next?  Will we have to stop using toilet paper and just have to go to tissue boxes because no one knows how to tear a piece of toilet paper off?  I don't know.  What else will they not be able to figure out?  I'm very worried.  Remember the guy that came in and stuck his visitor name tag to the sign-in sheet, wrote his name on it and then couldn't get it back off?  This is exactly what I'm talking about.

Based on today's activities, I'm just going to go turn on some Housewives of Orange County or something and dumb it down so that I fit in with everyone else.  I need to lower my expectations and the sooner the better.  I mastered that paper cutter today, but in a months time, I want to be able to say I've erased the knowledge from my head.  We have The Google.  There is no reason to retain anything or learn anything new for that matter.

I'm exhausted.  I know too much.  I need to go lay down.

Mega-Quake - I have concerns

I know many of you, especially those on the West Coast, have seen all the recent stories about the predictions of the next big earthquake.  The Mega-Quake we are due for.  It's supposed to happen within the next 50 years.  That means any moment forward through 50 years.  And if it doesn't happen by then, just continue to wait, because it's coming.  It's the mother of all earthquakes and many of us will die.  Specifically, everyone West of I-5 pretty much from Canada down through California.  If the earthquake doesn't kill you, the tsunami will.  We are pretty much waiting to die.  So, maybe you've heard about it?

Anyone that knows me knows that I am a bit of a worrier.  According to God's word, we aren't supposed to worry, we are supposed to have faith and all that.  What is going to happen is out of our hands, blah, blah, blah.  Look, since I'm a fatty and I'm poor, there is a lot of stuff I can't do, so in the time I'm not doing that stuff, I've got some time on my hands to think about this.  I mean, it's kind of freaking me out.  I mean, not really, but at the same time, I'm kind of worried.  I'm not, like, building a doomsday shelter or anything but that is just because I haven't had the time or funding.  Shark Bait says not to worry.  We aren't going to die and if it happens, he will come get me, no matter where I am, he will come for me.  This is all well and good, but I've got some concerns about how that is going to happen, as you may have guessed.

Yesterday Shark Bait and I were taking a drive in the truck and I brought the subject up again.  Shark Bait reiterated that we were going to be fine, if it even happened.  Oh, it's going to happen.  Haven't you seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow and the movie trailer for San Andreas?  Haven't you been watching the news and Facebook and all the media about it?  It's just a matter of time.  We don't know when.  We could be anywhere.  At home, at work, it could be the day we decide to go into the big city.  And, if we go into the big city, we are surely going to be among the first dead.  It's like he isn't even in touch with reality.  He said, "If it happens at work, you stay put and I will come get you.  I promise you, I'm coming for you.  If it happens, the first thing you are going to do is get to Safeway, get as much money as you can out of the cash machine and then get water and snacks.  You need water.  It's crucial.  I'll come home, take care of the animals and come for you." This lead to a lot of questions.

Me: What if you can't get home because all the bridges are out?
Shark Bait: I'll get there.  I'll swim if I have to.  If I have to abandon my truck and walk home, I will.
Me: That's going to take a long time and I don't want you swimming across the river, you could drown and if you are dead, you are of no use to me. I'm going to worry if you tell me you're swimming. No swimming.
Shark Bait: I won't drown, and it's only 20 miles, I can make that in a day. I've done 20 miles in a day before.
Me:  Recently? Because I don't see you walking 20 miles in a day.
Shark Bait: (looking at me irritated) I will do what I have to do.  I will get to you.
Me:  What if I'm dead? How will you know I'm alive.  I work in a five story building.  I could be trapped in there, either squished or dying a slow painful death screaming for someone to save me, but no one does because there is so much trauma everywhere, there isn't enough manpower.  I could die there, my voice haunting the building and then my carcass starts to decay.  Who will feed the dogs if we are both dead?  How long with the dogs and horses live without food?
Shark Bait: I will know you are alive.  I will believe it and you will be.  You are not going to die.
Me: Even if you do get home, how will you get to me?  There are a lot of bridges.  It will be chaos.
Shark Bait: I'll make it.  I'll hook up the USS Squishy and come get you. And if you leave work, leave a note for me, so when I get there, I know where you went.  If you go to a shelter and then leave there, leave a note so I know.  Leave a note about what path you are taking so I can find you.  If you start home on foot, make sure you have water and cash to buy a ferry ride across the water.  People will be charging outlandish rates because people are animals of opportunity. Just let me know the path you are taking.  And if you find a wheelbarrow, take it.
Me: Why do I need a wheelbarrow?
Shark Bait: For your stuff.
Me: I'm not pushing a fucking wheelbarrow on my incredible freaking journey over God only knows what kind of terrain.
Shark Bait: Your back won't be able to take it with a backpack, not carrying all that stuff.
Me: How much stuff do you think I'm going to be carrying?  I can live off my fat, I need water and maybe a coat and blanket.  I don't know, what if this happens in the dead of winter.  We could die out there.
Shark Bait: Well then, wait for me.
Me: How will I know you are coming?  How long should I wait?  How do I know you didn't die?
Shark Bait: I'm not going to die, and I don't care how long it takes, I will come for you and I will find you.  I won't rest until I do.
Me: But who's going to feed the dogs while you are braving the wild frontier?  And what about the horses.  How do we know if my Mom will be home to take care of them?  How do we know if she made it? Should we put messages on Facebook to communicate if we find any signal?  
Shark Bait: Don't worry about the dogs and horses.  I'll ride the horses to come get you if I need to.
Me: How will they get across the water?
Shark Bait: We don't know the bridges will be useless, we just won't know.  But, I'll get to you.
Me:  Okay, so say we make it and we get back home, then what? Will we have to live primitively for days, weeks, years?  Do we have no jobs and no money? How do we live?  Will we turn into looters and live by the gun in the streets at high noon?

And so the conversation went on and on.  I'm not even going to sugar coat it, it was painful.  Mostly for Shark Bait.  He says to just have faith and know that he is coming for me, like he is a freaking super hero or something.  I mean, I guess he is my hero in a way, but come on, it's going to be a Mega-Quake.  They are saying the Tsunami is going to take out the entire coast and then the land will be under water.  We are not pineapples under the sea, we can't live under water.  We can't.  Will says we can go to his parents house in Eastern Washington.  What about the ponies and all our stuff?  Will we have to be like they were on the Oregon Trail?  I don't know how many weeks it would take us to get there, but it would be a long haul.  We don't even have a wagon.  Do we have to build one? Steal one?

Or, I could get hit by a car tomorrow and never have to worry about the earthquake.  Or, it could happen when I'm like 80, if I live that long, and if that is the case, I guess I'll just sit there and pray for the tsunami to take me.

Look, I'm just saying, I have questions. I should just have faith, I guess, but I work on the third floor, what are the odds I am going to survive this thing? What if the building almost crushes, but there are a bunch of us in there living in little air pockets but the sewage from all the toilets is floating throughout the building.  That's how I picture it going down.  Who's gonna call maintenance about that?  What if I'm trapped in one of those air pocket places with the most annoying person in the building?  Will I just slam my head against the nearest piece of concrete and end it all?  What if just my arm is trapped under part of the rubble?  Will I have to gnaw my arm off to free myself?  I guess I'd have a snack for later. 

Say the building doesn't collapse.  Say we make it, but there is no clean water supply.  So, next thing you know, we are drinking contaminated water, the mosquitoes start biting us that were living at the turd laundry just a few miles down on I-5, then we get Malaria or some other disease and it starts to spread. Now, we are all sick, we all have open sores and are dying a slow painful death.  It spreads all over the state and then the nation and then possibly the world, but probably just the nation, unless someone takes a flight to like Africa.  Like those people need anymore drama and disease.  I mean, this could be catastrophic.

Am I the only one considering the ramifications of the Mega-Quake that is bound to be the end of civilization on the West Coast?  Anyone else?  Anyone?  I can't worry for everyone, surely there must be someone else.

This would be a perfect time to say things like, "live each day as if there is no tomorrow."  "Make sure to say I love you every time you get the chance as you may never get another."  This is probably the time for that, but seriously, if the Mega-Quake happens, it isn't even going to matter if you are wearing clean or dirty underwear because we are all going to be shitting ourselves and then kissing our ass good-bye.

I think that sums up my concerns, mostly, but not completely.  I could go on and on.  I have a lot more questions.  Maybe next time.  I have to go live life to the fullest until I go to bed.

Sleep tight, if you can.  Hope we make it till morning. Love you (in case I don't get a chance to say it later).

Movie Review - Magic Mike XXL

Tonight I went to see the movie Magic Mike XXL with my sister and my aunt.  I would like to take a few moments and provide my review.  It's actually kind of "our" review as my sister and I discussed it at length after the show.

First of all, I'd like to say, I love Channing Tatum.  He's hot, his body is hot and I suspect he is a nice human being.  I don't have a lot to base this on, but I think he probably isn't a Hollywood douche bag. I just have a feeling about him.  Some of those feelings we can talk about, some of those feelings are reserved for my alone time.  Anyway, I digress.

After watching approximately three billion movie previews before we got to the big show, I was delighted to see Channing making an early appearance when the movie finally did start.  He's still hot as ever and his co-stars are hot, too.  Plenty of eye candy.  Two thumbs up for scenery. 

I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone, so I don't want to give away the very intricate plot (p.s. spoiler alert, there was no intricate plot), so I will try and speak in generalities.  First of all, Channing Tatum, I mean Magic Mike, welding in his garage is hot.  Seeing him start dancing all over and dry humping a wooden table is hot.  I mean, I wanted to be that wooden table.  I wanted to feel the wood.  I wanted Magic Mike to dance on me like a pole on a stage.  We liked this part of the movie.

After that, turns out Mike and all his stripper buddies hit the road on their last big hurrah to the stripper convention in Myrtle Beach.  If there really is such a convention, I want to go and make it rain on someone, you know what I mean, ladies?  Make. It. Rain.  I want to be a freaking monsoon, people. Anyway, they are driving cross country in a freaking yogurt truck because one of them has a dream to have a yogurt truck.  Okay, this is dumb.  I don't care if he wants a yogurt truck.  Why are they traveling in a revamped taco truck that they are now making yogurt smoothies in?  Why?  There isn't even good seating.  It's not sanitary.  Apparently, they must have felt the same because then they start popping "Molly" and everyone gets freaking crazy.  It kind of made me want to do some Molly.  Whatever place they were in, I wanted to be there.

On their trek, still jacked on Molly, they stopped at a convenience store where there was a lady working there, who likely had not smiled in years.  Stone cold bitch.  Well, this was a great opportunity for the one dude, who was losing his confidence as a stripper, to go in and make her smile.  After exploding a bag of Cheetos and spurting an Aqua Fina from his groin, she finally smiled.  This part was funny, we liked it.

After that, they end up crashing the yogurt truck into a bunch of trees because they were still high on Molly and decided to meditate while driving.  This is a bad idea for any of you considering it. The driver dude ends up in a hospital, now they are in a bind. Blah, blah, blah, they end up at this rich chick's house that has kind of a personal strip club, it's pretty amazing.  Those stripper guys did stuff to those girls that was pretty...wow. One of the ladies was a really big lady and this guy is all up on her picking her up and swinging her around and stuff.  I felt weird about this.  Awkward.  I get that fat girls like strippers, too, but it was weird.  The good news is, she must have been mostly built of marshmallow fluff instead of actual poundage because that guy was flipping her around like she was a blow up doll.  Side note: I'm pretty sure Shark Bait cannot pick me up like that. 

So, after that, all the stripper buddies end up at some girls house that they met earlier in the movie on a beach outside a drag queen club.  When they get there, she is outside, but her mom and all her mom's cougar friends are hanging out inside.  They all latch on to the strippers and it is a regular Ya-Ya-Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants experience as they drink wine and talk about how sad their boring lives are. There is one guy that apparently has a really big package and that hasn't had sex in five months because his peener is too big for the ladies, but he ends up hooking up with the one mom who never had sex with anyone except her husband who recently left her because he was gay.  We don't get to see this going down, but he gets a high five for it the next day.

My sister and I are kind of pissed there is no on screen sex in this movie.  It's kind of bullshit.  I mean, I look around at the theater and let me tell you, it was full of women who needed to see some ass, crotch bulge and hot sex.  They needed it, I needed it and we didn't get it. Bullshit.  There is one girl that Magic Mike is kind of connected to in the movie, but she is a lesbian.  STOP.  I didn't come to see Channing fucking Tatum have a lesbian friend in this movie. Who wrote this, his wife?  Bullshit!  If this is fantasy, it's my freaking fantasy along with all those other poor women in the theater that are eating their popcorn like a cougar eats a bunny rabbit.  Okay?  Bullshit.  That theater was not full of lesbians.  Lesbians don't care of about peeners, straight girls do (100% of my lesbian friends have verified this to be true). Beef, that's what we want. 

Ok, so they finally make it to the big show in Myrtle Beach and this is where shit gets real. They go to the hardware store to get some supplies to build some stuff for the stage.  And let me tell you, these boys know how to build a swing a girl wants to be in.  Finally, we get to the dancing.  Halle-freaking-lluiah.  However, in our opinion, they leave their pants on way too long.  We needed more thong action much sooner.  I didn't pay to see your abs Channing, I want to see that ass.  There were a lot of girls getting crotch thrusts in their face, but it was with the pants on.  What fun is that?  For the lesbian girl on stage with Magic Mike, I'm sure she could give a care less, but frankly, I was upset by the amount of clothes being worn.  I only really got to see Channing ass the last couple minutes of the movie.  And another thing, they were showcasing a lot of fat girls.  A lot of dancing up on fat girls.  One girl even had her dress pulled up and you saw her Spanx.  What is that all about?  What are you saying?  Why did she have to be wearing Spanx?  I mean, I'm glad there was equal opportunity for fat girls getting gyrated on, I think the Spanx shot was unnecessary.

My sister and I would like to say we believe that there was an overall lack of male nudity.  No shower scenes, not enough sweat and no sex.  If 50 Shades of Grey has taught us anything, it's that there are a shitload of horney women in America and on this day, at this movie, a lot of women went home and had to watch porn to get to their happy place.  This movie was just not enough.

Overall, we did enjoy the over-use of the F word, the use of whipped cream, the dancing and the bodies we did get to see.  It was worth the show, but it did come up a little short in the happy ending department.  It was kind of like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure meet's Chipendales Dancers.  It did inspire us, and my aunt, to want to go to the hardware store on the way home.  Brings a whole to new meaning to the phrase "if you build it, they will come..." (shameless Field of Dreams quote).

And that's a wrap. 

"Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure meets Chippendale's dancers.  3 out of 5 stars" - Cassondra & Theresa

Disclaimer: We may have to go see it again to make sure this movie review is accurate.

Feeling All The Feelings

In light of the recent news that my blog muse, the real-life Angry Pony (aka "Joe"), has recently passed away, I felt I should blog.  Blog about something.  Blog about anything.  This little angry pony was my inspiration.  He made me think.  He made me feel like embracing my anger was the thing to do.  However, over the years since I started this blog, much has happened in my life.  This blog has evolved from funny stories, to stories about stuff that pissed me off, to recording my weight-loss/gain journey to talking about Therapy Thursday and pretty much anything else.  Really, nothing has been off-limits. 

Lately, I have felt like I don't know what this blog is supposed to be anymore and that maybe I should stop, or change my focus.  I felt like maybe I am letting the people down that tuned in to read it for the funny stuff.  But it occurs to me that the real reason I started this blog was to have an outlet for my feelings and emotions.  To have an outlet for the good and the bad.  I started this blog for me, not for you or anyone else.  I write this stuff for me, because it is my outlet and I am inviting you in to have a peek into my mind and to share my vulnerability.  I have had many of you tell me you totally understand, or it helped you in some way, or it made you realize you weren't alone.  Some of you just come for the funny stories, and that's okay, too.  I don't care.  I'm going to write whether you visit this blog or not.

It does occur to me that maybe I am struggling with my blog because I am struggling with my life.  I'm so lost.  Which, I know I have written before.  It's funny, I have looked back at some of my older blogs when I was so engaged in my life and so full of pretend hope.  Where did that girl go?  I think I may have figured it out.  I think I have turned into a cat.  That Angry Pony that was pissed off about the cards I was dealt must have gotten a hold of some Xanax because I'm not really angry right now, I'm just kind of sad.  You know, like the Sad Cat Diary.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKffm2uI4dk. 

Let's explore the average cat's day.  Gets up in the morning and takes care of business (wake up the human, whine about being hungry, take a piss, sharpen claws on couch) and then waits for the humans to leave.  When this happens, sure, the cat may behave for a short time, but ultimately, it is bored.  It's now time to crawl up on the counter, where the cat knows it shouldn't be, so that it can pick the appropriate spot, sit down, throw it's leg up and proceed to lick itself for hours.  Upon completion of that, it's time to go do some other stuff that is frowned upon, like knocking a pen off the table and batting it around the house, pulling Q-tips out of the bathroom trash, hiding lip gloss under the couch, sitting inside the curtain and swatting at bugs, thusly snagging the curtains, and the list goes on. 

The reason I think I may be a cat is because I'm becoming aloof.  While I'm not licking my genitals as I sit on the counter (I'm too fat to crawl up there), I'm pretty much doing whatever the hell I want.  And, if anyone tells me I can't, I'll scratch the shit out of them.  If I was still Angry Pony, I would be kicking someone's ass, stomping something into the dirt.  Nope, I'm just climbing on the counter and licking the butter dish whenever the hell I want to.  I don't even really like cats.  I mean, they are okay, but I don't bond with them like I do with the dogs and horses (and unicorns).

Why am I being cat-like?  What is my problem? How come I'm not doing the shit I said I would do in all those blogs in early 2013?  I'm a fraud.  Where is the girl with motivation?  Where's the girl with dreams?  Instead, I'm a kitty on Prozac. 

You know what is REALLY discouraging?  The people that say I have been an inspiration to them, or have motivated them.  That's freaking fantastic.  I'm glad all of you are motivated and inspired.  I'm glad you're making it to the gym and eating flax seen in your stupid protein shakes.  I may have started my day with a protein shake with fruit and spinach and vitamins, but guess what, somewhere in my day, I ate some peanut M&M's.  FRAUD.  I'm a fraud.  And, who's gained a shit-ton of weight back?  Here kitty, kitty, kitty.  UGH.  I keep wondering what my problem is.  The only thing I can come up with is that I'm a lazy fraud.  The Rug Doctor doesn't think I'm "broken" so that means I'm capable, but choosing, on some level not to do what I need to do.  I want to, but God went and gave us all that thing called will.  My will is bogged down in bullshit.  What I need is a fat girl exorcism.  I need a fat-girl-ectomy.  I need to be thrown down a hole, starved and supplied ample lotion.  Let some guy use this body for making himself a woman suit.  My skin is in pretty good shape in some areas.  I mean, the leg skin is gross, but the back skin and butt skin, that stuff is smooth and nice.  The skin on the top of my feet is good too, it's kind of pretty really, slightly sun-kissed. I'm actually a pretty good candidate for basement-pit starving. You don't even have to dig the hole deep, I'm not gonna be climbing out.

And, let me just stop anyone right now that wants to tell me how to "Take Shape for Life" or "Advocare" or "Onitrition" or Hydroxycut or whatever.  This is a battle within me.  A life long battle that I am tired of, but have no choice other than to face it every day of my life.  No instant packet of dried meatloaf is going to change that.  I have to find my Angry Pony again.  The funny thing about my pony blog muse passing away is that I was feeling disconnected from my warrior pony before I found out he had died.  My spirit, on some level knew, I think.  We were connected.

So, I know I have a ton of pony personalities in my head and now this cat behavior is showing up. I need to get my freaking spirit animals figured out.  That shark hanging above my desk isn't really helping me either.  It's just encouraging me to eat whatever is in my path.  Shit.  Now what?  I honestly don't know.

And that is where I'm leaving it tonight.  No answers.  I'm just "feeling all the feelings" as Top Knot Pony would say. 

M&M's - NOT for Sharing...

Today I'd like to address something critical.  There is so much going on in the media right now about the new marriage law and what Kaitlyn Jenner is wearing and I know those are important topics, but I'd like to shift things to a more serious topic.  One that I know needs to be talked about.  So please unfriend me if you must, never read another blog again, but this one, you must read.

Today's topic: M&M's and the unjust sharing expectations, as told by Angry Pony.

Yesterday, Shark Bait and I were running errands. We stopped at a little mini-mart place to get Shark Bait something to drink and he asked me, "Do you want anything?"  Well, that is a broad question.  I can think of any number of things I want.  Most of which cannot be found within the walls of this gas station mini-mart, however, I said, "Bring me some M&M's and don't try that whole sharing thing."  I think this was delivered pretty clearly.  The meaning cannot be misinterpreted.  What I expected to arrive back at the truck was a bag of peanut M&M's.  Shark Bait came back and had a bag of peanut butter M&M's and a bag of almond M&M's.  I said, "I wanted peanut M&M's."  Shark Bait was not about to be sucked into this drama.  He said, "You can have the peanut butter M&M's or the almond ones and if you don't like it, tough, that is what there is."  I don't really like tough love, but nonetheless I took the almond M&M's.

As I looked at the bag, I noticed it said, "sharing size" on it.  I told Shark Bait, "I don't care if it does say sharing, I'm not sharing.  Not one." I mean, it's kind of a scam, really.  The "sharing size" bag is just slightly bigger than the normal single serving bag.  I don't care if their slogan was that M&M's make friends, that's bullshit. They also said they melt in your mouth, not in your hands.  Guess what, it's freaking chocolate, you bet your ass it's going to melt in your hand.  I mean, if you eat them fast, I guess...maybe that was their point,  I don't know, but I digress.  Anyway, back to sharing...as one of my co-workers says, "sharing is for communists."  Look, if you are my friend and you see me with M&M's, if you are true friend, you won't expect any M&M's because you know the key to friendship is not taking M&M's from me.  If you love me, you don't take my chocolate, okay?  Just the other day I had some at work and Never Shuts Up Barbie comes over and she is all, "Oh, those look good."  I said, "They are."  NSUB says, "Wow, I mean, you could offer me some...I mean, I might like some..."  I looked at her, put the rest of them in my mouth and said, "Sorry, I don't have anymore, but for a buck fifty, you can get some out of the vending machine."  I mean, what planet is she even from?  Asking for M&M's?  She may as well have given me a "Fun Size" bag.  You know, the little ones they give out on Halloween that have like 10 M&M's in there. Who is that fun for?  WHO?  That right there is a terrorist act, if you ask me.  Supplying a measly 10 M&M's and calling it fun.  I don't even know what is happening in America.  Forget America, I don't even know how this world is going to continue to exist with this kind of portion size/control warfare tactics.  And, if we look to the Bible for answers, it's clear Jesus wants us to be happy.   So this whole socialistic control of fun size vs. sharing size thing is not only offensive on a political level, it has shook me to my core on a moral level. 

It changes peoples lives.  It could even cause divorce.

Now, back to my story. As I was eating my M&M's and we were leaving the car wash, Shark Bait said, "Gimme one...just one."  Begrudgingly, I put ONE in his hand.  He said, "Really?"  Then he offered me some of his peanut butter M&M's, like that made this whole injustice okay.  I was like, "I don't want your peanut butter crap."  But then, I thought about it and realized, the M&M ratio had been disturbed.  Damn if I wasn't going to take one of his M&M's.  I don't even like peanut butter M&M's.  I boldly took two of them.  Shark Bait said, "HEY!  You took two!"  I said, "Yeah, your M&M's are clearly smaller than mine, I'm trying to keep the balance fair."  He started to get a sulky look because mine were gone now, there was no way to even things out in his eyes.  I said, "Oh my word, are you really that upset I had TWO of your M&M's?! I will never, as God is my witness, take one of your M&M's again!  I don't know how we can get past this, I don't know if we are going to make it, knowing that at the end of the day, the M&M count is - Cassondra up by one!"  Shark Bait started mock slapping me and we were laughing, but still, this could have lead to a serious altercation.  We may have had to file irreconcilable differences.

So, I guess what I'm saying, on this Independence Day, is that we've got bigger problems than who's marrying who.  We've got bigger problems than whether we will ever be allowed to watch the Dukes of Hazard again because of the Confederate Flag.  We've got a serious problem with M&M distribution. We have hungry people that need M&M's.  Don't forget that, America.  Don't ever forget.

Disclaimer: If anyone was offended by my alliance to peanut M&M's and my views thereof, please, calm down.  If anyone was upset I was mocking the real problems of this world, it is only because society has become so absurd, I can't comprehend it.  And, not having enough M&M's does make the Pony mad.

Happy Fourth of July.  May you remember something positive about our country today that actually does make you proud and may you not light our state on fire because we are living in drought conditions and people are stupid with fireworks.

That "One Thing..." Found it in LA

Well, I made it to California and back.  I didn't die.  Ironically, I'm more surprised that I didn't die in the LA traffic than I am that I didn't die on the plane.  So, as it turns out, all the worrying was for nothing...as you all suspected all along.

Most of you that read this blog are my Facebook friends, so you have seen all the pictures and the blow by blow of our adventure, so there isn't much need to go over the details of the trip.  There were many moments that made me laugh, some that made me cry and a lot of moments in the rented convertible Mustang that allowed me much time to think.  Thinking is what really fuels most of my blogs, so I figured I would share some thoughts.  None of them particularly hilarious or awe inspiring, but just a little of what rambles around in my head.

I should start with saying, the reason we were in California was for a memorial service.  It was not intended to be a "fun trip," but we added a couple of days onto our time there, since we never really get a vacation that allows us to go anywhere fun.  Our vacations involve a day or two in the truck driving to a location that isn't too far from home, like the WA or OR coast.

On this trip to CA, we got to see one of my dearest friends and her partner in crime, my beloved "LA Girls."  We stayed up until midnight on the first night I was there.  Never a lull in the conversation, just talking about life and relationships and all that stuff that you talk about with your closest friends.  We don't get to see each other much, we don't really talk on the phone, we just know the other is there if we should ever need them. We just have that bond that ties us, even after all these years.  We have known each other since I was four years old and she was six.  Life took us our separate ways shortly after high school, but we've always remained close.  You cannot put a value on that kind of friendship, nor ever take it for granted, yet sometimes, I think I probably do.

Me & the LA Girls.  <3

Beyond that wonderful, short time with the LA Girls, Shark Bait and I explored as much of the surrounding area as we could and enjoyed riding around in the Mustang convertible.  I allowed myself to relax and really enjoy just driving around with no particular agenda, just being. We bought some silly straw hats that kept us from burning our heads under the hot California sun and drove around like the tourists we were. It was a great time.

Rednecks in a convertible - accidental tourists

On the third day of our trip, it was time to go to the memorial for Shark Bait's uncle, Ed.  Uncle Ed passed suddenly a few months back and now it was time to say the official good-bye.  He was a retired Forest Service Firefighter and so, when we drove up to the Forest Service Ranger Station where the service was to be held, there was the truck he had driven when he retired.  There, along side the truck was a uniform laid out.  As soon as I saw it, tears ran down my face.  Such an striking image.  Preparing for the service were a group of "Hot Shot" fire fighters and many Forest Service members.  It was touching that they had all come together for this service.  There was much sharing and story telling about this man's life and the kind of person he was.  I thought, this is what it is all about.  Not fame, not fortune, not how much money you have when you die, but people gathering together to say that you inspired them, that you made an imprint in their life, that their life is better because of you, that you made them laugh.  And, even in your passing, people can tell stories and your life adventures, no matter how small, can still make them smile. That people can say your proudest moment of your career is that no one got hurt on your watch.  That's amazing.  What a legacy to leave behind.

I don't care who you are, if that doesn't tug at your heart, I don't know what to say.

I can't imagine what it must feel like for Shark Bait's Aunt.  To go to bed at night and not have that person there. To know all the fun things they had planned will go undone.  To know, that what you have to hang on to is the memories.  I know what it feels like to lose a parent.  I lost my Dad in 2011.  I miss him some days so much it hurts.  And I remember stories that make me smile, or make me sad, but I still have days where I just really want to hug him. I don't really want to think about losing Shark Bait, but God willing, I won't have to for a long time.  This memorial service, however, is a painful reminder that we don't get to choose and we sure as heck don't always get a warning that it's coming to an end.

These are the thoughts that roamed through my head as we drove home that night.  Just Shark Bait and I driving in the convertible, top down on a warm summer night.  The radio was set to a Country music station that seemed to be playing all the classic songs from the last 10-20 years that really tugged at my heart.  We drove in silence, each of us in our own thoughts.  I leaned my head back and looked up at the stars as we drove 70 mph down whatever interstate that was.  At that moment I thought, if something suddenly happened to Shark Bait, I would remember this car ride as one of our best times.  Side by side, we had enjoyed the last couple of days, we were relaxed, we were happy.  We held hands everywhere we had went and even now, in the quiet of the car ride, Shark Bait would reach over and grab my hand.  No cares, no worries, just feeling the warm air and listening to the music and watching the stars and landscape go by.  It's a kind of mental freedom we don't allow ourselves very often.  Well, especially me.  I'm always worrying about something.  But at that moment, I didn't care about the bank account, I didn't care about what was going on at home, I didn't care how fat I was (okay, that's kind of a lie, I did a little), I just enjoyed that moment and I knew somehow, we'd be okay.

We flew back home the next day and settled back into the daily grind of our work week.  As we are coming up on the weekend again, I can't help but wish we had the convertible again to run away on some other adventure.  And, no, Shark Bait, driving around in your 1946 Willy's is not the same as the 2015 Mustang.  It's just not.  We'll have to find different transportation for our future adventures.

Anyway, I just thought I would share my moment of clarity out there on the California desert highway and say that I will always remember Shark Bait's uncle for the great man he was, but that in a way, he kind of gave us one last gift by giving us a reason to go to California to create those memories.

In the end,  memories are all we have.  It's like old Curly said in the movie City Slickers, "You know what the secret to life is? This...this one thing...you stick to that and everything else don't mean shit."  And then Billy Crystal's character says, "That's great, but what's that one thing?"  And Curly says, "That's what you gotta figure out."  All this day to day stuff doesn't mean shit.  The moments you enjoy and hold on to, those are the moments that make life worthwhile.

Pretty much everything we need to figure out in life is a movie quote, we just need to shut up and watch the movie.

Angry Pony loves Shark Bait

Why I Need Xanax

Disclaimer:  Tonight's blog could offend someone.  If you're delicate or easily offended, please, close  out of this link and go look at LOL Catz.  I will not be lectured by anyone about my views, which are just me talking through some anxiety.  I mean, you should all be pretty hearty by now, but just in case...  Also, it is noteworthy to mention, I am purposely not going to remove my bra to get comfortable so that I can channel Angry Pony in the best possible way. Girth pressure is the answer.

Okay, so, Shark Bait and I are going to California.  We have a family memorial service to attend, but we are also adding a couple of days to the trip to see some friends and do some touristy stuff.  This means I have to fly...in an airplane...off the ground...in the sky.  I have flown a total of one time in my life.  It wasn't that great of an experience, so not really looking forward to doing it again.  I mean, it was like 15 years ago.  You know what's happened since then?  I'll tell you, 9/11, terrorists, depressed pilots and missing planes.  And that's just once you get in the air.  Never mind the trauma of actually getting on your flight and being strapped into the seat of death and potentially being fat shamed.  Never mind you might get a stinky guy next to you.  I mean, Shark Bait will be on one side, but who will be on the other?  I could be some sort of big guy sandwich.  And, what if the guy or gal is chatty?  What if?  I don't want to talk to a stranger.  What if their arm and their leg touch me because they are too fat for their seat, I'm too fat for mine and then it's a sea of cellulite and people think we are conjoined twins?  What if I have to go to the bathroom during the flight?  What if I can't get out of my seat because I'm the tuna filling in the man sandwich?  Or, I make it to the bathroom and my butt gets suctioned into the toilet?  You don't know, it could happen.  None of you can promise me anything.

What if I get one of those packs of peanuts for an in-flight snack and I can't open them and Shark Bait doesn't have his knife because he can't carry one and then I open it the hard way and peanuts go flying everywhere and then the flight attendant steps on one, slips, she goes down, her tray of drinks goes flying, gets some guy wet, he jumps up yelling, we hit turbulence, he falls on the lap of a pregnant lady, she goes into labor, there is no doctor on the plane, why is there never a doctor when you need one?  And then the baby is born, but there are no clean towels because we used them to clean up the mess from the drinks, so we use a blanket, but we don't know where that blanket has been, so now it's not sanitary and the baby could catch a major disease or, at best, a rash.  Now the plane has to land in a corn field and then some guy has a heart attack because he never wanted to fly anyway, but he wanted to see his grandson graduate from high school and now all this is stressing him out.  Still, no doctor, but some guy that took a CPR class at work 10 years ago jumps on the case, but he can't revive the guy and likely broke one of the guys ribs trying.  Now we have a dead guy on the plane and an infected screaming baby and a mom that has a placenta hanging out of her vagina and we are going to land in a corn field. What about that?  Anyone think about that?

Now, let's talk about the pilot's state of mind. I think I should be able to talk to the pilot before we go.  I need to know what his intentions are.  Like, is there going to be a handout with his personal bio and what he likes to do in his spare time?  Does he like kids? How does he feel about the middle east?  How is his mood?  Is he on any medication?  When is the last time he had a check-up?  How's his blood pressure?  Who's checking on this stuff?  Does he have a relative on the plane that he wants dead?  I have a right to know if I'm flying with Suicide Sam.

Additionally, I'd like to be able to profile everyone.  You look shifty, you're out.  What's in your backpack? Is that a flask full of battery acid that you are going to put into the ninja flight attendant's eyes so that you can get to Captain Kirk and burn off his face so you can take over the plane and fly us to God knows where and either sink us into the ocean to die a horrible death or take us to some country where no one will ever find us and no one knows about and now we are all your slaves and we have to walk barefoot in the jungle with dangerous snakes to get to the water hole to bring the high priestess of Boonga Boonga some water and coconuts?  This is a legitimate question.  Or, are you just a terrorist that is going to choose one of us to wear the bomb backpack and blow us all up to show the Americans that you mean business?  Look, do I understand that people fly everyday and this stuff is a rarity, not a common occurrence?  Sure.  But could it happen?  Yes.  While it might not be likely, as the Rug Doctor likes to say, it could happen.

So, that brings me to what happens to my stuff if I die?  Who's caring for my good dog Spanky?  WHO?  That is a big responsibility to care for the most special dog in the world.  Who  cares for the ponies?  I mean, I don't really have anything of big value.  I've got my stuffed pony collection, but no one wants that.  So, I guess I'll ask my sister to dispose of stuff she finds in the nightstand, I'll ask my Mom to go through the paperwork and have a big bon fire to destroy all of our personal information.  As far as my work stuff, I leave all my desk toys to my Boot Bitches.  The unicorn sticker with a middle finger for a horn goes to my boss. And then, I guess, just cremate me.  You don't have to do anything special with my ashes really.  Maybe spread them around the parking lot at The Glass Palace.  I don't know.  If you have a service for me, I'd like you all to wear  unicorn apparel or pink fuzzy pajamas and to play Somewhere Over the Rainbow by that that Hawaiian guy, IZ.  It's my favorite version of that song. And then I would like you to eat chicken wings, mild, not spicy, cupcakes and ice cream.  Maybe drink a mudslide in salute to FCD's and how they helped me live life to the fullest (and smoothest). And then someone should say, "That crazy bitch, damn I loved her."  I don't care who says it, but if someone could, that'd be swell.  Draw straws or something.  I'll be watching you from above, so make it believable.

That whole dialogue in my head is what lead to the following conversation with the nurse at my doctor's office over the phone:

Me: "Yes, I forgot to ask the doctor about a prescription for Xanax when I saw her the other day.  I'm going to be flying and I'm having a lot of anxiety."

Nurse: "Do you always have anxiety when you fly?"

Me: "I've only flown one time, it sucked, and that was over 15 years ago...you know what's happened since then?  9/11 and terrorism."

Nurse: "Okay...are you considering hurting yourself or taking your life?"

Me: "No, as a matter of fact, I'd like if it no one else took my life either."

Thusly, my prescription is waiting for me at the pharmacy. I'll be taking one...or so, and that should help me enjoy my flight to the fullest.  So, if Shark Bait could just handle my beverages and my nuts, I'll just sit there while stinky third seat guy touches my arm with his arm and not give a fuck about a mother trucking thing.

Exits are here....here....and here.... now, about that bra....