Knock Knock

There has been a lot of hullabaloo in the press over some "laws" concerning the "T" part of the LGBT community.

The push for these laws is coming from the non-left part of the two party system. I say "Non-Left" because they sure as fuck aren't right.

North Carolina was the one you heard probably heard about the most. What that state did is declare open season on anything the small minded governing officials find "unusual"... Any and all protections from discrimination a person not fitting into what they declare "normal", are gone.

It is also known as the "Bathroom Bill" because it says that you have to use the bathroom of the gender you were assigned on your birth certificate.

And we all know anything to do with birth certificates gives the Non-Left wingers a raging hard on...

Mississippi has even more draconian measures denying rights and services (adoption, rental space, employment) to people based on their gender identity not matching what THEY think it SHOULD be.

Those words were capitalized on purpose... Not a "Caps Lock" issue...

Kansas... Oh, poor, fucked up Kansas... There was talk floating around of them offering a "bounty" to anyone reporting on a transgender person using the facilities not of their "assigned" gender.

Kansas governor, one "Epic Fail" Brownback, has run the economy of Kansas into the ground (and then promptly mounted the corpse in sexual congress). Somehow he wants to fund this "Genital Militia"...

These are just examples of the discrimination the people who happen to not agree with what was assigned on their birth certificate.

Facebook is awash with memes about these cowardly acts of the "we don't understand - so let's hate whatever it is" types...

On the whole bathroom front... it is comedy and tragic at the same time... In my house, I have two bathrooms. I have had people over and no one, not ONCE, has asked me, "Which is the ladies?" or "Where is the men's room?"

"Now, Doug..." you say... "We are talking about public restrooms! What do you think some male going into the ladies bathroom is up to?????"

"Probably relieving their bladder. I double checked with Google... and sure enough, both males AND females have a bladder. If the bladder becomes even half full, it can cause discomfort."

"But what if my daughter is in their with me???"

"Keep them out of the persons fucking stall and I am pretty sure everything will be hunky dory. Oh, if your kid is opening closed stall doors, or crawling under them to get a peek as to what is going on... You have a fucking piece of shit kid and you should try this new thing called 'FUCKING PARENTING'"

And what happens when a normal lady... who just happens to have very masculine features and mannerisms gets accused of being a male transgender person, and then is unlawfully detained. What is her recompense? Personally, I think she sue the fuck out of the state. She should sue the fuck out of her accuser for defamation of character. I can probably think of a hungry lawyer or two who salivating to argue such a case...

I make jokes, and then there is a "cartoon" like this...

This advocates violence. This makes it seem like it is your duty... nay... your GAWD GIVEN RIGHT to inspect and frisk every person going in or out of a restroom... And by golly, if one of them thar deviants are found... Well, you are meriting out Gawd's Justice!!!!!

Never mind the fact you get to look up skirts all night... hoping for a dick? Little latent homosexuality manifesting itself? This is done all in the name of "protection"... Give me a fucking break.

A.W. Erwin... on behalf of all rational people, I would kindly invite you to get the fuck off my planet. I hope you assault the WRONG transgender person and they lay you the fuck out. THEN... when you are unconscious on the bathroom floor ("ewww" factor all it's own), they take the time to put makeup on you and fix your hair to be FAB-YOU-LUSSSSSSS! (yes, I snapped my fingers at each syllable!)

WHY, OH WHY do the mouth breathers with double digit IQ's believe that NOW, in 2016, they have to beware of the dreaded "Man who believes he is a woman" in their bathroom. Even worse, in the ladies restroom with their wives/daughters/relatives with vaginas????

And, why, oh why, does the party of "small government" want to waste taxpayer money to find out what kind of junk Androgynous Pat is sporting?

Glad you asked!

The overriding factor has to be fear... The people who are afraid simply can not grasp that some people feel in their very soul that the gender they were born with, was simply incorrect.

So... The scaredy-cats apply their OWN insecurities and perversions onto the transgender populace.

"They want to go into the opposite bathroom to stare at the opposite sex's genitalia!!!"

No... That is what YOUR first inclination to do is. Meaning if you could go into the opposite gender's restroom, that is what YOUR mission would be... You are projecting.

For the record... The female restroom must be something out of "Caligula" or something... Seriously... Are you ladies all running around naked in there? Airing out the nether region under the hand dryer? Are their pillow fights while topless??? Is THIS why you guys go in packs to the ladies room???

Only reason all these transgender men want to go in there!!! Only POSSIBLE explanation!

After the fear factor... it comes down to the biggest stupid factor of all... God.

I think the people of influence in the churches have a hard on for the transgender people because they have the gall to say, "God was wrong."

The powers that be in the religious community have to shut that shit down reeeeeal quick... Because if the sheep people can accept that... well... maybe... God was incorrect on this one thing then ma.... NOOOOOOO!!! God is infallible. God is all knowing and never wrong. God has a plan!!!!

Otherwise they would just be silly fuckers up there collecting 10% of your cash, and wasting up to 12.5% of your weekend... doing absolutely nothing, for no fucking reason whatsoever.

You don't really hear about the "Religious Left"... These "leaders" influence the legislators. I guess the separation of church and state is about as thin as a bathroom stall door.

_________________________________

This week's blog was originally be about Quantum Mechanics... Schrodinger's Cat and all that...

And I guess it can apply here as well... "Is the person in the stall next to me a man or a woman?"

Until you open the stall, the answer to that question is "Yes." Equally to both presented options.

If you are in the stall next to me, all I care about is if you follow the courtesy flush rule... About it.

I don't care if you have a vagina and a beard. I am not worried about your situation. Chances are, if I am in such need of a stall in a public restroom, things are dire enough and I have my own shit to deal with (pun intended).

If I am at the sink in the men's restroom, and a person who is obviously a woman comes up to the sink next to mine, I am not going to accost them. I am not going to call them out.

I am just going to be thankful they washed their fucking hands.

Cleanliness is next to something something...

d

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The Goddamned Tubes

I would say that at least three times a week, I will have to pull a u-turn, go back to the casa and see if I have closed my garage door. The phrasing on the first part of the sentence is important... "AT LEAST".

I have gotten a mile away and turned around. The act of hitting the little button on my remote is such a programmed response, so automatic, I have trouble recalling if I had done so or not.

I know the door is down. I have YET to go back and it be open.

At night... in the course of feeding the damn dog, I will open the door to the garage to make sure the garage door is shut. Again, I KNOW I closed it when I got in... But why do I have to check? (And sometimes, less than a minute later, RE-check because I forgot?)

When I was discussing this phenomenon with family and friends, TO A PERSON, I got "You do that too? I thought it was just me!" or some variation thereof.

Yesterday, walking around my beloved Scarborough, was talking to my friend Miracle. Somehow, the song "She's A Beauty" came up. Neither of us could remember the artist (Read the title again. You're welcome!). It was the kind of aggravation that comes with the single thought of...

"DAMMIT, I KNOW THIS!"

I remember that our phone number at 511 Johnson Dr., Duncanville TX, from 1980 to 1986 was 296-0572.

I remember waking up from eye surgery and seeing that they had put a bandage over my stuffed animals eye to match my own. And then puking up the scrambled eggs I tried to eat. I was four.

I remember the first comic book I got, and could really understand, was The Uncanny X-Men,  #167.

I got it from my cousin Keith. It really started my reading of the comic books that continues to this day.

I remember hearing Led Zeppelin IV in it's entirety for the first time. December of 85.

I remember what song was playing when I lost my virginity (Thank you, Led Zeppelin! When the Levee Breaks INDEED!).

I remember the combination on my first locker at Augusta High School, in the Sophomore hall. 1-42-05.

I remember my great grandmother teaching me how to clap loud enough to scare away the neighbors marauding mutts.

I remember the night I first drove into town after getting my driver's license... I got a flat.

I remember my grandparents basement... It was basically a hole, with rocks along the walls with some Elmer's glue to hold them together. I remember the older cousins would be down there, discussing girls, or other "teenage" stuff and telling my five year old self, that "If you come down those stairs, the ants in the walls will swarm out and eat your skin off!"

I remember living at my grandparents when I was 18 and STILL being scared to go down to the basement.

Point being, I have a pretty good memory. I treasure it. I can recall somethings with such clarity, it shocks me. Other times, it will take a audio stimulant... A song comes on the radio and I'm there.

Of course, a certain smell can trigger them... I can not smell honeysuckle and not be taken back to walking to Central Elementary in Duncanville, up Goldman St., and the house at the corner of Freeman had their fence lined with the stuff...

These days, I think of not being to recall a song's artist, or if the damn garage door is closed, and I worry about my memory. Hell, I had to review the blogs I have written to make sure I had not covered this topic... Slipping, man.

Take that to the Nth degree... Alzheimer's...

Out of all the maladies that can befall a person, I can think of nothing more cruel than this wretched disease. A person can otherwise be of good health, and the one thing that makes them "Them" is slowly eroded away.

We are the culmination of these imprints, these memories. They make us who we are. To have that stolen? No greater affront. No greater tragedy.

About 1.5 years ago, I was passing through the lunch room, getting some water. I said hello to the co-workers present. They were watching the news at noon. I was hoping to catch the weather.

The story was about an Alzheimer's Survivors group. The people who had lost someone to the disease. From the footage being played, if the sound had been removed... You would have thought it was a "Mega Millions Jackpot" winners group... Smiles. Happiness. Joy.

These were people who cared for loved ones for years, and the loved ones had forgotten them... These were people who exemplified the "In sickness, and in health" AND the "Til death do us part" areas of the vows...

In the one on one interviews, you could feel the dichotomy of the individuals. Combating the feelings of joyous freedom, and the feelings of assumed selfishness.

They knew that they should not feel "Joy"... then in the same breath, make an outfuckingstanding argument as to why they EARNED that "Joy". To have cared for someone you love WHILE watching that person, the person they were, slip away... Heartbreaking... No... A broken heart mends... It was heart wrenching... where the heart is twisted like a wet dishtowel and wrung violently, the emotions expunged... forced out by gripping unseen, iron-like fists...

 Look to your loved one, could be a spouse, could be a parent... Think of the days you spent laughing. The days you spent crying. Think of that ONE day... The one that solidified your relationship with one another. That ONE day that is no one else's. It is the defining day of you and your loved ones essence.

Now... erase it.

Worse... Imagine the person you love not remembering it.

As this vile thing progresses... Imagine them not remembering you.

I tear up at the thought. I am more scared of this befalling me than I am of the flesh eating ants in my grandparent's basement walls.

______________________

Find your parents photo albums. Go through them. Burn those images into your minds. Do it over and over. Then CHERISH THOSE MEMORIES.

The next trick is to not spend too much time remembering the past, that you neglect to make MORE memories.

Then lament the fact that all we have now are tumblr accounts, Instagram and Facebook feeds.

We're doomed, but at least we won't be able to remember why...

It's a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And it's casting it's shroud
Over all we have known

- Pink Floyd 

On the turning away,

d

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In Retrospectacle

About two to three hours ago, I started a conversation with someone. It was off a dating site, and in their profile, they already proved themselves more brave than I am. For privacy reasons, that is about as much as I can divulge.

So... The conversation is taking it's normal route. Lots of questioning back and forth. Thankfully, she said that she liked the writing of my rather lengthy dating profile. Well... Just so happens that I have a whole metric fuck tonne of writing right HERE! I proceeded to give her the link. She may in fact be reading this very sentence... Hi.

Right after sending the text, I thought... Shit. I kind of bare my soul in this saga on a screen. Not all of these are deep, introspective writings, but you could learn quite a lot about me. Not all of it flattering...

Did that stop me from giving her my full name so she could perv my profile on Facebook? NO,  IT MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT!!!

"Can I please have a knee that bends in a manner so I can just kick myself in the testicles?"

After some grueling minutes passing, waiting for some indication, favorable or unfavorable, I get a "I like the hair!"

This lets me know she made it to Friday's postings... Again... One can learn a LOT about me on my Facebook profile. I have had my phone number up on it since 2010... Not one call... But still! I don't lock down any of my posts or pics. (I have to call and check on my Dad, because I know his security minded ass might have just sprained his eye muscles from rolling them so hard...)

I had to go move mass amounts of weight back and forth, and up and down, and I was thinking about a conversation that a friend and I had recently about... the Past. Ah... the topic presents itself!!!

She entered a relationship. In the spirit of honesty and forthrightness, she divulged some of her recent dalliances and recounts of her romantic life. Nothing terribly shocking... Nothing that has not gone on before and will continue to happen after we are all decomposed.

Well, this new beau, he took umbrage with some of the details of her past. He would not let them go. He would use these nuggets of information as weapons in which to inflict pain and abuse. More atrociously, he used them as bludgeons to deflect any and all valid arguments she would make.

I had a little issue with the past being a hindrance. I was seeing a lady, they know who they are (SUPER-SLY-EARLIER-BLOG REFERENCE, TOTALLY MADE LESS SUPER-SLY BY THIS ALL CAPS PARENTHETICAL ANNOUNCEMENT!), who had issue with me being friends, Facebook and otherwise, with a few of my exes and women I had seen naked. The fact she was in Memphis, and me six hundred miles away, is a gargantuan factor.

It really bugged her. To the point where I had to tell her... "Either you trust me or you don't." I didn't realize it at the time, but in this case it was not wholly matter of trust, or the past. It was one of access.

A friend, who I was in a relationship with for about eighteen months, needed some cash. I had some cash and I loaned it to her. I did not hesitate. I did charge a big ass bottle of Jack Daniels as interest. "Business Acumen", I believe it is called...

It really bothered her that I did it... I had to explain, more than once, that with this person, who had done me no wrong, to whom I had zero, ZERO, animosity, and had one of the most adult relationships, from start to finish, is my friend. Again, it was the matter of access... When I looked back, I knew what phrase made my lady's blood boil... "She just came over got the cash."

It was the "just came over" part... like my current lady friend wished she could do, and this woman, with whom I had a past, could do in 10 minutes.

After explaining my past to her, I did my best to let her know nicely, "I am not going to alienate my friends, or people I care about because you are jealous they are in my life. These people helped me become the person I am today."

The distance did that relationship in... And we are now good friends... About a year after we were done, and still friends and talking sporadically, I jokingly clued her into the fact... "You know... You are know one of the 'exes' you used to not like..."

I know the "Fuck off" was said with a smile... I hope it was said with a smile...

Yesterday, out at Scarborough RAINessance Festival, I was hanging with our merry little band of miscreants. Two lovely ladies were discussing how they were not a fan of when a new lover would make it seem like he was executing something from a playbook.

Paraphrasing, but something along the lines of, "If you play with my tits, fucking ask my how I would like my tits played with. Don't just play with them like you did with your last chick. What may have worked on her, may not work on me."

I smiled to myself and thought... This is a lot like "initiative" in the workplace... If you try something and it makes your boss happy... You showed initiative. If you try something, and the boss is not happy, "What the fuck ya doing?"

If new lover is playing with her tits and it is something that is making her quite happy, then, "Proceeeeed...." (subtext: "I know this is what he has done before, and if I ever meet the chick that taught him this, I will say 'Thank You'"), if not... "What the fuck ya doing?"

The actual lessons to be taken away is communication, of course... That, and don't let the past dictate your future... or breast handling technique.

___________________________________

I am no prognosticator. I can not see the future. The only person I would believe that can truly read the future would have to have the title "Multiple Powerball Mega Millions Jackpot Winner". So, I do not put too much effort into fortune telling. I make plans and try to stick to them, sure... but... The Universe has jokes.

The present is unfolding as it should... Try and stop it. Dare ya. I'll make the popcorn.

I have a past. You have a past. They have a past. Unless you are in Witness Protection, there is know escaping it...

While I do not hide or shy away from any of it, I am not proud of all of my past. I have done some fucked up, repugnant shit. I have made peace with close to 99% of my past. There are always those things you will carry, until you shuffle the mortal coil, that you will never fully come to terms with...

I tell any new person of interest, "You can ask me any question. I may ask if you reeeeeally want the answer, but I will answer honestly... and I can't make you like the answer."

If someone can't handle your past and you have made your peace with it, present them with the following choices... 1) HONESTLY accept it and move on, taking all the time they need to do so. "Accepting" meaning they do NOT get to hold it against or over you. EVER. 2) Swallow that jagged little pill, STFU, and they NEVER hold it against or over you. EVER. 3) Fuck off.

Sitting in my Nowhere Land,

d

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And The Shovel Is For...

Yesterday, as I was about to start cleaning house, I had the brilliant idea to wear my brandy new, NONE too cheap, moccasins. Figuring to get them a little more broken in for Scarby next weekend. I get the right one laced up... Looking super awesome. On to the left moc!

The third of ten glass button makes a noise... like crushing glass. And this button just... wobbles off it's post...

The visions of what I wanted to do the Earth. Flames seen from space. A rolling, devastating storm cloud, raining death and destruction, with me at the head... Commanding and bending the raw, primordial power of...

VENGEANCE!!! (If I could have made it blink, I would have)

I finished cleaning the house. Called the good people at Catskill Mountain Moccasins, and all will be fixed in the first 10 minutes of opening day. I calmed down, and it took about five minutes to remedy the situation. Even I was a little appalled at the level of my reaction.

As the wise Ron Burgandy once said, "That escalated quickly!"

That was not the only inspiration for this week's verbal spewage...

I spoke with a beloved friend this week. She had been wronged. Shit, to be honest, she had been verbally abused by a person she was in a relationship with. I may be many things, but there are lines I will never cross. Hurting someone I supposedly love? It sickens me. As I told someone a while back, "I may be a bastard, but I am not a fucking bastard." (Not in the classical sense of the word... Love ya, Dad!)

As I recall, and am replaying in my movie-hole I call a brain, what this guy said and did, I feel hurt. I feel for this person (Never mind that she is my friend. Never mind that she is one of the few people on the planet I actually love. Just the fact she is a human being - hurting), recounting the recent events with tears in her eyes... Hell, I write this, I am tearing up... Hurt is the primary emotion...

However. Comma. There is a seething cauldron of rage bubbling underneath.

She came to me with her story because she had written a letter to this vile, piece of shit's new girlfriend explaining in detail what a vile, piece of shit this guy is. It was succinct and well thought out and executed (She is meticulous and hella organized! You do NOT want to piss her off.).

She was asking me if she should mail it.

There it is. The dilemma. Should one seek vengeance for the wrongs done unto them?

Not Just The Name of Roy's Horse!

What does it take for you to want to make someone feel YOUR pain?

In the case above, the reason she wanted to inflict suffering was abundantly clear. THE FUCKER WAS "GETTING AWAY WITH IT". Almost a direct quote.

Now, some people can read that story and it not have any effect, or elicit any reaction. These same people could see a scratch on their car and want the streets to run red with the blood of everyone in a twenty block radius because the bag of dicks that scratched their ride might still be in the circle of pain!

Last night I was helping a lady friend set up her blog, and discussing writing, so I brought up this topic. This lady is uber hippie lady. Loves hugs. Loves animals with a passion. Loves love. I have never heard her to speak an unkind word about anyone. The worse utterance being, "I would not like that person around me."

That is the equivalent to my "Fuck that fucking fuck. Hope they die screaming."

I asked her what would set her off? She said "Nothing" in an instant, clinging to her pacifist ways and teachings.

"Someone fucks with your kid", I countered.

"Ohh, they done fucked up then.", she said and I felt the sudden drop in temperature... I think even she was surprised by how quickly her mind went to vengeance.

Ta-da! Trigger discovered!

I told a therapist once, how I envision my own mechanism. I do my best to allow the momentary, brief flash of retribution on a plague-like scale to surface... and then lock that shit down. A lock is a series of little tumblers that have to be manipulated at the right angle and sequence to unlock.

IF someone were to pick my particular lock... It will make national news and... well, they United States Correction System might not let me blog from death row.

On Ice!

If you tell me you have not heard the old Klingon Proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold." I will call you a fibber and tell you to watch "Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2" immediately.

I have been mentally dissecting that phrase for the past few days. I think I never really gave it much thought really. Someone been wronged, it is the go-to of vengeance quotes... Don't really think about it. Just say that shit. Sound smart!

When you are hurt, when you are angry, when you are BLINDED by those two powerful emotions, the first thing to go out the window? REASON.

The "served cold" part is the beautifully evil part of the quote. Let the hate and hurt simmer down... A boiling pot of water in not a real danger. Why? Because you see water doing that gurgle, rolling bubble shit... "Hey, that water is hot!"

You see a nice container of water... not exhibiting any of the behaviors associated with a boil... Stick your hand in... Come on... All is calm and serene... C'mon... I got you, Pum'kin... BURN!

No... IF you do seek vengeance... Let the storm pass... In the calm that follows... Wait for your opportunity... Like a Swedish Steppenwolf cover band naming themselves "Bjorn To Be Wild"... That kinda opportunity.

Regain the higher brain function and set forth your plan to completely decimate the object of your wrath.

A dish best served cold...

____________________________

I ended up telling my friend that I would NOT mail the letter. It was difficult for me to get that jagged, little pill out myself. I would not condemn her if she did end up mailing it. 

My reasoning is that, at the moment of our conversation, she was out. She was free and clear of that dysfunctional universe. To mail the letter would be opening the door and walking back into it.

She would not be present to see the expression and reaction of her letter being read... There only satisfaction would be that she had done her due diligence to try and help another human being from being hurt the same way she had been...

Yeah yeah... that is nice and all... but it would really fuck with that world class bag of dicks too.

In this case, however, dealing with this sociopath... It would not cause one flag in his step... Which is what really drove my opinion to not send the letter.

"Before you embark on a journey of  revenge, dig two graves." (TITLE!)

Confucius said that... And what it means, in that day and age, your reaction, would cause an reaction. Which would prompt your escalated reaction, and then an escalated reaction on theirs...

Even if you vanquish your foe, how much of yourself was sacrificed in the process?

I miss the parts of me I have buried along the way and I am tired of digging graves. That being said, there are seven graves I still have to fill, and I check each dish's temperature daily.

I hate it when my friends hurt,

d

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