go suck it

steve king.

representative steve king (representative of what?  western iowa or a "big ball of hate" ?)  should be pimping trump this cycle, what with their shared rascist anti-immigration policy.

and now he's set his crosshairs on defending bigots' freedom to exercise their bigotry in the wake of the supreme courts ruling that gay marriage will be recognized nationally.  king ass says the ruling "unconstitutionally and indefensibly perverts the defintion of marriage" so he has proposed a resolution that businesses, religious institutions, cities and states and other close-minded like minded bigots should be "encouraged, empowered and protected to exercise their faith without fear of legal or government interference".

how in the world would selling a doughnut to a gay couple hurt the proprietor?  if it does isn't that more a perversion of capitalism than marriage?  if i'm around for the caucus in february i'm going to propose a resolution about steve king that i hope makes it to the state convention declaring steve king "king ass".

the other side

had a scary dream last night.

well maybe i should start here instead:  a few years ago, about 6 months after we had to put Gus dog down, marty and i and family were willing to explore the idea of visiting the animal rescue league with the intent of bringing home a k9.  we met some nice dogs, but the one dog that compelled us to fill out an application and place our name 4th on a waiting list was a big black mastiff puppy with a disposition that i knew was special, he had that thing that je ne sais quoi.  so obviously "kobe" was a hot ticket and we witnessed the 1st folks on the waiting list have a meet and greet with "kobe" and their dog and it seemed like the dogs would be fast friends.  we went home sans k9.

two or three mornings later marty and i are laying in bed sharing tales from dreamland and my dream involved being chased by a big black dog who could climb ladders and fences.  i recall feeling exhilerated and scared running and staying just ahead of this dog when the dog says "you don't have to be afraid of me".  i stopped and turned around and said "you can talk?"  the dog replied "yes" and then asked me what my name was.  I said "nicole, what's your name?"  he said "Ace".

later that morning i'm at work and receive a phone call that "kobe" is available, the other homes didn't work out and are we still interested?  i called my husband and said "Ace needs a ride home".

he fucking named himself.

so last night as i was drifting off to sleep, Ace came to me again in my dream.  he stood in the hallway outside our bedroom and it was dark with a strange moonlight that allowed for my eyes to just make out shapes but not details. i could see that Ace was not alone, Gus was with him.  Gus has been dead for three years.  i knew in my dream that this was a bit grim reaper-like, and in the dream marty sat up in bed and shielded me from being taken and i awoke crying and saying i'm not ready.

needless to say, i'm a bit rattled today.

Gus

Ace

 

a lot

i'm propped up on the couch with 8 pillows configured behind me such that a drain can dangle down my left side capturing fluid collecting behind a footlong scar i received on thursday.  say what?  why?


because of iowa's first in the nation status all the monkeys running for president spend too much time in iowa wooing iowans.  donald trump was one of those monkeys attending an event norte of des moines, it was the freedumb bbq in (sk)ankeny and i got into a westside storyish, greasers vs socs spork spat with donald.  i crashed the freedumb bbq dressed as an abortion with trump's hair on top, and  he stabbed me with a gold spork he had in his left hand, pointed at me with his right hand and like a 9 year old boy said "no you're the abortion".  it was weird.

that is a far better tale than the truth, but the truth is last thursday i had melanoma surgically removed  that was "like a cluster of grapes the size of a softball" from what is ground zero on my left flank, yay!

which brings me back to my current state, which is propped up and contemplating my next move which is do i nod off or watch meatballs?  both?  i feel ok about my current state as it is raining outside and super swampy so i would not be in the garden anyway.  but i hope to be able to weed and harvest soon.  my cucumbers are starting to come in and it is pickling time god dammit.  

you know those people who say "aids was the best thing that ever happened to me" because it made them a better person?  i don't know who says that but i sure as shit wouldn't say that about melanoma and me.  that should be the title of my memoir, like marley and me but melissa mccarthy plays me instead of aniston in the movie of the book "mel and me".

i knew something was brewing on my side, no way to articulate the knowing and the anxiety that piggybacks the knowing, which is relieved only by a welcome scalpel and a 12 inch scar held together with staples.  how to process and articulate that?  well i blogged about folding a fitted sheet is how i dealt with it.

now i am tasked with healing and staying ahead of the pain.  but what about after?  for the past 24 months i've been paralyzed by depression.  and depression is such a time sucker.  you think pinterest and myface are time suckers?  depression by stage 4 melanoma is a time sucker fucker.

but no mas.  no.  i don't think i'm gonna live forever.  so it is important to me to smile and find peace and prepare the fruit i've grown from seed and share it with friends and family and squeeze my dog and kiss my husband and hug my friends and family and make strangers laugh and get finger banged by benicio del toro.

and fold a fitted sheet.  

come see me anytime.  because it will be impossible for me to see you at my funeral.

yep, i can now add this to my skills set

don't bother watching these vids if you don't have a fitted sheet in your hand, it will be lost on you.  there is something really satisfying about being able to do this.  almost meditative.  of all the things i could be writing about, this is what i've chosen to put out there.  so go, get a fitted sheet and give it a go.

first watch martha shame an audience member:

i tried but failed.  then poor man's ozzy osbourne came along and said,

"Have you watched the most viewed video on how to fold a fitted sheet and still can't do it?"

i nodded yes, and looked at my sheet blob and vowed not to give up.  if ozzy osbourne and the dead oxiclean yelling guy made a sandwich it would be this guy.  I think you will thank me.

  

game changer.

drop the mic.

sick of sausages

i am sick of sausages.  let me clarify, i am not sick of eating meat in patty or tube form that is preferably a happy pig stuffed into a tube or ground up and made into a patty.  no.  the sausages i am sick of are late night sausages.   i am not sick of the sausage that raps you on the cheek while you are sleeping.  winking emoticon, chug-a-lug donna.  no.  i am bored and sick that sausages dominate late night television, just check out this list i compiled in 20 seconds:

bill maher
carson god damn daly
charlie rose
conan
dave
the 3 jimmys- james corden, jimmy kimmel and jimmy fallon
john oliver
larry formerly known as stephen
noah formerly known as jon
seth
stephen
tavis

that's 14 sausages, every night.  that's a gang bang.

where are the ladies?  aren't there any interesting, intelligent, witty ladies out there?

and let me point out that i have no qualms with any of the sausages on late night television, except for david letterman, i've always found him creepy.  i am a huge conan fan, but without cable i must watch him online.  speaking of sausage, here's one of conan's funny bits, and he isn't even in it:

you're welcome.

i digress.

my point is, chicks are funny.  i'm not going to make a list, but talent exists out there to fill any vacant late night host spot.  amy schumer is currently a favorite of mine.  or perhaps the gal who was responsible for this video, i here she's available:

splendoor.  jesus.  that's my buddy john bush, he has a new comedy album out called "comedy night" which is worth a listen cuz he's funny. one time john bush called me "guy funny" which i wasn't sure if i should take as a compliment or was he perpetuating a stereotype that female comedians only appeal to females?  i told him that funny is funny.  dane cook is a guy and he is not funny.

what other ladies tickle your funnybone and could hold their own amongst the sausages?

you know you are getting old when

madonna is playing on the fucking golden oldies station.  i was on my way to the whole foods in urbondalay, when i found myself channel surfing at a red light and settled on a madonna song.  which madonna song?  at the moment i cannot recall, irrelevant.  what is relevant is that it was playing on the god damn golden oldies station.

my brother reminded me a few years back that i had made up my own lyrics to a track off her first album, it was to "borderline".  instead of "borderline, you just keep on pushin' my love over the borderline"  i sang, "pantyline, you just keep on pushin' my butt over the pantyline" and i had a dance i did too.  it was 1983 and i was 13 for fucksakes.  but i certainly hadn't categorized that memory as a golden oldie memory, until yesterday.

thanks yesterday.

then i do whole foods shopping, dreading the check out lane.  i dread it because they are chatty, but not in the good kind of chatty which would be "cool scarf" or "you look like you could use an irish car bomb" or "did a squirrel do your hair today?"

no they fucking ask the dumbest corporate questions that are the same exact questions the cashiers  everywhere ask, "did you find everything alright?" wtf?  if i hadn't i wouldn't be fucking in line checking out, i'd be asking where in the fuck is the lube to some poor stocker or the cat at the seafood counter.  i mean the cashiers' are already tallying your loot when they ask that question and who says "no, as a matter of fact i couldn't find the gluten free, fair trade, non-gmo, organic, mongolian snozberry kombucha?  where are you guys hiding that shit?  can you find it for me NOW?" and there's 3 folks in line behind you.  are they gonna hold up the line behind me to look for that bullshit?  that bullshit should've been taken care of pre-check-out time.

the second question they always ask, which is totally none of their business, "so, any special plans for the weekend?"  are you kidding me?  my mom used to ask me that question, and it felt the same as, "so are you dating anyone special?"  i nipped that one in the bud at trader joes by replying once, "nope just the usual, a lot of crying and masturbating, and not necessarily in that order".  radio silence.  i wish i had had that one in my arsenal for my mom back in the day.

leprechaun traps?

i don't have children.  my husband does but they're way beyond the age of crafting a leprechaun trap. martha stewart and others have posted instructions on how to build a leprechaun trap.  this is the first st. patricks day i've heard of such a trap.  who would want to trap a leprechaun?  that's like trapping a possum to be your pet.  like all things, cute when young but after a couple of years of feeling trapped and a bottle of chardonnay-a-day habit, that cute possum's gonna turn ugly.

or trapping a leprechaun would be like going on a family roadtrip with justin bieber.  a leprechaun trap.  i can't get over it.

to me a trapping a leprechaun sends the wrong message. it's like telling your kids that slavery is cool.      that trapping a boat full of africans on the amistad for the middle passage to the new world is a great way to get from a to b.

but the fucked up thing for me is the size of the leprechaun trap, it's the size of an oatmeal canister.  ladies and gentlemen leprechauns are the size of a peter dinklage (no offense) or a justin bieber, but with freakishly huge testicles and a temper.  if you think this will hold a leprechaun-

you are mistaken.  here is my favorite st. patrick's day news story of all time, enjoy....