Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Thursday, November 16, 2017

In Which The Jim Jefferies Show Provokes Serious Discussion...

Well, three cheers for Jim Jefferies—as always, his show has provoked great discussion here at Chez FondaRiz.
Long-time readers will remember Jim as my celebricrush in the days before Al; I have remained a hardcore fan (and gotten Al hooked on his work).  I’m pretty upset that this is going to be the first time in seven years I’m going to miss him when he comes through in December—there’s just no room in the budget right now, sadly.  (I only got to go last year because the tickets were an Xmas present.) Oh, and Jim—I was fighting a cold and was still pretty squiffed after the show (and waiting for Al to bring the car around).  If I came off as creepy, sorry.  Your virtue is safe with me these days—Al is enough (and sometimes, too much. How anyone manages to deal with more than one person in their romantic life is beyond this 50-year-old).  Good to see you, though. (Like he reads this.)
Ah, well, the joys of adulting. *ptui*
But seriously… if you haven’t caught his show on Comedy Central, WTF is wrong with you?  It’s hysterical, thought-provoking, and just DAMNED good.  He seems to be having a good time, too. Nice to see someone who’s worked hard get some well-earned success. I’m still pissed about Legit being cancelled (way to go, FXX, you fucking idiots—you had a show that had a great cast, was hysterical, and had heart and soul AND brains.  Of course it got cancelled), but the Daily Show-style format suits him and his style.  His “roving reports” are on-point, and no one is spared.  
With all of the sexual harassment shit spurting out of the cracking façade of Hollywood and politics, there was no way Jim was not going to touch on it, particularly all the bullshit coming out of Alabama and the current GOP contender for Senate (no, I am not mentioning his worthless name, the fucking pedophile).  Now, a few words about my life partner:  I refer to Al as the love of the rest of my life.  I waited 43 fucking years for him to show up, and if this happens to end, I am done.  No way I can put my heart on the line like this again.  We’ve been together almost seven years now, he’s my best friend and my man, we have fought like hell to make this work whilst dealing with family (my mother, her brother, the loss of the family home, and her illness and loss; his kids, his !@#$%^&*() of an ex-wife who is still under the delusion that she has some right to run his life; plus, all of the baggage two human beings accumulate on their journey through life); I honestly don’t WANT to work like this again.  He’s my hero, my honey, and I love him to death, and we drive each other up the wall and back down again, and we’ve got each other’s backs.
One of the reasons I respect him is because of his genuine respect for women, particularly me. He is not one of those weird, semi-effeminate male feminists who just LOVE AND RESPECT ALL WOMEN! He’s a normal guy who considers women to be beautiful, incredible, smart, and amazing—and treats them with respect. We work as a couple because we’re both deep into politics (and from opposite sides, although he is a reasonable Republican of the old school, not one of these moronic nutjobs that have destroyed the party of Lincoln); he’s an economist, I’m a historian, and we love to get into it.  Passionately.  It’s awesome.  And both of us ask questions and read and research and try to find an article or a news story that the other hasn’t heard about yet—it’s our friendly competition here at home.  To see his utter disgust for the way these men have acted… I’m proud he’s my partner. I am grateful I waited for him, that I held myself to a standard because it has paid off. 
So, anyway, we were getting caught up on Jim’s show, and Al asked the question a lot of people have asked, “Why did they wait so long to come forward?  Why didn’t they break this last summer?”
He was not challenging the veracity of the women—to the contrary, he believes them.  He lives with a survivor—he knows what we deal with, and does everything within his power to make sure I feel safe.
I looked at him and said, “Because the Weinstein story hadn’t broken last summer.  The word was out—that asshole had been banned from the local mall years ago.”
He looked thunderstruck. “Oh, shit. Of COURSE.”
It’s interesting to watch the emotions chase across his face in moments like this—Al is NOT a poker player and never should be—and his disdain, disgust, nausea… I am proud he’s my partner, that the very idea of harming anyone like that is so antithetical to who he is…
And then I dropped the hammer… “Although what’s REALLY galling is that no one believed any of these women or did a damned thing to help them until a MALE journalist broke the story. If it had been written by a woman, no one would have given a fuck.”
“You’re probably right,” he muttered sadly. 
And this is the galling thing for me about all of this—every fucking woman in this country (on the planet, honestly) knows this—if the article about Harvey Weinstein had been written by a woman, it would have been ignored. No one would have run it (and yes, I know the original outlet for the story dropped it).  Women have been talking about this for years—about the routine disrespect, harassment, patronizing, stereotyping, glass ceiling, abuse, lies, and general disregard that comes with having a pair of tits and an innie instead of an outie between your legs.
Years and years and years of not being taken seriously… of being told to “shut up and accept it,” being ignored, pushed aside… And now, you assholes are taking us seriously because Frank Sinatra’s son told you to.

Fucking hypocrites much? 

Monday, November 6, 2017

So this follows hard on the heels of the last post (which actually should have been posted on Friday) because, hey, I turned 50 today.
Half a fucking century on this planet.
Who'da thunk?
This birthday's approach was depressing the fuck out of me, but, thankfully, I have had a really nice, low-key day. 
This is one of those milestone birthdays, and, honestly... I dunno.  I don't feel fifty.  (How does one feel fifty, anyway?)
I'm still me--I still love my man, my ridiculous and awesome cats, Captain America, Marvel movies, good friends, the occasional drink, amazing chocolate, growing things, making things, cooking, debating politics... Nothing has changed, really, except I'm a lot greyer. 
Good Gods, has my hair gone white.  There's a cloud of white hair on top that looks almost like a fog coating the rest of my hair.  Not a lot of lines in my face (it's one of the few benefits of being fat), and the eyes... Yep, those are my eyes looking at me. 
I can't believe I've been alive this long; I didn't expect to make it much past 30, yet... Here I am.
My mood has lifted a bit since Friday (since yesterday when I broke down crying in pure frustration over lack of handicapped access in a library--A FUCKING PUBLIC LIBRARY in a town with a tax base that any other city would kill for)... The world doesn't look so hopeless.
I find it darkly amusing that I have turned out to be the most optimistic pessimist I've ever known.
I see all that is dark in this world--I am beyond upset with the state of the U.S., the dumbing down of this country, the idiot in charge in Washington, and the level of corruption that is systemic and endemic.  I have been predicting this for a long, long time--I saw this coming back in 1981, and over the years as the dirty tricks got dirtier and the politics got uglier and more blatant... I am just not surprised. I'm disgusted and sickened, yes--this is one of the few times in my life I really, really, REALLY hate being right--but I knew this was coming.
On the other hand... I couldn't believe the number of birthday wishes that showed up on FB today. It was really touching and really moving. The kid at the candy counter at the movies who wished me a happy birthday (after I sampled the birthday cake fudge--BLEEEEECCCCHHHH!!!!! It was like solid vanilla frosting.  What the fuck is the point?!?!).  The teacher at a local school texting me after she got the package of seeds and black raspberry canes for her kids' garden at the school... the nursing home aid who got a bag of magazines for one of her residents... the million little kindnesses that surround me every day, and knowing that, for all the ugliness in this world, I have found a place, a community, to which I make a positive contribution.
Spending the day with Al, who was heartbroken he couldn't make my 50th as crazy awesome as I made his.  We have to move house--every spare dime we have has to go into that moving fund AND we have to keep the bills paid.  We went to see Thor (which was AWESOME!!!! Not as awesome as Civil War, but still... FUCKING AWESOME!), he made dinner... we spent the day together and relaxed (and got some stuff done, too, but no crazy pressure today--I asked him for that for both of us).  Yeah, I wanted a big party, a surprise party, a costume party... but when there are other priorities, you don't ask your partner to further stress himself (and the finances) for a bit of vanity.
When we've found a new place and things are better financially... THEN we can celebrate.
That's probably the biggest change in me that I have noticed since leaving Hell's Vestibule--I am a much calmer human being.  I am far more zen, far more flexible. 
I am finally the person I want to be, at least in a couple of ways that really matter.
All that anger and rage that I took so much shit for has found an outlet in the garden and in food justice (I'm a voice, an advocate--I wish I could be more, I wish I had more reserves of both energy and cash to offer beyond enthusiasm, wit, and the strange ability to ask the right question at the right time, and the hard questions when no one else wants to). 
For all that is plaguing me, I am OK with me, with who I am.
That is not a small achievement.
I hope it takes whoever else is reading this a lot less than half a century to get to that point.
So, happy birthday to meeeeeeee...
Yeah.

In Which the Empress Attempts to Resuscitate her Blog

Hey, Folks.
Welcome to November. It is currently 71 degrees in Boston, and I'm wearing long shorts and sandals.
There is no such thing as global warming, evidently. *rolls eyes*
I'm currently listening to Arcade Fire's Everything Now album.  "Creature Comforts" cuts a little close to the bone, but it's a beautiful song.
So it's National Novel Writing Month, and I have no clue what to work on.  I have a novel in progress (co-writing with my best friend), an editing project in process (when don't I?), and, oh, yeah, we have to move.
*headdesk*
Life is one great, big, all might clusterfuck at the moment, and I'm pretty much ready to curl up in a ball and not exist.
So... what have I been up to?
Dealing with being a grownup in a relationship.  We've been together for six and a half years, and honestly, while I can't imagine life without Himself, I also would love to run away and be a hermit. This is normal for writers.
We have been through a hard, hard fucking year. His daughter, whom I loved as my own, moved out at the end of January, and hasn't spoken to me since. Why? I expected her to take responsibility for her actions and her behavior, and that made me a Very, Very Bad Person.
Yeah.
There's more to it (involving his evil she-bitch troll of a fuckup ex-wife, may she die alone and screaming for mercy in a gutter, ignored--yeah, she's a lovely, lovely person. Until you get to know her. Can you tell what great friends we are?  Liars just don't fare well with me). Watching the man you love having his heart broken over and over and over by the child he raised and never turned his back on... Yeah.
Her loss.
Grief continues to haunt me.  I avoided catastrophic grief, but I am still mourning my mother. I am still fighting the nightmares from the past.  All of these ugly revelations of sexual harassment from the Hollyweird elite have triggered me deeply--too many reminders of how deeply and badly women are treated, too many reminders of my own upbringing and being told I was nothing next to the men in my family.  My eternal rage is very, very close to the surface, and the need to strike out is serious.
I continue working with the community gardens--it's work that I love, although these days, my physical health has deteriorated to the point where the only real tool I have left is my voice (and the brain and the education and the knowledge, when my brain works and I can focus).  My hands... the arthritis and carpal tunnel, deQuervane's, radial tunnel, tennis elbow, and bursitis, with the added sauce of rheumatoid arthritis and the accompanying swelling and fatigue, make writing painful. It makes everything I love doing painful--cooking, knitting, any of the half a million handcraft hobbies I have, designing, even reading... Holding a book is agony, finding a comfortable position where I can prop a book is impossible... The osteoarthritis is also spreading; my knees need desperately to be replaced, and my back and hips are getting into the equation.
Yet, I am fighting for disability because working full-time is beyond my ability these days.  I have a good job--doesn't pay much, but I like the work (love some of it), and love the people I work for and with.  I could be full-time, but when we tried to increase my hours... yeah. Spirit was willing, but the body pretty much told me to go fuck myself.
I have worked since I was 15 1/2.  I fixed my papers (you could do that back in the 80's--copiers sucked back then) to get my first job because I wanted money of my own, and I needed to get away from the abuse I was dealing with at home. I have worked for 35 years, and I would give damned near anything to work full-time again.  I have seven doctors who have stated that these disabilities (multiple--if only it was one, easily treatable ailment) are real, but a doctor who never examined me said I was fine.
Welcome to America, the country that hates its people.
More on the Era of Hatred later because that is also killing me.
The judge, in the first hearing, said that because I have a garden and could knit, I wasn't disabled. He disregarded the fact that the knitting was occupational therapy, and the garden... I do the planning, Himself does the work.  I know all about how to make great soil, what to plant where and when, what to feed them, when to harvest, and how to cook it.  I can't bend to plant, weed, any kind of sustained activity... but I can teach others how to.
I was raised to work, and that even if you can't do, you can help others to.  This is why I volunteer--I sit in roughly three meetings a month, a total of maybe six hours of my life.  I listen, I speak up, I offer suggestions, and I try to motivate others.
This makes me not disabled.
My hands shake... my handwriting is illegible most days when it used to be elegant. I lose my grip and drop things, spill things... but I could be an eyeglass fitter!
My employers changed my job so that, instead of prepping product for sale (I work for an amazing tea and spice company that also has a small organic flower and herb farm--I work in heaven), I am doing administrivia--the crap I have been doing for so long, I can do a lot of it in my sleep.
I would rather be out in the fields, planting and weeding, and watching things grow, but my body cannot do it.
So this is my life right now.  It is not what I intended it to be at this point, but... it could be so much worse.