Tag Archives: Soapbox

Saor Alba

Full Disclosure:  I am, on my Poor Ol’ Dad’s side, a bloody Jacobite — as Scarlett O’Hara said, “run out of Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie…”

Of course you KNOW I’m watching “Outlander” — #1, I’m a huge history nerd and #2, I read the books back when they came out (and am reading them again).

Leaving aside my personal name for the series: “Everyone in the Known World Wants to Fuck Jamie Fraser” (if you’ve read the books, you get it, and if not… well, I give you this:)

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

… so at least you’ll understand why I gladly count myself among the “Everyone” — GREAT casting, by the way!

But anyhoo, I can’t help but find it hysterically coincidental that this series came out just as Scotland is voting on independence.  So, Dear Sweet Mama being just as much a geek as I am, we found ourselves transfixed as all get out at the idea.  So we got to talking about it at the Bob Evans.

What?  Where do YOU discuss global politics?

So far, we’ve been able to discern 3 major points of contention in the matter – these being what the rest of the world (i.e., not Scotland) seems to think ought to matter:

  1. WHO GETS ENGLAND’S NUKES???  Um, England does.  They’re England’s nukes.  But they WILL need to be makin’ an arrangement about the back rent…
  2. WHAT KIND OF MONEY WILL THEY HAVE?  I’d guess whatever money they want, euros, pounds, whatever.  Although I do have to come down as strongly against going back to the Live Pig Currency Standard.
  3. THE DEBT??? WHAT PORTION OF BRITAIN’S DEBT SHOULD SCOTLAND HAVE TO TAKE ON???  This one I’m quite clear on.  NONE.  That debt was paid at (and after) Blar Chuil Lodair.

So, for what it’s worth, I say saor Alba.  And while we’re at it, tabhair Eire ar ais go dti na hEireann.  And am ddim Cymru, if they like.  The time has come.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, The Idiot Box

STEP. THE F**K. BACK.

So I think it’s safe to say that by now we’ve all seen this:

aladdin-free-genie

Complete with the rip-my-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it caption: “Genie, you’re free.”

Hell, I shared it myself the minute I saw it — To me, it perfectly summed up the way most of us felt when we heard Robin Williams had died:  Something magical had gone out of our world.

Now, I’m seeing site after site after site criticizing this image as glorifying/glamorizing/rationalizing suicide and I have just two words for those people:

FUCK.

YOU.

Fuck you SO hard.  That image DOES NOT in any way make suicide into a “happy ending” (as the articles from such outlets as “The Washington Post” and “The Independent” contend).  It expresses our collective sorrow at the passing of an iconic film and comedy legend, who happens to have provided the voice for the Genie.

And if you REALLY want to get all nit-picky, as those articles and others do, then let’s dance:  Do NOT go off on a tangent about how the starry sky visible in the background of some of the versions makes suicide seem like a good and/or desirable outcome.  SERIOUSLY?  Dude, they’re animation stills from a movie that came out YEARS ago, there’s no sinister subtext.  If that’s really all you’ve got to back up your argument, then get the fuck over yourself.

I can only speak as one specific fan who found that this picture and the accompanying quote perfectly expressed my feelings of sorrow and loss over a man who struggled with depression and addiction throughout his life.  I have been there.  I have looked at that particular “Exit” door and chosen not to open it — BUT I UNDERSTAND THE FEELINGS THAT WOULD MAKE SOMEONE PULL THAT HANDLE.  So, regardless of how Robin Williams made his own personal “exit,” one thing is for certain:  He’s done with all that pain now.  HE’S FUCKING FREE.

Second star to the right, Robin, and straight on until morning.

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Filed under At the Movies, I Rule You, Reality Bites, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

The Joys of Broke-Folk Insurance

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY a staunch supporter of the Affordable Care Act.  I would not have any goddamn health insurance at all without it, and I’ve been there, it sucks.  And I know the healthcare industry is all fucked up, and I know there’s not enough doctors, and everything.

But still… this ain’t right.

CALL #1 (Yesterday, ’round noonish)

Voice:  “Hello, Doctor ___’s office.”

HoodyHoo:  “Hi, I need to make an appointment?”

V:  “Okay, have you been here before?”

HH:  “No, my insurance company assigned me to y’all.”

V:  “Okay, what’s your name?”

I proceed to tell her, then spell my whole real name three times, then my first name an additional three times, because A) 5 letters is too hard or B) I have a speech impediment.

V:  “And what insurance do you have?”

HH:  “Broke-folk Insurance.”

V:  “Okay, can you hold please?”

Note:  When there are this many “okays” in a single conversation, things are not going to end well.

V (returning):  “What was your name again?”

I spell the whole name one more time.

V:  “Okay, do you have your card in front of you?”

HH:  “I sure do.”

V:  “Okay, can you read me your ID number?”

I do.

V:  “And the doctor’s name on the card?”

HH:  “Doctor _______.” (um, the same name you said when you answered the phone…)

V:  “Okay…”        <long pause>    “And what’s your phone number?”

I give it.

V:  “Okay, we’re going to have to look something up on the computer and call you back.”

HH:  “Ohkaaaay….”

I am somewhat perplexed.  Surely she could look and see whether or not they took my insurance WHILE we were on the phone?  But… maybe they have dial-up, whatever.

TWO HOURS LATER, WITH NO RESPONSE

CALL #2

HH:  “Hi, I called earlier today to make an appointment and someone was supposed to call me back?”

New Voice:  “You called today?”

HH:  “Yes, a couple of hours ago.”

NV:  “Hold on, I’ll get her.”

Short hold, then a Different Voice:  “Susan?”

HH:  “No, this is Hoody.  I just needed to make an appointment as a new patient?”

DV:  “Oh, okay, hold on.”

At this point, I licked my insurance card and stuck it to my forehead because that suddenly seemed to make more sense than what I’d been doing.

Third Voice:  “Hello?”

HH:  “Hi, I needed to make an appointment?”

3V:  “Okay, hold on.”

After yet another hold, FOURTH FUCKING VOICE:  “Hi, this is Linda.”

HH:  “Hi, Linda.”

And Linda was finally able to make me a goddamn appointment… in October.  Now, granted, all I need is a new patient checkup, but she told me there’d be a 3-month wait BEFORE she asked if there was anything wrong.

And people wonder why us Broke-Folk use the ER as our regular doctor.

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Filed under I'm Confused, Reality Bites, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

I Am a Liar

It’s not my fault, but I must admit:  I lied to the entire state of New Jersey.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

You see, I went to work yesterday, under orders from The Bosses to lead with weather – even though, as they admitted themselves, it “wasn’t going to be a big deal.”  The National Weather Service was advising “little precipitation, snow changing to rain by afternoon.”

Then this happened.

IMG_20131208_160053_535

Mother. Fucker.

So basically, I told an ENTIRE STATE full of easily-terrified senior citizens that there was nothing to fear… when I should have been issuing a bread-and-milk alert.  Credibility.  I hazn’t got it.

Allow me to once again reiterate for those of you who have not been following along in class:  I AM NOT A METEOROLOGIST.  I was once a “weather girl” very briefly, but that was basically tits-and-ass with a blue screen.  I HAVE NO DOCUMENTED SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE OF THIS SUBJECT.

This is why, when I worked at the TV station, I used to rail and fight so hard AGAINST leading with weather (ask Gilbert, he was present for many of the Attempted Firings of Hoody that resulted from my stand on the subject).  Weather is NOT my business, and I prefer to leave the lying to the professionals.

Thanks for listening to my rant.  I love you fuckers.

HH

P.S.  And don’t worry about me during this unexpected Snowpocalypse.  I have my trusty survival tool:

IMG_20131208_164545_091

Yeah, BUDDY!

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Filed under Gilbert, Reality Bites, SCIENCE!, Weep for Humanity, WTF???, Youse Guys, ZOMBIES!!!

Twilight Zone

So, here’s the Mike Sorrentino, Hooligans:

SCENE:  INT.: HOODY’S ROOM, EVENING:

Dear Sweet Mama:  Hey, Hoody, could you get my clothes out of the dryer?

Hoody:  Sure, no problem.  Are they dry now?

DSM:  Yeah.

INT.:  LAUNDRY ROOM,  LATER:

Hoody is folding clothes.  DSM walks by.

DSM:  You don’t have to fold them!

HH:  Of course I do, that’s part of “getting them out of the dryer.”  It’s no biggie.

<MOMENTS LATER>

The Concubine walks past the door, sees Hoody folding clothes.

TC:  I had things in there!

HH:  Yeah, I know, I was just folding –

TC:  Are they dry?  Okay.

The Concubine then proceeds to gather up the clothes Hoody has not yet folded, and storm off into her bedroom.

WHA WHA WHAAAAAAAAT?

Seriously, bitch?  I’m not allowed to FOLD YOUR CLOTHES??? Get the fuck over yourself, hon.  It’s called doing you a favor.  And don’t look now, I also switched your wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.  Yeah, I’m such a cunt like that.

Okay, kids:  Discuss.

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, C'est Vrai You Suck, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, WTF???

In Which Hoody Is Quite Wroth

Or, as we say here in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny, I’m mad enough to eat nails and shit barb wire or something equally as odd.  I MEANT to use today’s blog to pass along an award from the beautiful and talented Misty, but that will have to wait until tomorrow because I. HAVE. A. RANT.

Those of you who follow me on teh Twitter may have already seen last night’s update:  “Hey, lip-service Christians: Read your fucking bracelets.”  What would Jesus do?  I don’t claim to know His plans for the day, but I do know this: HE WOULD NOT MAKE DEAR SWEET MAMA CRY.

You fuckers are DEAD.

Now, I don’t yet know the whole story because DSM and The Concubine are currently in some god-foresaken (and yes, I do mean that) part of Wisconsin where their cell service is shitty, but I know this:  Last night as I lay sleeping, the phone rings and I look at the clock.  It is about 9:30pm, and I’m stumped:  Everyone I know knows I try to be asleep by 9 at the latest (3am gets here EARLY!), so they wouldn’t be calling… and it’s too damn late for it to be a telemarketer or that goddamn Bill Clinton, so who is it?  So I answer.

It is Dear Sweet Mama. And she is CRYING.

Now, I had called her earlier and gotten no answer, so I just figured, shitty cell service, no biggie.  And her voice mail didn’t pick up, so I couldn’t leave a message.  So she calls me back to make sure I wasn’t calling about an emergency, and then she just breaks the fuck down.

They’re allegedly supposed to be at some kind of CHURCH conference with supposed-CHRISTIAN folk singing Kumbaya and shit.  AND THEY HAVE BEEN SO MEAN TO DEAR SWEET MAMA THAT SHE IS CRYING.

WTF, Christians?  Didn’t your god die for your sins?  Aren’t you supposed to love thy neighbor?  DON’T YOU THINK BEING A MEAN-SPIRITED LITTLE SHIT IS GONNA PISS JESUS OFF???

Sweartagawd, if I can get my hands on these people, God won’t have to worry about the whole “vengeance is mine” thing.  I got this one, Lord.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Jesus and Pals, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

The White Man’s Medicine

Y’all may have picked up what I’m putting down already… to be on as many drugs as I am, I’m really not a huge fan of what Dear Sweet Mama and I like to call “The White Man’s Medicine.”  Being of Indian extraction (feather, not dot), and being somewhat of amateur herbalists to boot, both of us would rather fix ourselves with tea and a compress than a mess o’ pills… but sometimes, tea don’t cut it.

BUT… Neither does the white devil!

Remember when Chuckweasel’s mama had the stroke and had to be in the hospital for awhile?  Luckily, she made a really good recovery, the only trouble being that her blood pressure stayed way too high, which they kinda figured caused the stroke in the first place.  So Dr. Custer fills her full of blood-pressure pills (5 kinds. FIVE!) and sends her on her way.

Cut to yesterday, when poor Chuckweasel’s mama had to have surgery to remove a nodule on her adrenal gland… which they think may be the reason her blood pressure was so out of wack in the first place, and taking it off may fix that.

REALLY?

It’s been MONTHS of Dr. Feelgood prescribing all sorts of medications to treat her SYMPTOMS, but no one ever thought to look for the CAUSE?  My guess is they just looked at her age and figured, “Well, a lot of people get high blood pressure as they get older” and called it a day.  The same way doctors REPEATEDLY told my own Dear Sweet Mama that her chest pain was “just gas” because “women your age don’t have heart attacks.”  Well, now we know she’s got a birth defect in her heart… where’s your gas now, DOC?

All in all, I am all in favor of the pills the pills the marvelous pills that keep me from shooting people and enable me to eat, well, food, but treating the symptoms is not enough.  Fucking make it better, or pass the peyote.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!, White Man's Medicine, WTF???