Went with my friend Lisa yesterday to see “Hidden Figures. “If you haven’t seen it go see it. It is an eye opener. I was amazed to see the IBM Selectric being used and told Lisa I didn’t think that was around until the 1970s. Came home and looked it up and it actually was launched in 1961. I loved typing on the Selectric and miss the sound it made when you were typing. Now I want to buy one.
Back to the movie … it was an eye opener. What those women put up with to have a job was beyond the pale which, by definition, means outside the bounds of acceptable behavior, but in this case it has a double meaning because it was beyond what the pale (aka white) people had to put up with or probably would put up with. At the end of the movie when they show real pictures of the women who were depicted in the movie I started to cry — it was as if the movie morphed from “entertainment” to “reality.” I admire those women more than I can say — well I can say it but I don’t know how.
On a lighter side (again literally and skin tone wise) — at one point in the movie — during a scene much like the one in the photo below — I turned to Lisa and said “It looks like the cast of The Book of Mormon.” And it did.
Here is a video of Katherine Johnson receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
An idiot in the Oklahoma senate said that women’s bodies are “hosts.” If this is true than a penis is an intruder and can be shot based on the stand your ground mentality.
But, of course, it is not true and this “man” is trying to control something that men have tried to control since the dawn of time. In the words of Obi-Wan Kenobi
“IF YOU STRIKE ME DOWN, I SHALL BECOME MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE.”
The harder you try to control us, the more powerful we have become.
To call a woman a embryo host is not only stupid, but it degrades the bond between a child and a mother and then a family. I think a child senses the difference between being born into a place of welcome as opposed to being the product of a host — a parasite of sorts.
Some people like to throw around the words “Life begins at conception.” I believe life begins at connection. When the parent(s) and the family feel that immediate connection to this child. I like to think that a baby can feel that connection — that he or she knows the joy of being wanted and loved the moment of birth, or even before.
I remember seeing a big billboard many years ago proclaiming life begins at conception. My immediate thought became part of my stand-up routine:
I wear sensible shoes. I’ve worn sensible shoes for most of my life with the exception of those horrible patent leather shoes that were forced on me to wear to church. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could rub the heels together and make one of the most irritating sounds you’ve ever heard, they would have gone missing along with a bottle of bad tasting cough syrup and a note from my teacher about my inability to concentrate.
Part of the reason I wore sensible shoes is I inherited my dad’s wide feet and the fancy shoes were not made for wide feet; apparently they weren’t dainty enough. But I did try to squeeze my feet into more stylish shoes but they hurt and I don’t care how nice they looked, I prefer to not have my feet hurt to wearing shoes that are like small torture machines.
The other reason is I just didn’t want to wear the shoes with heels that a klutz like myself could and would easily fall off of and break some bones. They were also way too expensive. When I see shoes that cost hundreds of dollars I can’t imagine buying them. I spend a lot for a good pair of shoes but not hundreds of dollars. If I want to fall and break something it would be cheaper to just throw myself down the steps.
So the “Sex in the City’ gang can have their designer shoes and gigantic shoe closets — I’ll take my sensible shoes and one of those shoe bags that is hanging on my closet door. Now if we are talking about sensible socks vs. funky socks I am definitely on the side of funky.
The Huffington Post has an article on 13 Reasons Why Women Should Masturbate Regularly. I haven’t read it because I’m thinking one is enough. I’m actually sad that someone would have to be talked into it. It seems so obvious — who would need more than one reason. I’m sensing a series of articles:
- 13 Reasons Why Women Should Brush Their Teeth
- 13 Reasons Why Women Should Not Date Serial Killers
- 13 Reasons Why Women Should Not Jump Into Hot Tar Pits
So these are my guesses at the 13 reasons:
- Anything to postpone cleaning the closets
- Nothing good on television
- Already on Santa’s naughty list so go for it
- Because Ted Cruz would disapprove
- You’ve gotta fever and no cow bell
- Keifer Sutherland (need I explain?)
- You’ve run out of chocolate
- The internet is down
- You’re on hold for customer service with Comcast
- All your eHarmony matches could be guest stars on Criminal Minds
- It’s the first day of the rest of your life so start it out with a bang (or sorts)
- The Huffington Post said you should
Of course there are some people busy somewhere (Fox News) preparing a new list — 13 Reasons Why Women Shouldn’t Masturbate Regularly:
- Puts pressure on men to do something other than the clapper (roll on/roll off/the clapper)
- Less time to do their housekeeping
- If God had wanted you to have orgasms you would be men
- Who is going to drive the car pool if women are all home getting jiggy with themselves
- Ted Cruz would disapprove
- There is laundry piling up
- We’re sure there’s something in the bible forbidding it
- You would muss up your housedress
- Because if you do, the terrorists win
- These floors aren’t going to mop themselves
- The Elf on the Shelf will report it to Santa
- That’s a man’s job (insert your own “job” joke here)
- That’s how communism gets a hold of you
Either way it’s obvious that Santa and Ted Cruz are involved in this discussion, and isn’t that sad.
- A book won’t get you pregnant.
- You don’t have to tell a book that yes it’s the best book you’ve ever read and the earth moved and you’ll never find a book as good as … well you get the idea.
- You don’t have to shave your legs for a book.
- You can go to sleep when you want.
- A book will be there in the morning.
- If you don’t like it there are always new books waiting for you.
- A book won’t leave you for a younger reader.
- A small book is as good (sometimes better) than a big book.
- Your best friend will let you borrow her book.
- No wet spots.
I’m from the boomer generation. If our clothes got torn they were patched up (because you never threw ANYTHING away) and put into the “play clothes” pile. The play clothes were those things that were downgraded from good clothes to everyday clothes to play clothes. The next step was the rag basket. Don’t throw it away — use it up. This may explain my relationships with men but I digress.
In 1968 8th grade girls were taught how to darn a sock. REALLY we were. It was 1968 everywhere but in the Home Economics class at Southwest High School. It was 1930 there. We were given a darning egg — I hoped based on the name it would hatch and inside there would be a new pair of socks but that wasn’t the case. It was a wooden tool that resembled a maraca but with all the joy and fun of a maraca drained out of it. The only thing that could turn a darning egg into a maraca was a great imagination fueled by a pitcher or two of margaritas. I wonder if the boys in the woodworking class down the hall were being forced to make darning eggs but I doubted it. We were then suppose to insert the maraca into a sock with a hole in it and “darn” the sock with darning thread that probably cost as much as a new sock. I am happy to say that was the last time I ever darned a sock but I have shook many a margarita inspired maraca.
Believe me no one was more excited to find out torn was cool because torn and ripped is my “milieu” when it comes to fashion. [Yes, I had to look up the spelling of “milieu” and to see that it was actually a word and not something I thought was a word only to find out the real word is something else.]
Even though my mom was one of those moms who actually told you never to leave the house without clean underwear because you might get in an accident — her words are still with me but they just don’t ring as true to a 60+ year old as they did to a 10 year old. I have a hard time imagining that if I was in a car accident or fell into one of the potholes on the road or was trampled by a herd of crazed wild turkeys that I see in my neighborhood that when the EMTs arrive the first thing they would check for was not my pulse or vital signs but for clean underwear. And what if my underwear did not fit their standards — would I be left at the side of the road and, under cause of death, my death certificate would read “Unclean Underwear”?
Yes, torn is in but perhaps I have let it go a little too far? This is my current pair of torn jeans. (Give me points for not blurring my thigh ripples to make them disappear.) They have moved from good jeans, to okay jeans, to stay at home jeans. The next move will be landfill jeans because there is no rag basket in my home — that could only lead to cleaning.
Have you ever seen an outfit in a catalog or online and thought it was cute. Well I was looking for something to wear to my Fringe Show and wanted something bright and sassy and found this outfit. I thought it would work so I ordered it.
Well, maybe not. I took it out of the package and my first thought was “Oh my God that is one big ass star or is it a starfish.” Then I tried it on — 1) it was a little big and 2) Oh my God that is one big ass star or is it a starfish on my chest.
So, I will be returning it and wearing something from my closet which is fine. But I have experienced catalog disappointment often. There were these two dresses I bought from a company that delivers them from England. They were amazingly inexpensive when I ordered them and when they arrived they amazing cheap. And as I tried them on I wondered “what was I thinking?” These would be nice dresses for someone in the late teens and twenties but I looked like I was going to a costume party as an old lady who is still trying to graduate from high school. The cost to return them was just a bit less than the cost of the outfits so I donated them to an organization that will hopefully be able to find a more suitable person for this particular fashion statement.
Just got home from having my teeth cleaned. The hygienist likes to talk and I like to talk to but it is one time when I pretty much have to shut up (I hate it). So by simply listening I found out a lot of my hygienist. Such as:
- Her 19 year old son is home on break of the University of Minnesota
- He works part-time at the Dairy Queen
- He is bored and should be trying to find an internship for the summer or he’ll end up working at the Dairy Queen.
- Her 12 year old son doesn’t like to read.
- He will be 13 soon.
- Her daughter is 17 and a junior in high school.
- She wants to be a pediatric nurse.
- She doesn’t like chemistry.
- My hygienist was forced by her parents to work in a dental office during high school so she could find out if she really would like working in dentistry.
- She didn’t like it but it was pediatric dentistry and that is different.
- Kids are given a “cocktail” and strapped to boards sometimes in order to work on their teeth. (Yeah, I thought that was odd.)
- She is 47.
- Her mom has an Oral B brush but doesn’t like to keep it in the bathroom. Once it is charged up she puts it in a drawer in the bathroom but keeps the charger in her bedroom.
- My hygienist told her kids that each tooth had a name when she would brush them. This came up because she was talking about tooth 5 or tooth 18 or whatever and I said I prefer to name my teeth than to give them impersonal numbers.
That is a lot of information about one person. It’s amazing what you can learn if you shut up and just listen. I’ll have to try that sometime.
We met online and did some playful texting and finally sealed the deal. It was underwhelming to say the least. I remember thinking “I put my partial in for this.” Afterwards he emailed and said “I think my dog smells your dog” and I had to ask someone if that was code for something. I discovered it is code for “let’s NEVER EVER do this again.” And we didn’t but for some reason, the other day, I saw something that made me think of ______ yes fill in the blank because I have no idea what his name was/is.
I’m not sure if that makes me a harlot or just a 60 year old with a bad memory. If I had to chose I’d actually pick the former — what 60-year-old woman doesn’t want to believe she’s still a harlot. Other than Mother Teresa and Nancy Reagan.
Well that’s my question? Any insights?