OMG, a GAY athlete?!!!!!

gay
Seems to me that the world of sports was kind of like the military in that regard. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Cause soldiers and athletes are manly men, and nobody wants to think of them as being gay, because that is just not right, right?

Wrong. I am not for or against gays, I am neutral on the whole subject. But I do know that gay men are not all hairdressers or designers. There are gay/lesbian people in ALL walks of life, whether you acknowledge it or not.

I am not gay, and I don’t pretend to understand the mind/body mechanisms of being gay. I do not know if you are born gay, become gay, want to be gay, don’t want to be gay, whatever. I do know that having gay parents doesn’t make you gay, just as having straight parents doesn’t make you straight. I know that it is a religious issue, and some religions condemn gays. I know that being gay causes great pain and suffering for both the person and the family.

Coming out is the big deal. What you do behind closed doors is your own personal business, but once you put it out there, you can’t it take it back. Even if you try, people will always wonder.

Back a few years ago, it seemed that all the high school girls were making out with other girls, and all the guys thought it was hot. Did that make them lesbians, or bi? I don’t think so. I think they did it just because it was the new, off the hook thing to do to shock and amaze people. High school/college seems to be the time for experimenting, with sex, drugs and rock and roll. Don’t laugh, it’s true! Except for me, I believed everything the nuns beat into our heads.  I am still damaged to this day.

This world we live in has become so diverse.  People of all color, religion, sexual orientation…..need to work it out, and live in peace.  Together, while still respecting each one’s individuality.   I’m not sure what God’s plan is with all this, but I am sure that he wants us to be happy and live in harmony.  So, live and let live!

The Week That Wasn’t

BB
Let’s pretend for a moment, shall we, that the past week never happened. Pretend that two boys that were considered Americans didn’t bomb the Boston Marathon. Pretend that a little 8 year old didn’t die. Pretend that two beautiful young ladies didn’t die. Pretend that among many others, a young dancer didn’t lose her legs. Pretend that once again, Americans didn’t have to rally round each other and spawn more heroes.

Let’s pretend that a fertilizer plant in Texas didn’t blow up and level a town, and kill 14 people, mostly first responders. Let’s pretend that there was not 240 tons of highly volatile ammonium nitrate on site.

Let’s pretend that ricin poisoned letters were not sent, one of them to our President.

What if we DON’T pretend? How could all this happen in reality, in OUR country? How indeed.

Unfortunately, I think this is our new reality. People are going to kill people with bombs and guns and poison and anything else they can get their hands on. People that don’t seem abnormal until the deed is done and it’s too late. People that are Catholic, Protestant, Muslum, Jewish….you name it. Every country has been affected in some way with violence and killings.

How do we stop it? How do we all live in peace?

I think we have to play “let’s pretend” again. 😦

Help, I need help!

Seriously folks, what does a blogger need to do to write posts that garner lots of views and comments?

I know I am not a world class writer by any means, but I do like some of my postings, and wonder why more people don’t! I’m at the point where I am ready to give up blogging.

PLEASE tell me what I am doing wrong, or what I should I do to make it better! I appreciate comments so very much!

Wow, sounds like I am begging. Yes, I am begging! Help me!

Russian, Iraqi, Indian…..it’s all Greek to me

backpack
The Boston Bombers are from Chechnya, Russia. I don’t think that really matters. I think there are people from every country in the world, including our own, that have political or mental issues that cause them to blow people up.

One of the more interesting things to me about so many criminals that do heinous acts is that their family, friends, neighbors, co-workers etc. all say that they were nice, polite normal people who they NEVER would have suspected of this. Everyone is shocked, especially the family. It isn’t until after digging deep into the person’s psyche that there were subtle hints of trouble.

How do you protect yourself against this? These kinds of people? Where do they get the guns? The suicide vests? How can they act like normal people, just walking down the sidewalk, then dropping off a backpack with a bomb in it? Then watching the horrific aftermath, all the blood and guts and death and suffering. What are they thinking then? Do they feel shame or sorrow? Are they happy about what they did? Do they maybe regret it afterwards? How could a mother or father not know what their children are not capable of? Is this political? Religious? What? What is the problem now?

I’m not sure if there are answers to any of these questions. Each person is different, and two people may be motivated by entirely different things. I do feel sorry for their families, who were either enablers, in denial, or totally clueless.

The uncle of the Russians was on TV this morning, and you could tell he was PISSED. He hadn’t seen nor associated with the family for quite a while, but regardless, those boys besmirched the family name. Think about it. What would YOU do? How would YOU feel?

I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel like all I have done is ask questions throughout this blog. I want answers, but I doubt I will get them. I doubt anybody will really get all the answers. As I said at the top of this post, it’s all Greek to me.

Give me a Gun

gun

Will somebody please explain to me why needing a background check to buy a gun is a bad thing????? I don’t buy all this shit I see posted on my timeline. My timeline on Facebook is littered with pictures and slogans about Second Amendment Rights and having guns. Lots of guns. The Second Amendment is not all about “the right to bear arms.” Read it. In its entirety. If you can.

A gun is a lethal weapon. So is a car, in the wrong hands. Now please, before you get all up in my face about how guns don’t kill people, people kill people, you will notice that I did NOT add “in the wrong hands” after “a gun is a lethal weapon. Why? Cause good people kill with guns all the time. Cops. Soldiers. Hunters.

You need a license to drive a car. You need a background check on most anything. Why not on guns? Because all the bad guys will have them anyway?

I have a FOID card. I am planning on getting a gun, for target shooting and self-protection. Having said that, I hope to God I will never need to use it to kill another living creature. And NO, I am not against guns. And NO, I am not a vegetarian. Although I really can’t watch Animal Planet anymore, or stories about inhumane treatment of our food sources. And YES, I am a hypocrite about that issue. But I digress.

Let me tell you a true story about what happened to me regarding guns. Shortly after the Dark Knight theatre shootings in Aurora CO, I went to a matinee to see the same movie. It was an early afternoon show, but I was still nervous. I kept telling myself that the bad guys were sleeping in, they only came out at night.

As I pulled into a parking space in a mostly empty lot, I looked over at a guy who opened his trunk a few spaces down from me on the left. As I was unlocking my seat belt, I couldn’t help but notice that he picked up a huge handgun and stuck it in his belt. He turned his head and saw me looking at him, but then he continued rummaging around in his trunk, in a big black box full of ammo and guns. I could see down because I was sitting in my SUV. He was a big man. A big BLACK man. My hand slowly stopped with the seat belt, and my right hand shifted my car from park back into drive, without moving my arm. I was watching the man out of the corner of my eye as I slowly put my foot on the gas, trying to ease out of the parking space without calling attention to myself. I was acting on pure instinct, my fight or flight responses tingling in my body. I was ready to punch the gas and squeal out, weaving all the way to avoid bullets, if necessary.

The man immediately ran over to my window, while pulling something out of his pocket. Just as I was about to punch the gas, he said “Ma’am, I am a police officer, please don’t be scared! This is my badge!” I rolled down my window a crack and said “You can buy a police badge on the internet for like twenty bucks.” He started to laugh at that, and “no, really, I’m a cop, here’s my detective ID, look, here’s my bulletproof vest, you can call the number on my ID and ask about me”. I decided that maybe he was ok, so I got out of my truck. He had walked back to his car and turned on the lights to show me. I asked him why he had his gun on, and he said he really couldn’t say. He gave me card, and we walked towards the entrance together, talking. The whole time though I was thinking to myself, if he is going to The Dark Knight, I’m turning and running. He held the door open to the entrance for me, and then nodded to the ticket girl and walked on through. I drew a big sigh of relief and figured he was undercover because of the shootings. When I went inside, the ticket taker was searching purses etc. I actually was glad for the additional security, but I was still nervous. In the theatre, I kept looking around, to see if I could see the guy. No sign of him, but I really didn’t enjoy the movie as much as I could have if that hadn’t happened. I mean, I live in the boonies, and there’s a detective running around the theatre somewhere, in a bulletproof vest with a big gun on his hip, and many more in his car.

On the way home, I was thinking about the cop. Did I profile him as a shooter, because he was big and black? Maybe a little. Made me feel sort of ashamed, but then again, I would have felt the same way about the guy whether he was black, white or green. Afraid. I would have felt afraid. If I had a gun, would I feel less afraid? Would I be able to use it if necessary? I think if it came down to saving a life, I would use it.

So, I understand everybody wants their guns. What I don’t understand is WHY they want so many guns, especially assault weapons etc., and WHY they don’t want background checks. What do they have to hide? If they want guns and have nothing to hide, what’s the big deal?

Really, I think we would all be better off with hatchets anyway, or fireplace pokers, to kill all the zombies when they invade…..

You prolly think this story is about you….

truth
What does it say about your life when you are afraid/don’t want your close friends and family to read the truths in some of your blogs?  What if YOUR truth may not be THEIR truth?  What if how you think about something will possibly hurt another person?  What if it NEEDS to be said?  Do you go ahead and say it?  Or do you bury it, along with all the other trash in your life.  Bury it deep, cover it over good, try to keep it from back up in dreams and nightmares.  Try to rewrite the reality.  If you dream it, you will believe it.  Try controlling THAT!

My words, spoken or written, can get me into trouble.  I need to stuff a sock in it sometimes.  I try to be a positive person, not gossip or be negative about a person, place or thing.  But often I find it easier to be nicer to strangers than to my own family.  Why is that?  Is it because I expect so much more from my loved ones?  Yes, it is.  You only see one side of a stranger.  The side they present to the public.  You know all the sides to your loved ones, the good and the bad.

I’m a fixer.  I always want to tell the person how to fix the bad, or what to do, or how to do it.  (Hmmm, maybe I’m a control freak?)  You know, like the woman who jumps into the cab in NYC and tells the cabbie what route to take.  Her way is always best.

I also have different childhood memories than my siblings.  WAY different.  We were raised differently, I firmly believe, depending on our birth order.  I’m a middle child.  Part of my problem, lol.  We have had different influences on our lives.  I love them dearly, but don’t always agree with them.  Likewise, they don’t always agree with me.  That’s natural, or normal, I guess.

I am a very lucky person overall.  I have a great family, wonderful friends.  I have my own home, I have always been independent, and have always been able to look after myself with no help from others, even after two cheating husbands and divorces.

Maybe it’s because I am realizing that I am getting older and I will need help at some point.  This upcoming hip replacement is really worrying me to the max.  I know I will be helpless to a certain degree for a little while.  Last time that happened to me it didn’t go over so well with me, and I swore I would never let it happen again.  You try to prepare for every situation, and when it’s your own body and mind that let you down, it’s an awful feeling.

It’s hard to be independent then.  I need to let people know how much I love them, and how much I need them at times.  I need to swallow my pride, and my tongue, and go with the flow.  Everything will work out somehow.  It always does.

Stuck in the middle

middle

Middle child.  Middle of a project.  Middle of the bed.  Middle of the pack.

Sometimes it seems like I am always stuck in the middle.  Especially the middle of the pack thing.  I’m looking for someone like me.  Not too young, not too old.  You know, middle of the pack.

I have many friends of the male variety.  Just not the right one.

One is too old and set in his ways.  Old fashioned.  Stubborn as a mule.  But gentlemanly and always sending cards and presents.  Lives 4 hours away.

One is too young and still searching for what he wants out of life.  Also stubborn as a mule.  Gentlemanly in some ways, but not very thoughtful in many ways.  Lives 4 miles away.

Both I consider friends.  Each one offers something different in their friendship.  One comes with history and the possibility of a future.  One comes with deep conversation and sharing of souls and secrets and probably a lifelong friendship.

One is not better or worse than the other.  Each has different strengths and weaknesses.  But, that old saying, the grass is always greener on the other side?  Damn they’re right.  At least, that’s what the mind thinks.

The mind can never choose one or the other and be satisfied.  The mind always searches for something better.  The mind does not want to settle for less than the best.

Just what is the best?  A best friend?  A best mate?  Hopefully both in one person?

If I could meld the two together, I could have a life long mate, and a best friend.  I thought I had it before, but I lost it.  I am jealous of those that find it, and keep it and nurture it.  I keep thinking, I can find it, I can do it again.  Then I think, naw, too much trouble, too much heartache involved.

Person.  Not dog or cat.  Person.  That is the scary part.  The dogs and cats don’t leave you willingly.  A person can, and does.  That’s the heartache part.  Persons make it personal.  So many people say they would rather have loved and lost, then never have loved at all.  I’m not so sure about that.  I won’t even get another dog because the loss is too great and tears me apart.  I don’t think I could stand to lose another person.

But I have to try.  I have many friends, very good friends, but we all need someone to love us and protect us and grow old with us.  We need to be someone’s Numero Uno.  The person we think of first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.  The person who makes us a better person.  The person who makes you laugh, cry, and most of all, makes you happy.

Now where the hell did that blind guy go?