I had an epiphany today: I am one ruthless bitch. I'm using the negativity my mother exudes and has handed down to me (nature vs. nurture?) and combining it with my own personal shot of unrelenting spite. It's the way I talk and the way I write. Although I'm not sure which came first, the bitch-speak or the bitch-write, they, being my more successful personality, have taken over. It may have began when I started writing more regularly. No. It began at birth, with my mother being who she is, I was bound for this dirty road of negativity. But it definitely flourished when I started finding humor in the ridiculous circumstances I plunge myself into. Changing bad to good with humor isn't a bad thing, until it just turns to bitching.
That's where I'm at. It's not necessarily a writer's funk, it's a living funk. There's some crap going on at work that I'm letting get to me, and between that and a few other normal (but crappy all the same) life experiences, I've become this raging she-monster.
So last week I stepped back and pondered myself from a few feet away. Not liking anything I saw, I decided that I would just "turn off" this bad attitude, or I will get positively nowhere in life. The next day, the very first case of my day, I had a run-in with my least-most favorite surgeon, who's always trying to dupe me with his shifty insurance-fraud antics. Not unlike any other time, he completely screwed us, and my "no bitch" flip went right out the window. I proceeded to hand his ass to him on a plate. On the plus side, I did take a moment before doing it, stating that I had planned on not being a bitch anymore, but was unable to keep the promise to myself due to extenuating circumstances.
Then the flood came, and now I'm currently on indefinite "time-out". Then today, as I talked to my bitchiest of friends (who I always considered bitchier than myself), she confessed to me that I am almost an intolerable grouch. It wasn't as much the conversation that took me aback as it was her being the one to tell me about it.
So since I'm awesome at self analysis and criticism, I sat down and started my own personal little therapy session with myself.
I haven't been sleeping well, I can't remember the last good sleep I got. My typical night is dropping whatever pills I haven't taken recently (to keep them working), pass out if I'm lucky by 1, then wake up again at 4 when the pills have worn off, and I'm wide awake till work.
Next off, I've started having these strange little anxiety attacks. Not heart-pouding-tearing-the-wallpaper-off attacks, just antsy-not-sure-what's-going-on-but-something's-not-right-and-it-won't-get-right-no-matter-what-I-eat attacks.
I've been snacking like crazy. I've developed a chin full o' zits, and I'm waiting to gain all my weight back since the surgery 'cause I can't go a day without lemonheads. As a matter of fact, I'm gonna go get some right now. BRB.
And I'm at my ADHD funk at work. Those of you who know me personally, know that I can't stand anything in my life to be "regular" for anymore than approximately 3 months. It's a byproduct of my attention deficit syndrome I haven't shaken yet. Since 3 months is basically the length of time I've been back to work since my surgery, I'm dying for another major surgery or catastophy to occur. (Which is a whole different therapy session that I'll leave to the pros.) So of course, now I've decided that it is the time to, 1) pursue my bachellors degree, beginning this month, 2) get my surgical nursing certification (scheduled to take the test by October), and 3) study for RNFA, surgical assisting. If I complete all that, I will then have 4 sets of letters after my name by next year. Sarah, RN, BSN, CNOR, RNFA. It all adds up to about a $.50/an hour raise. Which actually sucks. But there I go again!
I can't think of anything that could be silently gnawing on my crazy strings in my head, though. Maybe it's just boredom. My kids being home from school is making me nuts. Because right when I thought I was free of them during the day, the superintendent moved back school start a week due to the flood. So I'll blame it on my ADHD funk, which may also be known as Bipolar Disorder. But I'm pretty proud of myself for discovering a new mental disorder in myself so I'm just gonna keep calling it ADHD funk.
You may think I'm displacing blame to avoid responsibility. Maybe I'm just a bitch with no hope of redemption. But I'm honestly trying to get down to the nitty-gritty to fix myself. Maybe I need ritalin. Maybe I'll be alright once I start killing myself with my accreditations. Or maybe I need to construct something. I seem to be good at willing drama to come into my life. I don't like any of those answers though, so I think I may take on some councelling. It seems to help just to talk to someone sometimes, and I think I need validation about certain things. And sleep. I need deep sleep- with no dreaming, and where you wake up completely refreshed and renewed.
Is it sad when you look to reality television for role models? Especially "The Girls Next Door"? I want to be hot and happy. They're sharing the same penis with 2 other girls and you don't even hear a "bitch that's my man!". Maybe the problem is that I'm too cerebral to be happy. I definitely think waaay too much. It's the liberal in me. I can't help it. Maybe I'll just get my boobs done.
HOLY SHIT! I JUST HAD MY SECOND EPIPHANY! I THINK I'M TURNING REPUBLICAN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! A bitchy republican snob! I think I'd rather be crazy. At least there's a pill for that. (Disclaimer: I like some republicans, just not the bitchy snobby ones, so no offense. Unless you're bitchy and snobby.)
Thus, for at least as long as it takes for the next thing to piss me off, I am going to focus all my energy on the positive. Now's a great time to put myself into some humanitarian work, with the flood and all. Although I don't want to wind up being bitch-slapped by some needy flood person for saying the wrong thing. Maybe I need some fixing first.
Alright, I think it's time to go. "The Girls" are on. I gotta study.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Findlay Flood: August, 2007
Here are a few pictures of the flood, courtesy of SidelinePhotos.com
The bike path along the river
Main St.
Riverside Pool. Sadly, probably not much nastier than usual.
Flyover of Findlay
Main St. looking north at the river
Ace Hardware on Main- next to the river
The Marathon Building
Wal-Mart on 224
Findlay Country Club- a flag, believe it or not
The alley behind my friend's guitar store on Main
Lee's Chicken from Center St.
CR 140 looking towards town
East Main Cross looking at Osborne
The Flood
I think it's time for some flood updating.
For all of you who live elsewhere, I'm fine, and my house is better than most in Findlay, aside from a couple feet of water that landed in my basement. But as for the rest of my lovely town, I can't say the same.
First off, I want to say how heartbreaking it is to finally drive around town and see the damage outside my neighborhood. Forget floodplains, forget the rules, this is a tragedy. It's everywhere. I read that just over $1000 would be available to households from the state since it was named a disaster. That's the second tragedy. A drop in the bucket. For those outside the floodplains, most don't have flood insurance. It's very expensive. My father, for one, didn't purchase it because he's not from Findlay, and wasn't aware of the flooding that happens here from the Blanchard River. He also wasn't aware that some dickhead, trying to make due for a new housing development, took my dad and his neighbors off of a flood plain (before he'd purchased the home) making it not a requirement to purchase flood insurance. So he didn't. Why would he? You should see the housing development. (Now that the water went down.) They should throw the people that came up with building houses on a flood plain (because someone changed the map) in prison.
I took the kids out on a bike ride the other day, because my house is sweltering. Doors are swollen shut or open, my sugar and salt shakers- if the cardboard hasn't melted away, the crystals have turned to muck. You can see where water from the humidity has been running down my cupboard doors. The carpet feels wet and sticky under my feet. Not to mention the smell of the mold that already is starting to take over my basement. I don't mean to complain, because on top of all that, I didn't lose nearly everything. So my children and I got on our bikes Friday to stretch our legs, to (we thought) get some fresh air. We got to Emory Adams Park (2 blocks away) and it's now a lake of poo. It smells that way, and looks that way. The entire length of Blanchard St. is lined with people's soggy, smelly, rotting belongings, some yards are covered in their sewage covered things. Everything smells like shit. There are signs next to two houses- one which reads ,"HOMELESS" the other that reads, "Do we need to drown to get aid?" (I'll get more into that in a sec...)
Emory Adams Park (2 blocks from my house)
Today, I drove to Home Depot to buy a pressure washer and a mop among other cleaning supplies to scrub the rot off my basement, and saw even more damage. I wish I'd have counted the houses that were affected. It's unbelievable. While the water has receded, the worst has just begun. The flood was the easy part, just a waiting game. Now the cleaning has started, and carpet and furniture are piling up in enormous piles. They say the landfills are full; they've been dumping garbage temporarily at the park I mentioned above till they have room. Dump trucks are lined up the highway to get into the landfill, waiting hours to dump their loads.
I keep thinking I should take pictures, like my parents did in the blizzard of '78, but the guilt keeps me from even considering searching for my camera. My children did get to witness this, and they were there when my father put them in his fishing boat, rowed through his back yard, and rescued several elderly people from their homes before the water overtook them. After I picked them up, I saw the water envelop Blanchard from 2nd street to 6th street within an hour. My dad (who lives between 3rd and 4th) stayed with his boat to finish the rescue. That's a man.
Now (true to my nature) comes the bitching, so quit reading now if you're not in the mood for bitchiness yet:
I, believe it or not, think that rules actually should apply during natural disasters. This is my thinking on this one: A level 3 flood (or snow or ANYTHING) advisory is not generally posted (solely) because the "man" doesn't trust your driving abilities. It's posted to keep idiots out of the way of rescue vehicles, AND to keep more people from being rescued from their cars because they didn't have the sense not to drive into a river (which I saw with my own eyes), while rescuers are still trying to pull 97 year old grandma from a sure death at home! Okay, too long winded? Rule of thumb- keep sight seeing on hold till AFTER the disaster.
Last thing, I promise... In this type of situation, that an already cess-pool of a river floods and combines with raw sewage, don't show your hillbilly and tube through it. Or let your kids swim in it. I had to stand up to my ankles in the nastiness to squeegee water into my sump because I don't own galoshes (although I do find them trendy) and I was nauseated the entire time. I promptly showered and soaked them in boiling alcohol afterward. I'll be damned if I put an orifice into it. Much less my children's' orifices. Say hello to e-coli, hepatitis, and those are only the micro-nasties. Don't come crying to me in surgery when you have to have someone's hypodermic needle removed from your heel.
Anywho, sorry bout that but it was building up. Although there are a few little things I found to bitch about- for the most part, I am so happy to see all the cooperation, the comradity of the people who live here, and at the same time heartbroken to see how much was lost. But no one looted, thank god, and aside from a few crazies (where would we be without crazies, anyhow) people are really pulling together. I myself plan on volunteering the next couple days, now that my own mess is under control. I'm at a loss for what to say to those who lost so much, though. Knowing they won't get much from disaster relief, anyway, 'cause money can't replace memories.
For those of you reading that don't live here, would like to help, and don't know how, you can make a secure donation to the Red Cross at http://www.redcross.org/, or to the United Way at http://www.uwhancock.org/.
For all of you who live elsewhere, I'm fine, and my house is better than most in Findlay, aside from a couple feet of water that landed in my basement. But as for the rest of my lovely town, I can't say the same.
First off, I want to say how heartbreaking it is to finally drive around town and see the damage outside my neighborhood. Forget floodplains, forget the rules, this is a tragedy. It's everywhere. I read that just over $1000 would be available to households from the state since it was named a disaster. That's the second tragedy. A drop in the bucket. For those outside the floodplains, most don't have flood insurance. It's very expensive. My father, for one, didn't purchase it because he's not from Findlay, and wasn't aware of the flooding that happens here from the Blanchard River. He also wasn't aware that some dickhead, trying to make due for a new housing development, took my dad and his neighbors off of a flood plain (before he'd purchased the home) making it not a requirement to purchase flood insurance. So he didn't. Why would he? You should see the housing development. (Now that the water went down.) They should throw the people that came up with building houses on a flood plain (because someone changed the map) in prison.
I took the kids out on a bike ride the other day, because my house is sweltering. Doors are swollen shut or open, my sugar and salt shakers- if the cardboard hasn't melted away, the crystals have turned to muck. You can see where water from the humidity has been running down my cupboard doors. The carpet feels wet and sticky under my feet. Not to mention the smell of the mold that already is starting to take over my basement. I don't mean to complain, because on top of all that, I didn't lose nearly everything. So my children and I got on our bikes Friday to stretch our legs, to (we thought) get some fresh air. We got to Emory Adams Park (2 blocks away) and it's now a lake of poo. It smells that way, and looks that way. The entire length of Blanchard St. is lined with people's soggy, smelly, rotting belongings, some yards are covered in their sewage covered things. Everything smells like shit. There are signs next to two houses- one which reads ,"HOMELESS" the other that reads, "Do we need to drown to get aid?" (I'll get more into that in a sec...)
Emory Adams Park (2 blocks from my house)Today, I drove to Home Depot to buy a pressure washer and a mop among other cleaning supplies to scrub the rot off my basement, and saw even more damage. I wish I'd have counted the houses that were affected. It's unbelievable. While the water has receded, the worst has just begun. The flood was the easy part, just a waiting game. Now the cleaning has started, and carpet and furniture are piling up in enormous piles. They say the landfills are full; they've been dumping garbage temporarily at the park I mentioned above till they have room. Dump trucks are lined up the highway to get into the landfill, waiting hours to dump their loads.
I keep thinking I should take pictures, like my parents did in the blizzard of '78, but the guilt keeps me from even considering searching for my camera. My children did get to witness this, and they were there when my father put them in his fishing boat, rowed through his back yard, and rescued several elderly people from their homes before the water overtook them. After I picked them up, I saw the water envelop Blanchard from 2nd street to 6th street within an hour. My dad (who lives between 3rd and 4th) stayed with his boat to finish the rescue. That's a man.
Now (true to my nature) comes the bitching, so quit reading now if you're not in the mood for bitchiness yet:
I, believe it or not, think that rules actually should apply during natural disasters. This is my thinking on this one: A level 3 flood (or snow or ANYTHING) advisory is not generally posted (solely) because the "man" doesn't trust your driving abilities. It's posted to keep idiots out of the way of rescue vehicles, AND to keep more people from being rescued from their cars because they didn't have the sense not to drive into a river (which I saw with my own eyes), while rescuers are still trying to pull 97 year old grandma from a sure death at home! Okay, too long winded? Rule of thumb- keep sight seeing on hold till AFTER the disaster.
Last thing, I promise... In this type of situation, that an already cess-pool of a river floods and combines with raw sewage, don't show your hillbilly and tube through it. Or let your kids swim in it. I had to stand up to my ankles in the nastiness to squeegee water into my sump because I don't own galoshes (although I do find them trendy) and I was nauseated the entire time. I promptly showered and soaked them in boiling alcohol afterward. I'll be damned if I put an orifice into it. Much less my children's' orifices. Say hello to e-coli, hepatitis, and those are only the micro-nasties. Don't come crying to me in surgery when you have to have someone's hypodermic needle removed from your heel.
Anywho, sorry bout that but it was building up. Although there are a few little things I found to bitch about- for the most part, I am so happy to see all the cooperation, the comradity of the people who live here, and at the same time heartbroken to see how much was lost. But no one looted, thank god, and aside from a few crazies (where would we be without crazies, anyhow) people are really pulling together. I myself plan on volunteering the next couple days, now that my own mess is under control. I'm at a loss for what to say to those who lost so much, though. Knowing they won't get much from disaster relief, anyway, 'cause money can't replace memories.
For those of you reading that don't live here, would like to help, and don't know how, you can make a secure donation to the Red Cross at http://www.redcross.org/, or to the United Way at http://www.uwhancock.org/.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Chuck Norris
- Chuck Norris tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
- When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.
- Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.
- Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.
- Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
- If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.
- Chuck Norris only masturbates to pictures of Chuck Norris.
- Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.
- Chuck Norris appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked bout this "glitch," Norris replied, "That's no glitch."
- Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.
- Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.
- Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
- Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.
- Chuck Norris's girlfriend once asked him how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. He then shouted, "HOW DARE YOU RHYME IN THE PRESENCE OF CHUCK NORRIS!" and ripped out her throat. Holding his girlfriend's bloody throat in his hand he bellowed, "Don't fuck with Chuck!" Two years and five months later he realized the irony of this statement and laughed so hard that anyone within a hundred mile radius of the blast went deaf.
- Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits. Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.
- Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Chuck Norris.
- Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.
- To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.
- There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.
- Chuck Norris uses ribbed condoms inside out, so he gets the pleasure.
- There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.
- Chuck Norris once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Chuck roundhoused kicked the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.
- The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Chuck Norris--more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris--robot in disguise," and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.
- The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
- Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
- When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.
- It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.
- Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Psst...
I'm watching my 3 year old nephew right now for a couple hours.
I snuck away long enough to tell you that in the half hour of being plastered to the television with him, I've stimulated my mind more than in the last 3 weeks of being home from work!
Shh...Did you know they teach kids about Dvorak and Monet on Little Einstein? In the same 5 minutes?! It's slightly unnerving, honestly.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
I'm Back!
Well, I'm back! I've actually been back since around March 4th, but I'm on drugs, so I actually "arrived" around last Saturday, lol.
My surgery only took about 4 hours. I stayed in the ICU for a night, because they left me with that nasty tube in my throat for an extra few hours due to protocol. For some reason, because the surgery is done with the patient on their bellies, they have a ton of swelling afterwards and have trouble breathing on their own. And by swelling, I mean excessive facial swelling. I looked as though I had received a new kidney and was rejecting it. I'll have to post pictures if I ever get the balls.
On the bright side, I got a toy called a PCA for the first few days of my stay. Full of dilaudid, which I played with a lot. So the pain didn't actually set in till my dilaudid pump went away and I developed a wonderful thing called "ogilvies syndrome," which is something that occasionally happens in response to major surgeries like mine. It's some sort of rush of your fight or flight hormones, which causes a wonderful array of symptoms, such as feeling like I was having heart attacks, and even more fun than that, my guts stopped working.
So when I thought the most fun I ever had throwing up was when I was 8 months pregnant with food poisoning, I was mistaken. Replace it with throwing up constantly right after major back surgery.
The ironic thing about it was that the pain medication was actually making my problems worse. So the doctors basically told me that I needed to cut down on my pain medication as infrequently as possible as well as eat nothing until it resolves itself. By the way, I haven't mentioned that I honestly had 30 different doctors telling me completely opposite things. So I stopped taking my pain medication, and they stopped feeding me. That's when I realized that I felt exactly like anyone would expect me to feel. Like I had a cookie rack down my back.
It took 10 days to resolve itself. I was in terrible pain, and they started a long term IV in my arm to feed me with IV nutrition. Day 7, my surgeon came in and told me I was nuts for cutting down on my pain medication and who the heck ever told me to do such a thing, (his idiot white coats told me to do it). It was like being on bad acid. A different story with every doc. So, with little argument, I went back on my pain medication and I was better in 2 days and home on the third. I felt a hell of a lot better.
There have been constant battles and adventures every step of my recovery, most of which may turn out to be a great blog, but I'm home now, and I feel great. I can definitely vouch for a good bowel obstruction to take some weight off you- I'd rather exercise next time, but hey, I'm skinny again (lost about 20 lbs), and straight. (In all senses of the word.) You can barely even see my scar, my surgeon did a great job stitching me up instead of stapling, and I even bought my new summer swimsuit from Vicki's last weekend!
So since I've nothing better to do, maybe I can work in some of the adventures I had along the way. I have a good 5 blogs or so to catch up on. Peace.
My surgery only took about 4 hours. I stayed in the ICU for a night, because they left me with that nasty tube in my throat for an extra few hours due to protocol. For some reason, because the surgery is done with the patient on their bellies, they have a ton of swelling afterwards and have trouble breathing on their own. And by swelling, I mean excessive facial swelling. I looked as though I had received a new kidney and was rejecting it. I'll have to post pictures if I ever get the balls.
On the bright side, I got a toy called a PCA for the first few days of my stay. Full of dilaudid, which I played with a lot. So the pain didn't actually set in till my dilaudid pump went away and I developed a wonderful thing called "ogilvies syndrome," which is something that occasionally happens in response to major surgeries like mine. It's some sort of rush of your fight or flight hormones, which causes a wonderful array of symptoms, such as feeling like I was having heart attacks, and even more fun than that, my guts stopped working.
So when I thought the most fun I ever had throwing up was when I was 8 months pregnant with food poisoning, I was mistaken. Replace it with throwing up constantly right after major back surgery.
The ironic thing about it was that the pain medication was actually making my problems worse. So the doctors basically told me that I needed to cut down on my pain medication as infrequently as possible as well as eat nothing until it resolves itself. By the way, I haven't mentioned that I honestly had 30 different doctors telling me completely opposite things. So I stopped taking my pain medication, and they stopped feeding me. That's when I realized that I felt exactly like anyone would expect me to feel. Like I had a cookie rack down my back.
It took 10 days to resolve itself. I was in terrible pain, and they started a long term IV in my arm to feed me with IV nutrition. Day 7, my surgeon came in and told me I was nuts for cutting down on my pain medication and who the heck ever told me to do such a thing, (his idiot white coats told me to do it). It was like being on bad acid. A different story with every doc. So, with little argument, I went back on my pain medication and I was better in 2 days and home on the third. I felt a hell of a lot better.
There have been constant battles and adventures every step of my recovery, most of which may turn out to be a great blog, but I'm home now, and I feel great. I can definitely vouch for a good bowel obstruction to take some weight off you- I'd rather exercise next time, but hey, I'm skinny again (lost about 20 lbs), and straight. (In all senses of the word.) You can barely even see my scar, my surgeon did a great job stitching me up instead of stapling, and I even bought my new summer swimsuit from Vicki's last weekend!
So since I've nothing better to do, maybe I can work in some of the adventures I had along the way. I have a good 5 blogs or so to catch up on. Peace.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Perverts
I'm not going to be going into great detail here, chances are you'll all be hearing about it on the 6:00 news or Dateline itself, soon. I just need to vent.
I'm having a real hard time staying calm and sane right now. I'm holding in a true Irish rage that I'm honestly afraid of. My only possible salvation is my innate faith in the corrupt legal system, which through experience, tells me to turn away from.
Please, someone tell me, WHY, being a pervert in a huge position of authority and public service is only punishable by a few hours of community service and a slap on the wrist? Why is it not a big deal to rob someone of their dignity and privacy and, thus, only take a slight slap on the wrist for it?
Why is it the person with nothing that pays greatly for the indiscressions of the person with everything, only because they don't have the means to fight back? It's too bad that in America we have no control over this. Law and Order? CSI? Bah. Real justice only happens on TV.
Something had better happen, something big- or I will be forced to earn a degree in law and devote my life to going fucking nuts (pro bono) on these assholes.
Mr. Authority Man, you'd better watch your fucking step. I'm all over this shit, and my rage is fueling me.
I'm having a real hard time staying calm and sane right now. I'm holding in a true Irish rage that I'm honestly afraid of. My only possible salvation is my innate faith in the corrupt legal system, which through experience, tells me to turn away from.
Please, someone tell me, WHY, being a pervert in a huge position of authority and public service is only punishable by a few hours of community service and a slap on the wrist? Why is it not a big deal to rob someone of their dignity and privacy and, thus, only take a slight slap on the wrist for it?
Why is it the person with nothing that pays greatly for the indiscressions of the person with everything, only because they don't have the means to fight back? It's too bad that in America we have no control over this. Law and Order? CSI? Bah. Real justice only happens on TV.
Something had better happen, something big- or I will be forced to earn a degree in law and devote my life to going fucking nuts (pro bono) on these assholes.
Mr. Authority Man, you'd better watch your fucking step. I'm all over this shit, and my rage is fueling me.
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