It's 11:23am on Saturday, May 5 (Cinco de Mayo!) 2007. I slept pretty late this morning, until around 9am, and then made a ferocious cup of coffee. As I poured "Half and Half" into it, it just got blacker. Scary. Then I got dressed and made my way back to the computer, where I got into a donnybrook about something ludicrous (Roswell is real, moon landings are fake...something like that) and then checked my email.
I get a lot of email, from myriad sources. Friends send me a lot, of course, because they know I may be a dim bulb, but I have varied interests. Sort of like a retarded Renaissance Man. Then there are the organizations to which I belong, like Hands Off Venezuela! and Suffragette Ass Fanatic Digest. Sometimes I have to get emails translated, and fortunately that is easy to do with the "internets." Then I write a response and translate it into Spanish or Portuguese, thus making some people think I speak two languages. I'm OK with that. Little do they know I barely speak one.
One political email, received from a comrade, is about Mumia Abu-Jamal's take on the Don Imus controversy. I couldn't read it because I'm such an infant that the concept of the article made me giggle. If I ever grow up/smarten up, I'll read it. I'm sure it's interesting.
In one of my discussion groups, people are talking about Alec Baldwin and David Hasselhoff and how they mistreat their daughters. The Hasselhoff thing is much creepier in my book, and Baldwin just blew a gasket, which he apologized for and I accept. I'm sure that makes him feel better. As everyone knows, he called his daughter a "little pig" for avoiding his planned phone call. Shakespeare wrote a great play about a little pig, but I can't remember the name right now.
But what parent hasn't said something awful to a child, particularly between the ages of 1 and 35 (the difficult years), that they later regret? I've heard worse than "little pig" in the grocery store. Several months ago, I heard a woman tell her daughter that she was getting "too fat from all the fucking juice (she) drinks." The kid was about 10, give or take two years. I'm not good at guessing things like that. And it could have been the grandmother, but that's not likely. Grandmothers are usually sweet to their grand kids because they can just dump them back on the parents when the whole production gets too annoying.
I can't remember if my parents ever said anything mean to me, and at times I really, really deserved it. Sometimes I would complain endlessly when I had to work with my father, cleaning mansions for rich people. He would just ignore me, although once he said, "If you keep complaining I'm going to take you home and tuck you into your beddy like a little baby." Fair enough. That's a moon-cast shadow compared with "little pig" or "you're getting to fat." My brother, who was a better kid than I, probably never heard anything discouraging at all. Yes, I had excellent parents.
And now I'm a parent myself. Well, not of a human being (yippee for infertility!), but of many cats. If you add up all the pet cats I've had in my life, it comes to about 4,000. And right now, I have four, of course. Sadly, they do aggravate me sometimes and I'm compelled to yell things that I later regret. Panther tried to get out the front door yesterday and I called him a "fucking mother-fucking cunt." There's no call for that. But if he got out at that moment he would have been gone for good. A big German Shepherd was out there at the time, and Panther would have either been eaten or gotten away into da big city, lost for good. He seems to be over it, but an apology is in order.
And then I called Fluffy a "douchebag" but she knows why and I'm NOT taking it back. I love her to death, as I do all my furry little cohorts, but I'm only human. I'll leave it at that.
I miss you, Linda. I hope you're having fun with your girls up in Maine.
Oh, yes...Hamlet. That Shakespeare play I mentioned...it's Hamlet.
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