Here is a question for you all.

Suppose you have a depleted Starbucks card, but no money. None on the card, and none with which to pay for coffee at all.

In other words, you have no intention of giving Starbucks money for any reason whatsoever.

You fish one of their coffee cups out of the trash with the brown paper sleeve on it, and go into the store and ask for a refill and show your depleted Starbucks card. They refill what they THINK is your cup, because you are holding it, and presenting it as yours.

When you receive a refill into a cup whose contents you didn't pay for to begin with -- are you a thief?

And if you intentionally deceive the Starbucks employee when presenting that cup as if you paid for the original fill-up -- does that make you a liar?

What's more, does that make you a hypocrite if you lie and steal and then turn around and get mad at other people who also lie and steal?

Just thought I would put that out there.

My family is full of Mexicans. My husband is one-quarter Mexican, from his father's side. My brother-in-law Joey is Mexican and Italian. Old Buddy Dave, aka Dave Marron, is half Mexican. My friend Laura is Mexican. My friend Glenn whom I've known since Junior High is Mexican. And the people who lived on both sides of my Gran for the last thirty years of her life were Mexican families who adored and took care of her as if she were their own abuela.

Even though I do not have a measurable smidgen of Mexican blood in my body, I still consider myself at least a peripheral part of the Mexican-American community, through marriage, and through the friends and loved ones I have had through my entire life, and the understanding and appreciation of their ways. The Mexican culture has enlightened and enriched my life for the entirety of my existence, and will continue to do so for the rest of my days. In fact -- if Mexicans didn't do all of the cheap shitty labor involved in food harvesting here in California, then things like food banks and meal giveaways would not be able to exist due to the food being too expensive to give away to people who haven't paid for it.

Because of all of the above, I have chosen to suspend a friendship with somebody who consistently uses the term "wetback" to describe Mexicans whom this 'friend' perceives to be illegal.

It didn't just happen in the privacy of that person's blog, which is an area that is constitutionally protected and which I believe should stand as written.

It also happened a number of months ago while I was on the phone and heard that person call a motel maid a "fucking wetback".

It can be argued that I should have just thrown in the towel on the friendship and made the break back when the phone thing happened. But no, I figured it was a thing said in the heat of the moment and I assumed the person couldn't possibly actually be as racist as he sounded. So, because I'm one of those people who will give anybody a second chance if a bad thing happens ONCE, I let it slide.

THEN I saw that phrase AGAIN in that person's blog, and I realized that this was an attitude that was pretty much irreversable, ever-present, and ingrained. And if it's being expressed at a time OTHER than sponateously yelling at a maid, it must therefore be part of that person's character.

So, as of thie writing, the friendship has been suspended.

I sent an email requesting that a link in that blog which leads to my blog be removed. Lest there be any kind of rumor or misrepresentation taking place anywhere else, allow me to share the content of that email:

Would you do me a favor and edit your main blog template so that the link to my blog is no longer featured there up at the top?

I flatly refuse to be associated in any way whatsoever in a blog that uses racist terms like 'fucking wetback' when my best friend, Dave Marron, is a Mexican.

Thank you. :-)

This link removal has happened, and I am appreciative. That person then placed a phone call to me in which he apologized for offending me. I regret not saving the voicemail, but there was a very nice apology offered.

This apology was not needed, as I am a big advocate of people NEVER having to apologize for expressing their true feelings and showing their true character and real nature.

When I went to check the blog to make sure my link had been removed, I then sent a thank you note, which reads:

Do not ever apologize for the content of your blog. It's YOUR BLOG. You have the right to say what you want in it, because it's YOURS.

However, by the same token, I have the right to distance myself from the content of the blog if I find it in complete opposition to my beliefs.

So, THANK YOU for removing the link to my blog.

And that, my friends, is the complete extent of email that I sent. I have NOT been rude, I have NOT requested removal of blog content other than the link to here, and that person is free to express themselves however they want.

But I am also compelled to distance myself from people who use racist terms, no matter why they think it's okay to use them. I even left a comment in that person's blog, clarifying my position:

You have the right to say whatever you want in your blog. It’s your blog, and we know exactly what kind of person you really are by what you write. Never apologize for the contents of this blog. I’ve said that a half a dozen times to folks everywhere. Now, whether people stick around and want to read what you write? That’s also a question of freedom of choice.

I have no idea if there have been any email responses, because their email address has been put on my spam list. It goes into a folder, and twice a day, the contents of that folder are destroyed.

So that's the latest.

I have no regrets, other than simply not figuring out sooner the extent of the alligators lurking in the sewer.

---

Have a good rest of the day.

So far, mine has been spectacularly problem-free.

This is not being duplicated in Diaryland nor in Facebook, so here's your only chance to read what I'm about to write.

It's extremely disheartening to realize that the behavior of one of my friends is literally making me ill. Allow me to explain.

This friend knows I have systemic lupus, and that one of the things my body is doing is over-reacting to relatively normal things. Heat makes me weak, breathing deeply makes me cough, sunlight makes me break out, and anxiety is the worst, because what would be a mere average burst of adrenaline for a normally healthy person is a supercharged overdose for me. I break out in a drenching sweat, I get nauseated, and I shake so violently that I sometimes cannot use my hands for up to fifteen minutes at a time to do simple things like put a drinking glass to my lips, or adjust my glasses, or even type legibly. The adrenaline is of such an amplitude that it produces these symptoms in varying degrees for most of a day if I've had a bad scare.

So, this friend *knows* that there are horrific consequences these days for me if I experience things like a sudden fright.

But despite this knowledge, he's still been doing this certain kind of psyche-out cry-wolf joke that ends in him saying "I was just KIDDING!" ... with absolutely NO comprehension of the fact that he's literally taking time from my life every time he does this.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about: He drove me home one night a couple of weeks ago, when his principal route home (let's call it Highway 37 because it's named Highway 37) was closed overnight for repairs. Before he left to head home, I reminded him that the road was closed, and reminded him what the alternate routes were, and said to please call me if he was sleepy so I could talk him home. So when the phone rang about a half an hour after he left, I figured he'd gotten tired and was needing an assist. What happened instead was that he said "Oh SHIT, I'm stuck in the CLOSURE of 37! I'm gonna have to take a TWENTY MILE DETOUR! I'm gonna FALL ASLEEP DRIVING!"

At which point, I was so frightened for him that I had trouble seeing.

Then he goes "Are ya THERE? I'm just KIDDING!"

It turns out he was nowhere near the closure and had taken 580 to 80 and gotten back to eastbound 80 just fine and wasn't sleepy at all. So, while I was glad he wasn't stuck, I really really was upset by his teasing.

The next time we spoke in person, I told him the awful truth: That I was simply unable to withstand jolts and jumps and scares and things of that nature and begged him to PLEASE don't do it again. He said he was sorry, but that was just his kind of humor, but he would try to remember. So then we started talking about other things, and this is when I found out he was going to have a carpooler to and from his place of work 50 miles away. Me: "But you HATE ride sharing! How come you agreed to do something you don't wanna do?" Him: "I don't know, I guess I have a hard time saying no to people." and I said "If you dont' want to pool, then don't pool. Nobody will hate you for saying no."

So the day passed and he said he'd speak to the person who asked about the car pool and see if he could make other arrangements for her and so forth.

Yesterday morning, I spoke with him on his way to work. "Hey, I know you were worried about the carpool thing over the weekend, did you get that cleared up?"

His reply: "No, I didn't. She's sitting right here in the car. I can't talk about it."

The adrenaline thing happened again. I greyed out pretty badly this time; John was awake and getting ready for work, and he had to stop what he was doing and help me to my chair, because otherwise, I would have fallen down.

Then I heard the following words. "Hey, I'm KIDDING! Hey there! Are ya there? I was just KIDDING, everything is FINE!"

So this is what's been happening. And the fact that it has happened again after I begged for a reprieve from this Very Special Kind Of Funny That Isn't At All gives me the squarely on target right to label this as a form of abuse.

Discontinuing contact is an option, but I'd like to try something else first with this guy.

I want to prank him to the point of tears or rage or heartburn or nonfunction, like he's been doing to me. Anybody have any suggestions? :-)

Thanks for reading.

For those who are interested in seeing what a two thousand dollar cat leg looks like -- brace yourself for the x-ray.

http://bindyree.diaryland.com/images/bonedish.jpg

Her leg has since been set, and she's on lots of nice pain meds, and her surgery to install a plate happens tomorrow morning.

Thanks to everybody who has sent a little something; it's beginning to add up to a big something, and I am humbled by everybody's generosity.

Once again, here's the button.

To donate to Old Buddy Dave's Cat Repair Fund via PayPal:

Repaired Cat says thank you.

Friends, I don't recall ever having come to you with a problem of this nature before, but I'm doing it now.

Down here in Anaheim, the apartment where Dave lives, there is a community of feral cats whom the apartment dwellers take care of.

One of them was severely injured last night.

She showed up here with a limp and some cuts and bruises. These are the sort of injuries a cat receives when it's almost run over by a car.

A trip to the vet for x-rays and bloodwork reveals that she does have a fractured leg. The bloodwork will take place tomorrow, and if she is healthy, the surgery to put a pin in, and apparently also to spay her will take place on Thursday.

If she is not healthy, then we'll say goodbye and let her go.

The thing is -- this has been an unexpected addition to our budget.

John has made it very clear that this is an expense that we really need to clear as soon as possible, and he's told me in no uncertain terms that it's time for me to say something here.

So, I'm saying something here.

If you can make a donation to me for Kitty's repair bill, let me know. If she gets surgery, this is going to be right around the two thousand dollar mark. If the news is bad and we have to go ahead and bid farewell, she is still going to cost us around seven hundred.

This isn't even tax-deductable, kids. You would just be doing a favor for Old Buddy Dave.

I have a PayPal account. If there is anything you can do, I will appreciate it for the rest of my life, and so will Old Buddy Dave.

I don't know what else to tell you guys. If you have any questions, leave them in the comments section or get ahold of me through the usual channels.

Humbly -- thanks.

UPDATE: Kitty's bloodwork is great; other than that annoying collision with the damned automobile, she's in perfect health. Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow and she can come home two days later! xoxox

UPDATE AGAIN: Here's a donation button, plus a pic...

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To donate to Old Buddy Dave's Cat Repair Fund via PayPal:

Repaired Cat says thank you.

I got an email a few days ago from my brother Jon regarding somebody he'd been friended by on Facebook.

He says he's heard from one of the neighborhood boys with whom we grew up, (hereinafter referred to by the pseudonym Norm DePlume) and wanted to confirm that this was him and recalled a few characteristics to see if I knew who this was.

I confirmed that yes, this was that same fellow. Norm and I knew each other since first grade, and before that boy-girl thing kicked in, we were really good friends. He lived two blocks down and one block over. He was my Marble Guy and my Hot Wheels Guy and when I acquired my first hammy, he was my self-appointed Hamster Guy. We played together a lot. We went to the same schools for the entire length of our mandatory education.

I told my brother: "During the very end of my Senior year of high school, Norm DePlume and I went to his house and fucked once during a lunch hour, and when we were walking back to high school, he wouldn't hold my hand because he didn't want to be seen doing that with me. Even though I had known him and adored him since first grade and I'd just let him put his pee pee in my hoo hoo, he didn't think I was good enough to be seen holding hands with him. My opinion of Norm changed after that. :-) But yeah, that's him."

Jon wrote back, duly mortified.

At which point I said "Well, feel free to bring it up in conversation. 'Remember that time you fucked my sister and then wouldn't hold her hand when the two of you walked back to high school together? Yeah, those were good times, weren't they?' ..."

I relayed my dastardly plan to one of the Usual Suspects during a recent chat, and The Usual Suspect said "Oh, you should add stuff to that. Say his dick was really small and that you had no idea when he'd finished."

Do I have good friends who understand me completely or what? :-)

---

So I sent a rewrite to brother Jon and have given permission for him to use it at his whim.

And he'll DO it, too.

To quote Angelina Jolie, I am SO in love with my brother right now.

(Found on FARK)

Sunday the 22nd of February 2009, John and I had the unprecedented pleasure of going to the Loma Rica Community Church, just outside of Marysville and up the hill a ways.

Maybe this is an inadequate way to express this, and I realize there are other places equally as amazing -- but it has been a very long time since I went into a church that seems to have been populated with actual Christians.

We got rained on and RAINED on, but it was still a scenic trip, especially when we took a wrong turn for about fifteen minutes. Finally, about ten minutes late, we scrunched into the church's gravel parking lot and started to gather up to get out and go in -- and I was relieved to see another driver arriving late like we were.

And out of that car came my younger brother, Jon, whom I haven't seen in person since October of 2003.

So, in we three went.

---

From the moment we were seated, the atmosphere was one of peace and love and an absolutely astonishing sense of belonging.

First, the wedding renewal, followed by people getting up to give remembrances on through to the buffet and the cake -- it was a really good day.

---

Here's the pastor, Wayne Vincent, who welcomed everyone, and observed that he wished he could get as full a house like this at a regular Sunday service:



Here I am with my little brother. He is four and a half years my junior, but fifteen inches taller than I am:



And here are Marcia and Lonnie, cutting the cake:



I saw Marcia & Lonnie's daughter Kimmy for the first time in thirty years; stood still for eleventy thousand skebillion photographs, and spent time looking at family photographs and listening to stories.

Finally, it was just simply time to get going, and John and I and Jon headed on out and drove away.

---

I accidentally scared the crap out of my husband by suggesting a shortcut, which turned out to be sparsely populated, and even more sparsley paved:



Jack Slough Road goes left from the Woodruff cutoff. It meanders through farmland and sneaks back over a levee into the northeast part of Marysville, and saves about ten minutes of driving on Highway 20. The last time John and I had taken this road, about fifteen years ago, it had been sunny and the potholes were more easily discerned.

The potholes on Jack Slough Road have never been that deep or car-endangering.

However, they look much worse than they really are when they have two inches of water in them, and a car jounces through them.

But we did manage to get back into Marysville and head through a McDonald's drive-through before we went back to the room.

Anyway, it was a wonderful day, and we traveled safely in the rain, and made old and new connections.

I just got an email from John Stanley, and am passing it along as written:

BRIN: BOB WILKINS HAS DIED IN RENO. MEMORIAL IN FEB IN OAKLAND, NO DATE. SPREAD WORD TO FANS. JOHN STANLEY

So, that's what I'm doing here.

Damn. :-(

Yesterday evening, Old Buddy Dave and I went to the parks one more time before I head home later tonight.

We went to California Adventure first, and he showed me the newest attraction that he'd been amused with, Toy Story Midway Mania. It's a three dimensional shooting gallery featuring characters from the movie, and it was really fun. He outscored me, but my percentage of shots to target was higher. So, we both won. Well, he *won* won, but I was the better shot. Or something.

We stuck around for the Electrical Parade, which is always a perennial favorite of mine when it's running, but try as I might, I have all but given up on getting a really good shot of it in the dark light and not have the float lights looking wavy or too dim.

Instead, I took a picture of a couple of spectators that were seated on the sidewalk in front of us.



We also ended up sitting next to some folks that had driven down to the park from San Jose. Heh. Small world!

When the parade ended, we crossed to Disneyland, and we got some shots of New Orleans Square, and we went to see the seasonal decor for the Haunted Mansion; they have made improvements to it each year and this time was no exception.

But finally, I was under the impression that time was against me as I hadn't printed out my boarding pass yet, and if you don't do it as soon as you are able to, you risk getting stuck with a high boarding number and a longer wait to get on.

Luckily, when we got back to Dave's, and he cranked the printer to life, I got a low number. Yay!

---

So that's what happened on Saturday. It's now early Sunday, and my plane departs at a little after nine pm.

Packing should be a breeze.

No really.

---

That's it. Have a good Sunday. For those who observe it, Happy Winter Solstice!

This is one of the few jokes I've heard in recent weeks that has actually made me laugh.

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The year is 2016 and the United States has just elected the first woman as well as the first Jewish president, Susan Goldfarb. She calls up her mother a few weeks after election day and says, "So, Mom, I assume you will be coming to my inauguration?"

"I don't think so. It's a ten hour drive, your father isn't as young as he used to be, and my arthritis is acting up again."

"Don't worry about it Mom, I'll send Air Force One to pick you up and take you home. And a limousine will pick you up at your door."

"I don't know. Everybody will be so fancy-schmantzy, what on earth would I wear?"

"Oh Mom," replies Susan, "I'll make sure you have a wonderful gown custom-made by the best designer in New York ."

"Honey," Mom complains, "you know I can't eat those rich foods you and your friends like to eat."

The President-to-be responds, "Don't worry Mom. The entire affair is going to be handled by the best caterer in New York , kosher all the way. Mom, I really want you to come."

So Mom reluctantly agrees and on January 20, 2017, Susan Goldfarb is being sworn in as President of the United States. In the front row sits the new president's mother, who leans over to a senator sitting next to her.

"You see that woman over there with her hand on the Torah, becoming President of the United States?"

The Senator whispers back, "Yes I do."

Mom says proudly, "Her brother is a doctor."

Attention UPS delivery people:

Most of you are excellent at what you do, and for that, the residents of this apartment building thank you.

I realize the holiday season is very soon, and that you all have a huge amount of work to do.

But the next time anyone of you stands at the base of the stairs and yells up at me to come down and get my package? I am going to grab something heavy, drag my old and infirm ass down the stairs, and try to hit you in the balls.

Each and every one of you is younger and healthier than I am.

PLEASE take pity on me and climb the stairs!

Thank you.

I was speaking to somebody who had voted for McCain and in an attempt to help him not be so disheartened about how the election turned out, I said, "Don't worry about this! We've had drunks, liars, people rife with corruption, adulterers, and just plain STUPID people in our White House. I sincerely doubt Obama is going to bring an end to our government."

To which the McCain supporter replied "Well, there's a first time for everything."

Yeah, right. A multicultural former stoner from a broken home is gonna make the country fail. Give me a break.

Same person has said repeatedly, when George W Bush was in office, to respect the office of the president comes down on ME like white on rice when I say something supportive about MY candidate.

Anyway, this sort of nonsense has affected me profoundly.

Despite apologies that were proffered and accepted, this exchange, coupled with the infantile booing I heard during McCain's concession speech has helped to clarify my opinion of conservatives more than it ever has been before.

It's very very VERY bad. And this time, it isn't fixable. It was a last straw of a tragic and needless magnitude, but the damage has been done.

In the course of this election, I've seen people for the first time in their true colors, and it's going to be an uphill battle for me to take anything else they say to me with any modicum of intelligence and objectivity, since it was so utterly and completely absent in their reactions to Obama's win.

In California, Proposition 8 passed by a narrow margin, and I am ashamed of that.

I've never understood why certain groups are so fascinated by which adults are touching which other adults' genitals.

I guess that's something that will elude me for the rest of my days.

No matter how many pretty feathers and sequins are glued on it, Proposition 8 is nothing but a form of hate speech.

Epiphany:

This state's election just secured more rights for farm animals than it did for homosexuals.

Why in the name of all that is reasonable in this universe did my HUSBAND recevied a sample maxi-pad in the mail from Safeway ???

Not addressed to 'resident' or 'valued customer', but to 'John McLaughlin'.

Well, I guess it's understanable because it IS San Francisco, but STILL.

I caught an episode last night of the latest Bochco show, 'Raising The Bar' on TNT.

With Mark Paul Gosselaar, with longer hair, AND Currie Graham, this is a double whammy for me.

---

I am about to do a boring thing here for my out-of-state readership, so if you're not interested in state politics, stop now.

---

As my regular readers will recall, I have had back-and-forth 'frank exchanges of views' with my father-in-law; he's a pretty good guy, and a recent re-converted Catholic -- but I'm trying to figure out his or anybody's reasoning behind voting in favor of Proposition 8. He sent me the propaganda that the out-of-state religious organizations created and are propagating, and instead of addressing him directly (which works more than half the time, actually, bless his heart, but this keeps happening so I'm gonna take it easy on him about this; to paraphrase Cosby, he's an old person trying to get into Heaven now) -- I'm going to use some of the points in his email as the basis of today's post.

Proposition 8 is the proposed amendment to the state constitution that would rescind the rights currently extended to all consenting unrelated adults here in California.

Here is the text of the amendment in its entirety:

"PROPOSITION 8
This initiative measure is submitted to the people in accordance with the provisions of Article II, Section 8, of the California Constitution.

This initiative measure expressly amends the California Constitution by adding a section thereto; therefore, new provisions proposed to be added are printed in italic type to indicate that they are new.

SECTION 1. Title
This measure shall be known and may be cited as the “California Marriage Protection Act.”

SECTION 2. Section 7.5 is added to Article I of the California Constitution, to read:

SEC. 7.5. Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California."

That's all it says. And the religious organizations who are behind the Yes On 8 people are financing advertising that is spinning quite the tall tale. In other words, they're lying, which if I look right here in my Bible, seems to be forbidden by God, right here the Ten Commandments. Uh-oh, spaghetti-o!

In the text of the proposition, there is nothing stated about whether gay marriage will be taught in schools, nothing about whether gays will compel church officials to marry them, nothing about whether gays could sue organizations or individuals over personal beliefs. There are already anty-discrimination laws in place here in California, which would ironically favor the people getting sued.

I happen to have lived in San Francisco for the entirety of my married life. I can heartily assure anybody who is worried about it that absolutely none of the minuscule amounts of unpleasantness we've been through has been influenced by any homosexual cooties we may have inhaled or acquired by rubbing against fairies during a bus ride. (If you don't know I'm kidding about this last, please remove me from your list of reads immediately. Thank you.)

Giving women the right to vote didn't change the voting process for men. Giving gay couples the right to use the word 'marriage to describe their unions is not going to change the marriage process for straight couples.

Only those who are unsure of the strength of their relgious beliefs would feel threatened by something so benign.

John and I voted absentee -- and with thanks to him for giving me permission to say so -- we both voted NO on Proposition 8.

I just wrote a letter to my old hometown's newspaper, The Appeal-Democrat, the official organ of the Yuba Sutter community.

Regarding Proposition 8: As a former resident of the Twin Cities (born in Marysville and raised in Yuba City), I have lived in San Francisco with my husband for the entirety of my married life, and our straight marriage has not suffered any adverse effects whatsoever from the gay population here. What's next if Proposition 8 passes? Will we pass legislation stating it's against God's will to put out a burning building if it was struck by lightning? We used to think slavery was God's will, too; let's bring THAT back as well.

I have a feeling I know *exactly* how the residents of that town will be reacting, which is why I've only been back there two times in the last five years (once for Gran's funeral and once for my 25th hs reunion).

I'll be sure and let you know what kind of responses I receive.

The stock market loss in the US markets on Monday does not constitute a depression, or a recession. 777 points is only seven percent of the total market.

Meaning, every dollar invested before the drop became worth an average of ninety-three cents. That won't affect the majority of us in a negative way at all.

Most of all, be grateful that the bailout bill didn't pass.

---

I've been monkeying around with some bailout numbers here, and I'd like to share with the class.

Special thanks to Toren Smith who railed off the alarming calculations to John, who came home and told them to me so he could watch the expression on my face.

---

Here's what nearly happened, folks:

For simplicity's sake, let's presume the bailout would have been right around seven hundred billion US dollars:

700,000,000,000. ( the short scale definition of 'billion' )

With that number in mind, here's a timeline for paying it back:

if there are 365.25 days in a year, and we calculate that there are 86,400 seconds in each full day, we then get this figure:

365.25 x 86,400 = 31,557,600 seconds in a calendar year.

Now, let's look what happens when you divide the bailout amount by the number of seconds in a calendar year:

700,000,000,000 / 31,557,600 = 22,181.66147. This final number is the amount of years' worth of seconds that are in the bailout.

In other words, if the bailout were paid back to the government at the rate of one dollar per second, the debt would finally be paid off in a little over twenty-two thousand years. And if we add some zeros to the amount per second, it still stays ugly. A thousand dollars a second would pay the debt in only twenty-two years.

Wow. A hundred billion here, a hundred billion there and pretty soon we're talking some real money.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Cryin's not for me, 'cause
I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothin's worryin' me...