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Profile Information

Gender: Female
Home country: US
Current location: retired to MidWest
Member since: Mon Feb 18, 2013, 09:15 PM
Number of posts: 5,551

About Me

Still an ardent Irish-American Catholic damnYankee Yellow Dog Democrat socialist after all these years. (cue Simon music) Army brat and wife for many years, now have been on the loose far longer than I was married. After my two red chows died, I took in a mini-beagle cross that I named Molly Maguire, thinking she might need a good Irish name like my original real one. Later she got a baby sister, a smooth-coat JRT I named Brigid after the greatest of the ancient Celtic goddesses. My great-grandfather and his son fought for Michael Collins and barely made it out of Ireland one step ahead of John Bull. They slipped over to Wales for new identities and then forward to the States for a fresh start. That makes me second generation of illegal but certainly justified immigrants. There are precious few people to whose defense I fly immediately, but the list includes Hillary Clinton, President Barack Obama even when I disagree with him - it happens! - and living Irish patriots Gerry Adams and Martin \\\'Mind Your Kneecaps\\\' McGuiness. I pray earnestly for a united and free Ireland rescued from all official British occupation, with every square inch of alleged \\\'ancestral lands\\\' now held immorally and illegally by the invaders returned to the rightful owners. Irish-only rule for Ireland. No foreign masters anymore! I find it passing strange when Brits chide ME about \'interfering\' in Irish politics!

Journal Archives

Well, there was one time I DID embarrass myself

although it was not from an intentional misstep. Driving down a city street, I saw a yard sale sign with arrow AND address on a corner telephone pole, so I turned there and got out at the stated house. The yard was full of furniture etc. Started looking at stuff, waiting patiently for someone to emerge from the house. When they did, I immediately piped up and asked how much the lady wanted for the sofa. She answered back that it wasn't for sale. I stood there dumbfounded and muttered something about a yard sale, embarrassed half to death. She said, "NO! We're moving IN!" That's when I remembered the yard sale sign on the corner had no date and must have been left over from the previous owners or tenants.

Well, at least I did remove that sign quickly to save anyone else my mistake.

Speaking of signs, in some big cities they have a problem of people removing corner and highway yard sale signs belonging to others, in order to drive more traffic to their own sale. Politicians have a lot of trouble with their campaign signs disappearing in rural areas, too. Politics and business can be rough.

Tempest in A Teapot, or Yard Sale Wars

Enjoyed the privilege of listening to a 30-yr-old Praire Home Companion rebroadcast that also featured Willie Nelson this evening.

But earlier this morning I engaged in what might best be called the local Yard Sale Wars. A friend who's sold her house to move to FL was trying to clear out the excess first, of course; she even called me to invite me over to shop. I leaped at the chance.

That's when the minor trouble started. Too many shoppers, too little help, and an unfortunate group of alleged helpers, with some of whom I share a mutual distaste. I gathered up a pretty good pile of stuff but wasn't through by any means when one of the 'helpers' sashayed over and started to fill her arms w/o so much as a by-your-leave.

I gave a polite cough and said, "Those are mine." She said, "I'm taking them to the pay table to bag them up for you." When I said no again and she ignored me, I had to snatch the whole armload back and say a little more firmly, "No, you're not. I said they're mine and they'll stay with me until I'm ready to leave!" She gave me a dirty look and stomped off but she knew better than to push me any more.

Here's why I won't let people do that: 1) It's rude to just pick up somebody else's stuff w/o asking, no matter who you are or think you are. 2) Under the best circumstances I've still seen so much chaos at a pay table that some people get sent home with the wrong bags or items, etc. Happened to me once. 3) Especially when things are not marked and the price given by the host or 'helpers' is only verbal, or special deals have been struck, I'm not about to contend with people at the pay table over what I really owe. 4) Worst case scenario, if the person with the cash box holds any grudge against you and if you let them bag your stuff, horrible things can happen. I lay items on the table one at a time, announce the price I was given, and bag it myself. People pretty much know now not to mess with it because I'm faster than they are!

One time years ago here in this backwater, I danced up to a table with a precious Victorian-style Santa Claus cookie jar and set it down while frisking myself for my wallet. Then I watched in horror as the woman picked up that very collectible and expensive cookie jar, and she slammed it down on the table so it shattered. It wasn't even hers. She was just 'helping' her daughter hold a sale. But she hated Democrats with a passion, and that was her way of getting back even if it cost her daughter $40. I'll never understand that kind of thing.

So now I just keep control of everything throughout the process. If some 'helpers' less malevolent than the one described above still want to think I'm rude because they're too bloody used to getting their own way (as perhaps I am), that's a small price to pay. I literally cannot abide bossy people even if they gossip behind my back and call me rockheaded to my face. The lovely thing remains, they can't fire me or retaliate in any way that matters to me.

Someday I'll tell you about the nicer people here, but that's a lot duller story.

What they said. I have nothing to add except that you needn't ask anyone's

forgiveness or indulgence. Everyone should read this and think long and hard about it. We'd all do well to take a page from Ruby's book.

It was probably too long ago for me to ever retrieve the memory.

But it might not have taken much. Although I loved all other cheese even as a small kid, I once took a long stretch of refusing to eat any cheese, no matter how much I loved it. In those days parents didn't always think to ask a kid why anything. But I do remember that situation. I'd read a book where some other kids gave a horse a grilled cheese sandwich to eat and it stuck his mouth shut. The story was all about how to correct their mistake. My takeaway? That if I ate a grilled cheese sandwich, the same thing might happen to me. Children's literature can have powerful effect.

Or maybe hating cottage cheese is associated with a person I didn't like but don't remember. I'll never know. But thank goodness, now I'm past the worst of it. The globbiness disappears when heated, I've learned, and sort of like soy the taste appears to disappear in a hot soup or stew which remains mysteriously enhanced.

Well, I do have the pleasure to report

that the town secretary declared me in public to my face to be the hardest headed person she's ever known. Oddly enough I forget the circumstances, but that's probably because there've been so many. And that may be nothing compared to what's said after I attend a city council meeting. I know they fight like cats and dogs among themselves, but they might coalesce against a common thorn in their side.

But really, I think we get along much better now. Either that or they've basically given up trying to pee on my leg and tell me it's raining.

Still I have to say that you might be the best dragon slayer I've seen in a long time.


When I checked FB just now, that group had finally responded with a fine blend of snarky sanctimonious that rather strongly hinted I might have Sharia leanings.

I left them my final message that was the most exquisitely polite way I could manage to tell them to take a long walk on a short pier. If I showed up at one of their festivals in a Druid costume or dressed as an ancient Celtic goddess, their so-called tolerance would vanish in a heartbeat. But I told them I still wanted the shirt on back order from several months ago because I do approve the Love Thy Neighbor theme regardless of how much I now doubted its true practice in some circles. I won't blame the song when the choir's off key. But they won't see another dime from me, and I'm sure they're cheering over that.

Yes I WAS nice to them! I didn't breathe a word about Emperesses having no clothing etc.. And I left w/o saying the H word out loud. Okay, so I did say everything but... Anyhow, the only reason I'll go back is just to quietly check and see how long they leave that whole thread up.

I've also often heard (and even seen) people aggravated when

a woman makes it clear that she damn well doesn't care if anyone finds her attractive or not, and that acts as its own powerful aphrodesiac. Of course I don't mean slovenly, but rather natural and not gussied up like a kewpie doll. Back in the day I could get more attention in sweatpants than some women could in a mini skirt. After all... no, I'm not going to say that... for once...

Well, the last time I tried that, I broke the internet

and Gore and Zuckerberg got after me for it, so now I'm afraid. But thanks for the thought just the same.

If they'd seen me during my stage career, they wouldn't have acted like

I'm some sort of prude. Because believe me, especially in small theaters where backstage space is almost nonexistent, everybody changes in front of everybody else all at once because that's appropriate (in my eyes) due to the situation. But posing as my moral superior while trying to sell me a tee shirt and getting huffy when I make a simple marketing comment doesn't fly with me at all.

I have my own notions which it's true not everyone understands or agrees with - but they can't tell me in essence to sit down, shut up, and fork over $ while I'm at it. That's toooo much.

Essentially I've come to the notion that those well-covered men are parading their wives as sexual trophies to impress other men. And make $. I mean, what's one of the first power plays by captors in war - deny their victims clothing. Then there's the Stockholm Syndrome some captives adopt as a survival mechanism. These particular women probably knew exactly what they were signing up for, but even slaves have their own pecking order.

Thanks to everyone's kind help, I've divested myself of another blind aversion.

After several days' practice I can even look at cottage cheese plain in the carton w/o retching. Believe me, that represents huge progress.

Really, it does disappear completely in a hot cooked dish. I even sneaked a little to the dogs and they love it straight. Of course what do they know? Dogs aren't usually picky eaters. They get hysterical with joy when I so much as glance toward the kitchen.
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