About Me

My photo
My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

12 gauge shotguns, siblings & suntans

I've been on the road for almost a month now. How has it been?  Well, not bad.  My first stop along the journey of "Annie Mac needs a job" hit parade, was stopping by southern California and spending a few weeks there.  Having been on a few job interviews during my lifetime, the one I had while at Henry Mayo Hospital was quite possibly the most strange.  The ER , and people like myself who get some sort of bizarre high from adrenaline,  seek out emergency drama with gusto.  A severed head, and I am about as happy as a diary cow on a lactose intolerant farm.  However, the job interview was not fruitful, and so I had some free time on my hands.

I wonder if I am one of those jobless people that Barry O says are going to be succeeding soon?

My brother, a retired U.S. Navy vet, took me out shooting while I was in southern CA. We set up targets in the desert, exercised our rights, and we bore some arms. Lots of arms. Some 3 weeks later, and my left shoulder is still reminding me of the power of guns. I held the shotgun cleanly and very snug in the crook of my shoulder, just below the AC joint, and between the humerus head and slightly below the clavicle, not to interfere with the first rib. I fired off several rounds, blowing away my imaginary enemy, the orange water cooler with the small water bottle on top. My shoulder is killing me, still. But, it felt good to get out and spend some quality time with my brother and the guns. Siblings can be monumental pains, but nothing says I love you more, than a brother who teaches his sister how to blow holes in bad men who might wish to harm me. It's an afternoon I am not likely to forget anytime soon.

Sadly, as of this writing, I am still without employment.  I'm now in Arizona.  Apparently California just doesn't need any more conservative Republicans.  Phooey on that...California's trouble is that they don't have ENOUGH conservative Republicans.  I enjoyed the time with my son, had some fantastic meals, visited friends, saw my pseudo nephew graduate from high school,  and even helped out a close friend who was drifting off into la-la land from falling blood sugars.  As of this post, she is now back home after breaking her ankle in 3 places, during her diabetic day dream.  I am happy I found her, or my friend list would be down to 2. 

Jan Brewer, the governor of Arizona, is my kind of gal.  She has, in my opinion, an obvious dislike or distrust of the POTUS.  I'd venture to say that those feelings are warranted, given that the POTUS has been invoking his executive privileges lately.  It's been a hell of a week, with the press conference that Barry O' gave and his intentions to somehow re-write laws, sans that centuries old document, better referred to as the U.S. Constitution, to get around SB 1070.  Why bother even holding elections in the future-Barry O' just waves his magic wand and all laws are subject to change?

Here in Arizona as I type, I see the results of immigration that has gone on far too long, illegally that is.  Chime into the state's evening news and you will hear about illegal aliens who run rampant throughout the southwest, committing crime.  Seems to me, that no President in his right mind (ah ha...Barry has a left brain) would wish to help out illegals with a red carpet invitation to stay awhile. 

A great deal has happened this week.  I started to think that since I had not blogged in 2 weeks, had I lost my groove.  Thankfully, with a 100mg of Tramadol on board for my aching shoulder, my writing juices have started to flow.  Actually, it's more for the abundance of news this week. 

Old Rodney King (the dude was younger than me) met his fate at the bottom of a pool.  Sadness on my part is not quick for him.  I believe he was NOT a man for the century nor a "civil rights leader" as dense capped Rev Al Sharpton wants to believe.  Mr. King was a criminal.  Sorry, but the guy made a mockery of not only the judicial system, but got a couple million laughs from a payout from Los Angeles, and made famous the phrase, "Can't we all just get along"?  Civil rights leaders for me are more the likes of Rosa Parks. 

Then old fashioned mistress,  loose legs Rielle Hunter came out with her smutty tell all book about her dirty business with "Johnny" Edwards.   The extra weight I have acquired from my trip thus far will fall off shortly, after seeing Ms. Hunter's interview on 20/20.  Jeez lady.  Have a little self respect.  The guy is a scallywag, and you are nothing more then his mistress.  I'm going to run right out and get her book, and maybe even Barry O's book...just to show I still have some audacity. (Sounds of the toilet flushing can be added here for effect)

Barry's teasing of the Dream Act and doing away by modifying SB1070 has also sounded across the media waves.  At every step, Barry can be heard running our beloved constitution up and down a cheese grater.   

Lets see, what else?  Oh Sandusky.  As of tonight, the sinister pedophile was found guilty of 45 counts of molestation.  In order to pay back all his victims, Sandusky might be better served doing prison soap commercials....filmed in the showers of course.  Along those lines, Greece is out of the euro,  and this is action is starting to make the other nations quiver with fear of what lays ahead in Europe's troubled economic woes.  Take heed America; reelecting Barry will steer us much quicker and closer to the PIGS (Portugal, Ireland, Greece & Spain).  Socialism does not work. 

I could go on and on tonight, but that Tramadol is starting to lay claim to my brain running without a filter.  When that happens, I find myself apologizing the next morning.  Oh, perhaps that's something Barry might want to try.  I knew there was one more thing on my list of annoyances for the week.  Gay rights groups at the White House, on the invitation of Barry, took pictures of a few of themselves giving the bird to beloved Ronald Reagan.  Hm mm, maybe that shotgun practice was worth a sore arm.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Life from John Edwards' Haircut

I flew over the cuckoo's nest about 1 week ago; leaving the Rocky Mountains in search of employment in warmer climates.  Where did I land?  Santa Clarita Valley - a somewhat less populated valley, north of Los Angeles, and all the city of angels' turmoil that seems to swirl from every sewage grate on the mean streets of the angelic, modern day ghetto.

Day dreams and aspiring thoughts have a way of birthing ambitious moves.  Some are thought out and well planned while others are so spur of the moment that the end result hardly seems like the trouble we go through to strive to the ultimate goal.

Job searching is never a thrill.  At my age, the butterflies in my stomach have long since begun to metamorphosis into a moth, cocoon type slumber, and going to interviews isn't quite a nerve racking as it once was. The uncomfortable shoes, pinched toes, and adapting to walking on heels seems to have become less bearable than they were 20+ ago.  And, what makes job hunting even more of a thrill (like that of the mandatory pap smear and colonoscopy that comes with age) is the snotty youngster who is the sub-human guppy who decides your fate.  Forget that most people I have encountered are nearly 25 years younger than me; and I am old enough to be their mom. 

A friend informed me that pantie hose no longer are a normal aspect of dressing in business attire, and that wearing  half slip is not a crucial part of  becoming a lady.  What the hell do we have Victoria Secret for?  Push up bras and thongs are run off the mill under garments.  Who the hell feels any sense of domesticated comfort with underpants creeping towards an exit only?

In the drive to garner some reversal of years, I chopped my long hair off, and fell into the theory (who the hell came up with this hair fashion faux pas) that women over a certain age should not have long hair?  So, I was relegated to a salon chair, and spent hours being cut, textured, colored and had loads of costly "product" applied to my head.  What has happened to dippity-doo?  Or the semi permanent Aqua Net?  I got a chic hairstyle,, some high lights, low lights and even some red at the nape of my neck to give the impression that I watch E Channel, Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and even know who Justin Beiber is.

With this make over into middle aged rejuvenating rebirth, I then sat in shock with the total for looking younger.  Almost $300 for all of this bullshit, that hardly seems necessary.  The pre-pubescent manager of Employment Agency 101 is going to take one look at me and giggle.  For all I know, I've hiked my dress into my granny panties, and no one wishes to offend this old nanny granny.

So, with the cost of my hair cut, color and re-vamping, I still sit with confusion as to why the dirty scoundrel John Edwards would need to have ever spent $300 on his short, nothing head.  Could it be that while he is being groomed, there was some sort of surgical procedure going on, wherein the stylist was actually some Manchurian Mastermind, injecting Edwards' scalp with long lost brain cells and a wholesome moral compass?  I'd ask for a refund Mr. Edwards.

Last week, the jury system once again failed us.  John Edwards walked out of a court room, with not so much as a slap on the hand; although a whack upside his vacant head would have been far more entertaining to watch.  Reports of brain dead jurors winking, smiling, making giggly-eyes at the lowest form of pond scum are still fresh on talk radio.  What is it with juries nowadays? 

The peace I can draw from this whole thing is that scum film Edwards has a lifetime to contemplate hell.  I suspect GOD and maybe even Joan of Arc, and without a doubt, Elizabeth Edwards herself, have some overhead projector and the strikes against John are being tallied.  Edwards spewed this speech after his court room dating game about how sorry he is, how he loves his children, yada, yada, yada.  Had I not been driving a friend's car, I would have hurled my lunch all over the windshield.  Does this man know nothing of being humble?  Or maybe he is just bumbling boob.

Alas, I am still searching for a job, there are still teenagers interviewing me, and John Edwards is still getting over-charged for his slick willy hair cut.  Maybe he should seal his mouth shut with a good dousing of Aqua Net.