Don't it make this white girl blue.

Dear white people,

If you could stop doing stupid shit that makes me feel shitty about being a white person, which I cannot help, we are who we are, but yeah, if you could quit being racist pieces of shit on the internet and in real life, that would be great. 

Let me throw out some easily Google-able examples for the extremely stupid people who are unfortunate enough to come across my extremely stupid blog.

The first example that comes to mind is the crazy racist lady at Michael's craft store either last Christmas or the one before last. Then there was the crazy Canadian lady at the medical clinic this week. And apparently late last week or earlier this week there was some psycho red beard guy from Colorado who punched a dude and his face like four times and the guy he hit was inside his car the time. That's like punching a person stuck in a box. So fucked up.
This example isn't 100 percent racist in nature because I don't think race was actually mentioned in it but it was an angry white man beating up a kid with a Latino last name. 

I also saw another video not that long ago but I don't know when the video itself was made, but it was two women who look like they were at a Trader Joe's or some kind of grocery store and the white woman was being a complete douche to an apparently Muslim woman who had let the white woman cut in line in front of her. She does something nice for the lady, and the lady tells her to get out of the country in which she was born, because I'm guessing the white bigot bitch thinks that only Christians are allowed in America. White ones at that.

Your last example is of a woman at Walmart, shocker, giving a woman with an accent a hard time for being in the 'wrong' country. 

Yes, I am white. I am practically see-through I am so white. I can tell you the four different European countries from which each of my ancestors come. My Mum is a legitimate ginger, red hair, pale white skin, littered with freckles, ice blue eyes.

I am fine with my whiteness. I was born this way. We were all born in the way we are born. We might as well accept who we are, as we are. Unless you're a douche bag, then try to do better. Try damn hard.

Regardless of my whiteness, and the whiteness of my parents, I grew up with all flavors of people in my life. We travel, not globally, unfortunately. But I've seen the United States and a lot of Canada and some of Mexico. I have friends of all different faiths. Republican friends. Democrat friends. Friends who ride the fence, like me. Friends from other countries. Friends with advanced degrees, friends with GEDs.

You're getting my point right? Growing up that way, indeed I am fortunate for learning that my experiences and the experiences of other people don't necessarily have anything in common.

I can tell you something else that growing up around a large variety of people has taught me, white privilege does exist. And I do benefit from it. And that doesn't make it right. And even though I benefit from white privilege and I am a white person, I can freely and openly proclaim that it's wrong. It is wrong. White privilege is wrong.

Say it with me, white privilege is wrong.

I can already hear you right now saying, "But I'm not racist."

Of course you aren't. I do not have Nazi friends. That is intentional.

However, you still need to admit, if you are white, and in the United States, that white privilege definitely exists here, and you benefit from it, and it is wrong.

It will feel uncomfortable and weird for some of you maybe. For others it probably won't. For a lot of you, you probably already admit it. If you do, that is great. And you are the kind of people that the world needs because it's people like you who will help cure the ills of society.

We have work to do. All of us.

We can start by being honest. With ourselves. And with others. If you're already honest, skip to the next step.

We must be ethical. This is not the same as moral. The differences are complicated. Give yourself some time to learn them if you don't already know them.

Whenever possible, we should be kind, or at the minimum, neutral.

These crazy, ranting, rage filled, psychotic videos that keep popping up in the news, and all over the internet, it has to stop. These people need to change their ways. No, we cannot change them technically. A person must change oneself. 

Maybe it's too late for them. If that's the case, then we must bring up the next generation better.

I don't have all the answers. I don't have any answers. I making this shit up as I go. But by using just a few simple guidelines, I've managed to live most of my life not being a massive dick. At least I don't think I've been a massive dick. I would assume one of my many friends or relatives would tell me if that were the case. 

As a white person, let me just confirm to the other white people who may be unaware of this fact, but your whiteness does not give you any kind of special privileges. And if it does, it's basically an accident, and you don't deserve them.

Since i'm a white person who has to share this country with you, I would deeply appreciate it if you would keep your racist bullshit to yourself if you can't stop being a racist altogether.

I've said this before, but let me say it again in case we've forgotten: It literally requires no effort to just shut your face and go on with your life in many, if not most cases. Do yourself a favor and save that energy for something more fun than looking like an enormous white dickbag.

This was definitely too much for Twitter. Misse's advice to blog it was spot on, as always. 

No life. Just death.

It's funny to me when I mention boobs in a blog. Usually it's not a blog about boobs. I'm probably just bringing up boobs to make a point.

The part that is humorous is just having the word "boobs" in the blog makes the number of views jump way up.

Then I feel kind of bad for the people who clicked on the blog thinking they'd be rewarded with  images or content about knockers only to be disappointed by coming across my shitty blog.

 I would like to apologize to all the people who have clicked on my blog in the past or have clicked on it just now hoping for tits and finding ... well ... this.

Since you're here, let's talk about something serious. You know how there's is saying about something being as serious as life or death?

We should amend that statement. Simply say serious as death. We are taking life much too seriously. And it's causing us problems both individually and among humanity generally.

I guess Amy Schumer is in hot water with a lot of people for a Beyoncé parody or tribute, whatever. Did those people forget that Amy Schumer is a comedian?

It is literally her job to make people laugh about different topics, Beyoncé being one of those topics. Since I haven't seen the video I am speaking out of turn. But even taboo topics like racism, sexism, cultural appropriation, abortion, even sexual assault at some point, in the right hands, with the right brains, yes, there can be something funny about that or any variety of wrongness.
Even I have learned that I can laugh about death again.

I can even laugh and often do laugh about fat jokes and being fat and myself. I probably laugh at myself more than I laugh at anything else. I think I am allergic to being serious though, and I know not everyone is like that.

The point remains. We have to stop, take a very deep breath, let the stress and tensions go, let the differences go, let the mountain of things you have to do go for just a moment. And find a reason to laugh.

We will never survive what lies ahead without a sense of humor.

There is strength in being able to look at yourself and recognize not only your accomplishments but also your less attractive traits, some might even say flaws. Then you realize everyone has one side of themselves that they prefer over the other.

All of us work so hard to mask that one side that we don't like about ourselves. Yet we know each one of us indeed has the same side, that less attractive side.

And isn't it funny how we are so foolish to sometimes believe that if we eat the right food or wear the right clothes, hit the gym, drive the right car, be so fleek, that people will actually think our less attractive side doesn't exist.

But we know it's there. Yet we continue to try and hide it. Like human hamsters stuck in the revolving door fron hell.

That's it, friends. Remember to laugh. That's my point. Oh, and to apologize to the boob lovers who may feel cheated. LOL!

The Evolution of my Motivation

Warren Barret S. 1993-2015
Whimsey Bratcat S. 2000-2016

Recent traumas in my life have caused me to change my mind in ways that have surprised me.

Maybe this happens to everyone but it's only now happening to me in the last several months. 

Birthdays aren't as fun anymore. It's still a day to feel special and spend extra time with friends and family. And of course the goodies. Tasty treats. Delicious dinners. Cards. Abundant good vibes.

Today though, I mostly felt a combination of nervous and sad. 

I miss Warren. Desperately. 

I sleep so I can see him in my dreams. 

Anything that marks the passing of time reminds me that time is the most precious thing of all.

Birthdays mark the passing of time right across my face.

I do like my stuff. And having money means you can access certain comforts. 

Would it be cool as hell to wake up in a Malibu mansion, hop in my '68 Charger and go shopping for kittens and makeup until I can't walk? You know it would!

But meh.

What I truly want now is time. I want to be with my parents. I want to be with Mr. B. I want to be with my kitties and my friends. Time with them is the most important reason to do anything. 

More than anything in the world, I want time with Warren again.

My days are filled with lost opportunities to use my time, fleeting time, to DO what matters. To be with these people.

Spoon supplies often run low or out completely. 

I try to push myself. React to obstacles. Recover from stumbles. All the usual efforts. Mostly not so bad. 

Flare ups are strange. Definitely affected by changes in weather. 

Yes, science is the only thing I believe in. I realize science doesn't support this pain and weather relationship. My own doctor thinks there must be a connection despite what she learned in med school because she has too many patients who are clearly affected. You can't fake swelling in your joints.

Sometimes a flare is but a day long event. 

This last one, however, started at least two weeks ago and it's still going strong. 

This dumb condition evaporates a tragic amount of my time. 

I'm nearly obsessed with time.

It has become clear that time is what drives me.

My achievements are measured in time. I measure my paycheck in time. Anything I can do that will allow me more time with the life forms I cherish, I will do what my resources allow.

For the entirety of my conscious life, I believed I would experience increasing happiness as I acquired more life-comforts and perks like fast machines and sprawling square footage.

Now I know better.

The way to truly live my life in happiness is use as much of that invaluable time as I can being with the ones I love.

No, I don't care. But I have a good reason.

A few wise friends and several cautionary headlines advise keeping certain fish out of your personal social media pond.

They have valid points with scenarios like a friend who gossips to your mother or some coworker you didn't know you couldn't trust. We have probably all gotten fried asshairs from people like that taking something you share and twisting it for whatever excuse. 

What I say now I'm just going to say because everyone who matters to me already knows this anyway. 

I don't care. 

If someone is going to try to use an aspect of my own life against me, first of all, unless I'm Miss Fucking Cleo, I won't see it coming. Not much we can do to prepare for nor avoid some stuff. 

Secondly, if someone is a backstabber, stab today; don't wait for tomorrow. Wouldn't you rather the bad seeds reveal themselves immediately? You can't tell me you would prefer they suck you in and fuck with your feelings first. (However, if you are a masochist, then the latter makes sense and I don't judge.)

I do not happen to be a masochist. 

In the event of a dick, be a dick and get it done. That way we can both go on with life. I won't waste your time. Plz don't waste mine.

Third and finally ...

My golden rule is simple.

I'm going to be me. You be you. If we have that magic thing, then let's have tacos. 

The magic thing between two people is beyond explanation. But anyone who has felt it, hopefully everyone, knows it when they do feel it. 

Magic does not require us to have all things in common. But I will let you know if a line has been crossed and you let me know too. If we can't resolve to drive around the potholes together and keep rolling, then stop the bus.

We can and should end relationships that are or become toxic. Shit happens. See you in another life, maybe. Just drop me off at the curb and I will call an Uber.

Fuck me over ... Possibly different outcome. It depends. I live in a lot of grey area. Crossing bridges as I come to them if the escalator is out of service. And yes, I use a map and a moral compass.

My way of social-ing is not everyone's taste. A lot of people, intelligent people, are super trepidatious with their social media and/or live-lives. They do what makes them comfortable. 

If you opt for doing the living out loud thing with fellow live humans or on the webernet, accept that there are consequences. 

Talk about how much you love murdering tiger cubs with dull ninja stars? Expect and respect that most people will fucking wish you to fall off a cliff then roll down a hill of sharp rocks and slowly rot in a swampy ravine. 

In case it isn't clear, if you're a sociopath, don't be surprised when you end up living in a camper with rabid toads and only have one Facebook friend - your Auntie Ernestine whose account has been untouched since the day her granddaughter set it up and showed her how to like the fan page of 'Dancing with the Stars' and join the machine-quilters anonymous group.

Those are the kind of people I envision when I hear friends' advice and read headlines about social media drama.

I'm not always kosher but I'm also not a sociopath. Despite my faults, I try to do the right thing in sincerely almost all scenarios. (Grey areas!) Intentionally inflicting emotional pain isn't fun to me. Knowing this about myself, I think that at least helped me lose my capacity to care about haters of any type.

Please note: I am NOT saying bullying doesn't hurt me. It hurts everyone. It's wrong. It's bullshit. It should never triumph if it is keeping you from freely expressing yourself. 

Buuut ... I don't care enough about bullies to let them stop me from growing whatever the fuck I want in the garden of my life-o-sphere.

No matter what they do, I'm always going to keep it simple, being my authentic self. 

I have either developed or earned emotional scar tissue. Not sure how to look at that. 

My scars are the reason I don't fret about consequences of not caring what haters hate when it comes to me and my life both online or analog. 

In God YOU trust. Leave me out of this.

I guess some cop somewhere put 'In God we trust' stickers or decals on all the fleet vehicles and there's a big, convoluted, mostly retarded debate about it in all corners of social media. 

Of course, everyone is suddenly an expert in theology, constitutional law, ethics, early American history, ad nauseum. I'm not an expert in any of those things. But I know enough to get by. 

One thing I know is that asking questions is a very good way to find compromise, resolution and/or common ground. It's a good way to fix problems. The wrench in my gears is that it is hard to find someone willing to answer certain questions honestly and sincerely. Maybe my questions are threatening? And I know they can be challenging but I mean no harm.

People arguing angles of religion, constitutional rights, fiscal responsibility and crap can't agree whether Americans are required to be Christian or not. One side claims the founding fathers were Christian (many weren't; fact supported by irrefutable evidence from multiple sources) and therefore intended all American citizens to adhere to Christian faith.

The other side, with which I obviously align, argues that we have been guaranteed the freedom to think and believe in any way we desire, provided it does not infringe upon fellow Americans.

I feel like every human deserves this but so far, only a lucky few of us are born in a country whose government (for now) guarantees it on paper.

Here come the questions:

How does TeamGod assume these car decals will affect change, positive OR negative?

Has a member of either team ever had an experience where reading a sticker on a car caused them to alter their beliefs or behavior? Provide examples, yes?

One for Team Choice, 'In God we trust' is on our money and we see it a bazillion times in our lives because it's, y'know, on our money and just about every other printable surface in the country. So is it truly a problem if this rinky dink sheriff wants it on his officers' cars? It's a sticker. It can't hurt anyone. 

Annoying? For some, yes.

Because you're annoyed, does that mean you are now entitled to take enjoyment away from someone else?

NOPE.

Wait ... I'm not finished.

Tax dollars. Yeah, about how those should be spent. Let's leave religion out of that. 

Why? Because it's not an essential for everyone. And if our tax money is intended to benefit ALL Americans, we owe it to ourselves and one another to leave certain things out of the equation.

Religion does not need government funding. It's not related to staying alive and staying free from potential invading armies and it does not prevent nor heal disease and it doesn't help transport goods nor people from point a to b.

Taxes shouldn't be spent on non-essentials as a rule. 

Now a handful of car stickers Mr. Deputy probably ordered online? Not talking about millions of dollars and therefore not a threat to our social security. 

However, it is a bad habit and something we would be wise not to encourage.

My questions stand though, because this is not the first time a similar argument has cropped up on the interwebs.

And those questions always come to my head. 

So I'm basically dying of curiosity. 

Don't let me be another victim. LoLz

Of heroes and dipshits

First, you need to read this. It'll take two minutes.

From Raw Story: Michigan woman with concealed carry permit opens fire at alleged Home Depot shoplifters
http://www.rawstory.com/2015/10/michigan-woman-with-concealed-carry-permit-opens-fire-at-alleged-home-depot-shoplifters/

Memo to pyschos with CCWs, this is NOT what your permit is for. Fucking hell, bitch, you don't own that Home Depot. They weren't stealing your shit. They weren't a threat to you in any way.

Even if you only keep a weapon for in-home/at-home protection, if someone is NOT armed and stealing your car from your driveway and you shoot them, that is NOT self defense. That's assault or murder. If you are truly shooting at someone in self defense, that means they are an immediate *physical* threat to you and/or your family.

And if you have a CCW, you should know this. Don't try to be a hero because 11 out of 10 times, you're going to fuck it up since you don't have any sort of training beyond how to reload the gun. Plus you'll find yourself in a heap of legal trouble, which you fully deserve.

Your CCW means you keep a firearm concealed on your person and should ONLY use it in the event that YOU or someone with you is being assaulted. That's it.

That's the only situation in which you should use that gun in self defense.

Coincidentally, this is but one of a hundred reasons why I severed all ties with AxWound Miscreant Hitler. She got her CCW, brags about carrying and she's goddamn crazy like this woman. She no doubt looks for excuses and reasons to use a gun I'm sure she can barely operate. Why? Because she fucking loves drama and attention more than life itself.

Kind of sounds like a lot of armchair commandos, doesn't it? Yeah. It does.

Do I own weapons? Yes. And I think every law-abiding American citizen should have the right to own a weapon. But I also believe those rights come with tremendous responsibility.

Background checks, mental illness, yadda yadda yadda. Want to buy a gun? Get training. Real training. Not just how to safely keep, carry and operate a gun. WHEN you should use it, WHY you should use it. HOW to become proficient. (I mean, why have it if you can't hit the broad side of a barn?) What happens to you after you use it and you've had to take a life. There's SO MUCH to consider and our government is too busy playing party vs. party games to propose any common sense legislation.

Since our Congress is failing us, then we must take it upon ourselves to be RESPONSIBLE in order to maintain our rights and our freedoms. Being a dipshit is the quickest way to lose both.

Oh, and about those mass shootings ... Well, if every gun owner or person with a CCW had actual training and proficiency, THEN we can talk about hero situations. Until then, keep it in your pants.

You know I couldn't NOT say something.

Whenever a person who is transgender is in the media, I often see the argument that is it wrong or they are bad because changing one's gender is somehow against nature or violates a religion.

Yeah, changing chromosomes isn't a thing yet. But it could be in the future. 

No one owes us an explanation or disclosure of their chromosomes anyway, do they? Should the person chose to share their XX or XY status, you can have an opinion. But if it's shitty, ask yourself if that's helpful or necessary. Does it seem to frustrate you more than members of the transgender community?

May I attempt to help you with this frustration? Let me try to make an expample in hopes of helping you see your argument from a different angle.

I was not BORN a wife. I am, however, now a wife. My name has changed. Marriage is accepted as 'natural' by most people. (Yet it has not a lot to do with nature. Weddings don't grow in the forest.) Name changing is so obviously a human invention. Getting married is nothing like the challenge of going through a gender transition but it is indeed a change to one's way of living. 

Unless there is a super extreme thing I don't know about, no one is born a parent. Yet they can chose to become a parent. If that isn't a lifestyle change, what is?! Since you aren't born a parent but desire to become a parent, it can involve 'non-natural' things. Fertility treatments, surrogates...

What about adopting children? Is that also wrong? The DNA involved is not a natural match.

Ultimately, the nature/religion argument against accepting a person who is trans simply doesn't hold up without cherry-picking. And cherry-picking invalidates and fails to justify the reason to be anti-trans.

It is absolutely your choice when it comes to what you find tolerable or acceptable.

But if you're going to use the nature argument, and you don't want to be a hypocrite, you should be 100% natural yourself. All your own teeth, tonsils, real hair color, etc. If one surgery violates the rules of nature or religion, then logically, all medical interventions and cosmetic changes are violations too. 

And if you do want to be a hypocrite, then we probably don't know each other because my friends don't roll like that. LoL

Regardless, I'd never stand in the way of someone who desires to ironically contradict themselves. 

Joking aside, I want to help bring thought and understanding if I can. 

Yes, I'm clearly hetero, but I consider myself an ally. 

If you happen to be anti-trans, then I would like to ask a favor. It will be difficult but try to reexamine your stance minus the nature/religion dead-end and see what else is inside you. Is there another reason you can't accept a person who is transgender?

If you can't find another reason that justifies your perspective, then try observing the community with an accepting and tolerant eye. Nothing to lose by giving it a try, right?

My prediction is you will feel better about yourself and maybe about humans generally. Perhaps it won't be easy. But don't give up on yourself. 

To the people who live out loud as their honest selves, your courage is my inspiration.

And to those who have been able have a change of heart and to transition from foe to friend, my sincere respect.

XoXoXo,

~Buffie

Did Einstein really say stupidity has no limit?

If he did say it, he's right. 

We know, as an indisputable fact, that there are human beings in this world alive thanks to medical intervention by other humans who are so intelligent, they CREATED replacements and enhancements from the mechanical world and successfully joined them with our biological world.

Yet there are humans so dumb that they can know or even owe their existence to something like a pacemaker and at the same time fully believe humans have never landed on the Moon. 

How is this possible? Such concepts are so far apart, they neither run parallel nor ever intersect in the same space and time.

It makes me wonder how abundantly polar beliefs can co-exist at similar levels of commitment in one person.

Not to brag for the zillionth time, but I am rather smart. And I cannot make sense of this. I've been trying, meditating on it, discussing it, 'dwelling' on it, some would say, and I don't comprehend a single tiny bit.

Can you explain it to me?

The innocence of huge fucking knockers

Our friend insomnia brought me to a Pinterest page devoted to "bad" cosmetic surgery.

Now if you're going to hate, I feel like you owe it to the hate-ee to at least be fair, honest and specific.

"Bad" plastic surgery, first of all, is determined by the recipient, not the observer. If you don't like what you're seeing, turn your fucking neck or shut your face. It's that simple.

Now, about fairness. It is NOT fair to compare a Marie Osmond photo from 1977 and one from 2011 when she's three weeks out from a mini-lift or something and be all like, OMFG, her face is melting off her head. Ewwwww!!!!

NO. She's not 14 anymore, dummy. Can you do math? And here's a novel concept, the human body takes TIME to heal from any surgical procedure. Not only the cosmetic ones.

Despite the sexy name, cosmetic surgery does cause temporary swelling and bruising. The best a person can do is take care of themselves and let the body heal. It does take time. It can take a year or more to grow into a lifted face. F'real. I'm speaking from some bits of personal experience, k?

Honesty matters, even when you're being a snotface. If you dislike someone just because their lip injections look fierce and you're jealous, try not being jealous and see if that helps before slapping up an unflattering and/or OBVIOUSLY digitally manipulated image and perpetuate a falsehood of said photo being the result of "bad" plastic surgery. Use your damn brain. You have one, right?

Now, specifics. There are surgical mistakes, quackery, extremes, etc. Then there's bad makeup, bad light, unflattering haircuts; all manner of polishing one's look can go a-wonk sometimes.

If it is indeed a cosmetic surgery gone awry, fine, if you must 'call someone out' then say so. But if it's a shitty makeup job, don't call that surgery. Because, well, it isn't. Duh.

Lastly, the fact that a person feels the need to devote a rather full Pinterest page of random-ass, misinformation-filled comments and images of alleged 'bad' cosmetic surgery says FAR more about the Pinner than it does about my huge fucking knockers, which have done absolutely nothing bad to you, me or anyone else, for that matter. They're actually rather awesome pillows. But you'll never know because you deserve to sleep on a burlap sack full of rusty thumbtacks.

I'm working on it.

Suicidal thoughts legitimately plagued me for six years of my life, a long time ago. And it's a time I'm happy to mostly forget. 

Dark thoughts can leave scars. And my scars manifest themselves in bad habits, like always questioning myself and absorbing blame and responsibility for things that have nothing to do with me.

But like the saying goes, before I diagnose myself as being broken, let me ask for feedback from impartial parties.

I'm being "watched" by an anonymous person per my superior. Online activity specifically.

Social media is what I do professionally. So yeah, it's safe to say I'm going to be on Facebook most of the time. And even with all those hours logged, I average less than one post a day on my own wall. 

I don't consider myself an "expert" in anything. But I am an adult. I am a professional. I'm ethical. And I don't mean to brag, but I'm smarter than the average bimbo. Aside from the usual identity precautions, I have nothing to hide.

I am diligent about my work. I do it to the best of my ability. I own my mistakes and I never stop looking for ways to improve quality and efficiency. 

In return, I do have a few simple, reasonable expectations.

Treat me like the adult I am. Don't feed me a crock of corporate secrecy junk about watchers whose identity I'm not allowed to know. It ain't the fucking CIA. 

This isn't the first time an anonymous individual has targeted me in Redneckville. I must be a glutton for punishment because I keep going back for more. 

Who knew my cubicle life was so interesting to these 'watchers.'

Another thing I expect is to be corrected for MY OWN mistakes. Last time I checked, I can't control anyone else. But this 'watcher' maybe thinks I can?

So am I fucked up for being angry about the secrets and other assorted bullshittery? Or am I fucked up for refusing to silently tolerate it?

Or am I just fucked up?

I'll never be perfect. But for the sake of 'the watchers' I'm working on it. 

The man who found 'the beautiful ones' said:

“Our success in being human has so far derived from our honoring deviance more than tradition. Template changing always has gained a slight, though often tenuous, lead over template obeying. Now we must search diligently for those creative deviants from which, alone, will come the conceptualization of an evolutionary designing process. This can assure us an open-ended future toward whose realization we can participate.”

John B. Calhoun

Behavioral researcher, ecologist and ethologist

If you desire a blown mind, Google him.

Dear Velocity channel...

Hellooo there people from the TeeVee who will never read this, I would like to provide you with tips and suggestions for improving your products. Totally free of charge too. Think of the money you're saving on focus groups you are clearly not using anyway.

Now I'm just a fluffy bimbo with a fake law degree and a real license to Glam, but my credentials include being daughter of The Bob and wife of the Mr. Buffie. I do believe that qualifies me as a legitimate gearhead.

When giving someone less than positive feedback, you should begin with a compliment. So let's talk about what you're doing right. 

"Overhaulin'"

Perhaps I'm biased because I sense the same wizardry in Chip Foose that my dad and husband share.

This show has a wonderful premise, mischievous fun with 'the mark.' Shop 'drama' is limited to unexpected issues with the vehicle. Not trumped up soap opera theatrics between bearded apes in bowling shirts.

The end result never fails to bring a smile during the reveal. Good vibes, "Overhaulin'" brings them.

"Wheeler Dealers"

British accents. Moving on...

"What's My Car Worth?"

Informative. No petty fake bickering or tantrums. Interesting and unique cars and only a few annoying American style awful yodeling auctions along with proper, fun to watch, British style auctions. 

Not a bad list, eh?

Here are some shows you're almost getting right.

"Graveyard Carz"

Mopars are in the blood. And these cars in addition to Mark's knowledge, it's gold. But the constant in-fighting? Bitch, puhleeze. If I want to see a bunch of divas having spaztasms I'll watch "RuPaul's Drag Race." (Which I love, btw.) Sure, Mark can serve but queens shame him without even trying. Oh, and, THE SHOW DOESN'T NEED IT. Why put bad mojo in the air like that??? Stahp.

Assorted other information, how-to type shows are fine. Some are too in-your-face with the sponsored products but I understand you gotta keep the lights on. 

Good things you could be doing:

Show us films or documentaries about the people who have shaped the various automotive achievements or unique hobbiests and/or builders such as "Urban Outlaw" featuring Magnus Walker.

I realize you have a "Girls' Garage" show but it's boring and I couldn't make it through a single episode. Why not simply introduce more women into your existing lineup? What's wrong with throwing a touch more girlie appeal up in there? You can only stand to increase your advertiser base. You know I'm right. Huge untapped market, friends. The boat. You're missing it. 

Things you are doing flat ass WRONG:

"Texas Car Wars"

Where do I even begin with this hot mess? Ohkay, the narrator is all 'Dukes of Hazzard' (AKA Southern accent) and he should have gone totally Tommy Lee Jones (Texas accent). Then there's the headliner fabric in the Hobby Lobby bag. Omfg, what reputable shop would ever be or remain in business without utilizing professional wholesale suppliers of automotive upholstery? Like, hi, please tell me that isn't for real. All these shops have questionable business practices at best. Why can't you make a real version of this show? I'd watch it. Good shops are out there. Find them. 

"Barrett-Jackson"

I realize you didn't start this fire but you're letting it continue to burn so shame on you all the same. This unwatchable swill has obliterated the market and nearly destroyed the shade-tree hobby for everyone but the very wealthy. Not. Cool.  If you must continue with this absurdity, I insist you replace the auctioneers with Christopher Walken, Gilbert Gottfried and Jeremy Clarkson. 

I've also noticed your lineup includes no "Top Gear." There are 14 seasons of episodes and specials from which to choose. Show them, maybe? (And no, nobody wants American Shitty Top Gear so don't even think about it.)

Well, aside from designing my own line of custom vehicles for your shows to create, that's a good start for you.

When shall I expect to see the beginnings of Glambozation on Velocity?

And lastly:

You're welcome!!! 💋😸💖

I'm still here

If someone asked me in 1990 if I would see 2015 and I was forced to give an honest answer and not some diplomatic fib, I'd have said no.

No because I didn't think I'd survive the torment another four years. No because they might have pushed me into violent, criminal acts. No because of substances or recklessness generally. 

Against my own odds, it really is 2015. And I'm still here. 

Scarred, weak at times. But better off than I ever expected to be. Better off than maybe I deserve. 

2020, 2025, the honest answer, I think definitely maybe. Perhaps hopefully.

Directions are as much a mystery as they ever were. Sometimes my ego lets me have the delusion of steering my own ship. Reality is that seas change without warning and we are all very tiny organisms in a universe so vast, many refuse to fathom because the idea of it is too frightening. 

The universe doesn't scare me, though. 

If anything, its vastness is what gives me hope that maybe there is a meaning to this life.

Small words. Simple sentences. Easy to digest.

Come gather round the gas-fueled indoor fireplace and I will try to explain this as succinctly as possible. 

If you think you understand what it is like to walk a mile in anyone else's shoes, richer, poorer, a different gender, race, size... You. Have. No. Idea. 

While you are at it, just do this thing real quick. A Google search. You're already on the Internet, hello!

Look up, however you'd like, just a few things, three at the most, about the effects of poverty, violence and ignorance on ALL of society.

Yes, shocking, I know. Experienes different than our own may yet affect our own experiences. Can you imagine the concept?! (Ohkay, I'll stop being sarcastic.)

Really though. Could all the OLD, RICH, RELIGIOUS, WHITE MEN please shut the fuck up about how it is to be poor, black, gay, female or speak with an accent?! Honestly, just shut up. Not because you need to just shut up but because you need to LISTEN for a change. 

There. I'm done. That's all for today.

Stuck

I joke that I should rename this blog 'Where bad moods go to die.' And I should. And it is. 

Today will officially be over in a few hours. Tomorrow, a new one begins. All I can do is wake up in the morning, put my feet on the ground and stomp at the obstacles as hard as I can. Those that fall will fall. Those that don't, well, I stomped as hard as I could. 

The moment I thought my tool bitch days were over...

Wrong! So wrong. What was I even thinking?

Sure, I'm excited the old Dodge is running again. It makes Mr. Buffie happy and we share a love for horsepower. But seriously, I am ready to retire from Tool Bitch status for good. 

When dad was here, he and Mr. B were under the car, fixing (sort of) a transmission fluid leak. And I make the big dumb mistake of wandering into the garage. One 'hey, hand me a 7/16 shallow socket' turns into a sweaty, mosquito-infested two hours of 'I need a rubber mallet' and 'can you find that wrench I just had,' 'you need to hold the light here for a second (or ten minutes).'

And in spite of my insistence that Tool Bitch was done with their greasy grossness, my protests were ignored. Instead the two of them gang up on me, threatening to make me eat thank-you-drive-thru for dinner and trying to imply that working on a car that hasn't been driven in four years is somehow a favor to me. No, no. I need no favors. I have three other vehicles I can drive, thanks. 

I did eventually get a real dinner. But I smelled like old fuel and I wasn't too happy about it. Daddy's little gear head may like her internal combustion engines, but she's paid her dues being elbow-deep in cleaning solvent, with a wire brush, scrubbing gunk of all manner of sharp and awkward to hold objects when she could have been inside an air conditioned house happily playing Barbie with her Siamese cat. 

I guess I'm always going to be Tool Bitch. It's time to accept my station in life on that front. But can I get a goo-proof suit and an air-filtration mask, both in pink please? I think I've earned it by now.

Wellbutrin Aggression

A few months, weeks, months, something ago, Mr. Buffie was chirping in my lobes that I'm emotional and bitchy even though I practically walk around with a Cymbalta drip.

Two, maybe three visits ago, I told the shrink he was on my case and she was like, fuck all, you don't seem as bad as you have been. Her mouth didn't say 'fuck all' but her eyes did. Cymbalta is a tricky med and she needed time to research a cocktail companion for it that wouldn't side-effect me into zombification or kill me with serotonin syndrome.

Welcome to Wellbutrin.

First few weeks, eh, don't really notice much. A bit more energy maybe. Definitely more manic, which I seriously don't like. But something new has cropped up. Wellbutrin aggression.

If all my family and friends were to make lists of the top 100 most aggressive people they knew, I don't think I'd make it onto a single person's list. That probably isn't the case so much these days.

I've always been a snot. Maybe even a brat. I'm an only child. That's what we do. It's who we are. What are parents going to do if there are no other kids around whose needs must be met? We onlys can hardly be blamed for it if we got all the things, all the attention, all the time.

Now if you're feeling sorry for Mr. Buffie, fucking stop it.

He knew immediately that I am a princess. How? I told him. I'm a princess. Oh, you want to date me? Well, jump through these flaming hoops first, prove you are employed, housed, vehicular'd and worthy, then I'll discuss it with my parents and consider it.

Snotty? Yes. Aggressive? Not even. More like matter-of-fact, simple, silly.

Lately though. Tonight for example, on the way home from some local Italian place that isn't going to last until Halloween, he told me that dad is thinking of upgrading his still practically new Mercedes. RAGE! I saw red. I actually screamed. Mr. B knew WHY I was mad but he couldn't figure out how I arrived at /that much/ mad.  (Daddy and I are close but our relationship, especially when it comes to money, is complicated.)

Next time I see my dad, he better hope he's not in anything newer than 2010 or made in Germany or I am going to beat him with a tire iron and take away his wallet.

And there's a dickhead in our neighborhood who has been severely butthurt for the past six months about the retiree across the road who parks his POS Suburban in the street because there's not enough room for it in his driveway between his boat trailer and his wife's little econocrap. And their garage is too full of old people crap for the boat trailer or the wife's car to fit in there.

What does dickhead do? He or she hoooonks every time they drive by. Morning, noon and night. It's a blue Ford Explorer. They drove by at 9:47 tonight.

You, whoever you are reading my shitty blog, anyway you know I have fibromyalgia which means I don't sleep well. And the retiree is a nice man who likes to go fishing at 4 a.m. but otherwise, he keeps to himself, doesn't hurt anyone. Next door to us is a quiet, young family with a special-needs toddler in addition to a baby. Across the street is a woman recovering from a heart attack. Across the corner street is an older, single woman who keeps her house and lawn perfect and doesn't bother a soul.

So Honking Dickhead is irritating all of us with this BULLSHIT because they have to move a few feet into the other lane to go around 4 a.m. Fisherman's Suburban?! IS IT REALLY THAT MUCH OF A PROBLEM, DICKHEAD? I don't think Fisherman is getting your point, either. Because you've been doing this for a long time now and let me look out the window... Hey, there's a big white Suburban right there, legally parked in the street. Current tags, operational, fully inflated tires and all.

Wellbutrin has had enough of the honking. Wellbutrin doesn't want them to honk anymore. Wellbutrin is just about to set up camp in the driveway and shoot out their motherfucking tires if I hear one more honk within 15 miles of this whole damn town. The scope on my .22 rifle is ridiculously accurate and the high-capacity magazine will give me more than enough opportunity to perforate that mostly-plastic SUV and if tires don't send the honker a message, maybe shooting out the glass will? Maybe I'll make myself a set of stop-sticks with some gutter nails and a nice piece of wood, painted black so they don't see it at 9:47 in the p.m.

Wellbutrin aggression is just getting warmed up. My middle finger has never been so busy. Shitty drivers, you are all STILL on blast, btw. After the uninsured wonder twins made short work of Sir Hiss and my truck last fall, I remain convinced Mr. Buffie and I are the only people in Kansas City with insured vehicles. I operate my car under the assumption that no one else on the road has it. If someone so much as sneezes near Ramon, Imma be on the evening news. "Crazed suburban fat woman was jailed today after using a very large purse to beat a man..."

Those are a few examples. I feel like I should try to sleep but frankly, I'm still kind of pissed off about the Italian restaurant (I told him it was a bad idea) and my dad's pending NEEDLESS vehicle upgrade and the honking, and the people whose driving was so terrible, I was a legit 10 minutes late to work this morning, my brain is a soup of irritability, I can't even...

If you're the honking asshole in the blue Ford Explorer, I joke about shooting at your car. As a responsible gun owner, I will only shoot at you if you try to break into my house or try to steal my purse or threaten me/my family/my cats physically in some way. HOWEVER, your days of disturbing my peace are numbered. I haven't decided yet how to deal with you (law enforcement in these burbs is a joke, it's all about grabbing cash, not protecting nor serving) but when I do, let's hope for your sake I'm off the Wellbutrin.

Shit is dangerously close to getting real, f'real. I've been depressed before. I've been manic before. I've been angry before. But typically not all at the same time, not for such long periods and never at this level of intensity.

Wits end... That's where Wellbutrin Aggression lives. And I'm there.

The answer is: Mr. Buffie.

The question is: Who is the secret love-child of Jessica Simpson and Adam from Mythbusters?

But how is this possible you ask?  I'm not sure but I think it might have involved a black hole and an alternate universe.  Let that soak in for a moment...


Mr. Buffie has just discovered that Apple upgraded their earbuds.  He's listening to them on my iPhone, which is identical (except for color) to HIS iPhone.

And he's asking me if it has EQ and I'm like, I dunno, look under settings.  (He's listening to music on my Pandora app.)  So he pokes at the phone, then shows me the screen, which is my social media app folder and he says, "Where?"  "SETTINGS, on the Home screen.  Press the Home button."  He pokes at my phone a few more times.  "The HOME BUTTON!"  He looks at me, still confused.  "THE ONLY BUTTON ON THE @#$%^&*&^%$#@ PHONE!!!"  He /STILL/ didn't figure it out.

Three different wrong choices later he FINALLY, F I N A L L Y figures it out.
Then just now, he goes all Jessica Simpson on me and asks, "Are you listening to Pandora?  Is this Pandora that you have on here?"  Uhm, it says PANDORA right across the top of the app.  Is this chicken, what I have or is it fish?

But he can build a tool to repair an engineering flaw in the pulley system then repair the electric seat adjustment module in Sir Hiss in less than an hour, then change the rear brakes and fix a leaky seal on the truck and manage to have time to work my last nerve, watch endless car shows, read endless magazines and produce an hour-long news broadcast every day.

Oh wait, there's more!  He was giving ME shit a couple weeks ago for not having my email sync'd on my phone.  Because his AMERICA ONLINE EMAIL (nice one, gramps) is sync'd with HIS iPhone, so my face.  As if.  He used to carry a flip-phone with an actual rusty nail haphazardly epoxied into the antenna hole and it also had tape on it and damn, that thing is was busted. as. hell.  He didn't even have a mobile phone when we met.  I had a mobile phone AND a pager.  Yeah buddy.

Anyway, this man who lives in my house and makes loud, grouchy noises is equal parts absolute brilliant wizard and completely drooling moron and not much in between.  It's like evolution didn't happen in some parts of his genetic history.  There's still too much caveman in him or something.  And part alien.  Weirdo.

Hi.  I'm Mrs. Weirdo.

If it's a party, I'm there!

Except for political ones.  I'm a registered Independent and I think in the state of Missouri, that means I can't participate in primary elections.

But it doesn't matter because since I've been old enough to vote, I've only had choices between shitty and shittier.  Cynical but true.  Unless Gary Johnson runs in 2016, and then I am totez voting for him unless he picks a real fuckhead for veep.

Not yet have I known an individual in elected office who truly represented ME or wasn't ate up with fraud and stupid.

For the most part, I lean left.  I think a healthy society takes care of its members.  I want to be a member of a functioning, mostly peaceful, prospering group of people.  Don't you?

But...

There are some ways in which I'm 'on the right' and forever will be.  And I know it pisses off some of you but let me explain.

I saw this meme today.  What it says exactly isn't important but it shared some stats on 'unjustified homicides' and compared them to voter fraud.


I will say that recent headlines and general kerfuffle over 'voter fraud' (according to my own research, mind you, but if you're reading this, then you've got internet access same as me...) is a myth and there have not been, in my own searching, any significant events of voter fraud in decades.  Like... decades.  I'm no scientist but I can read.

However, there was a word in the meme that bothered me a bit.  "Unjustified homicides."  If it is indeed justified, it is self-defense, not homicide.  Just sayin'.  There's no such thing as 'justified homicide.'  Murder is murder and how do you define murder?  Killing someone who is not threatening your own life and/or killing someone with premeditated intent.  I think the latin term is mens rea.  Look it up if you don't know it.  You've got the extra three minutes if you're reading the crap I write.

And yes, I openly support the Second Amendment but I do agree there should be a screening process prior to ownership, however I don't know how I'd create an effective one.  But the impossibility of preventing every homicide is the problem.  Not the amendment itself.
(Thanks, law enforcement dad...  LoLz)

Most importantly I more than strongly encourage RESPONSIBLE ownership and feel that irresponsible acts, if caught and convicted, should be cause to remove one's 'right' to own a firearm.

Education in general needs to be required for the ability to own and operate certain, potentially dangerous things in addition to continued demonstration of safe use.  Removal from the legal public market will NOT eliminate guns.  (Need proof?  See history.  Google 'prohibition' and let me know how that worked out for liquor.)

Will a stricter screening process, pre-owership education and continuing education "prevent" all tragic deaths related to shooting?  No way.  Not even if everyone were perfect.  Humans will /always/ make mistakes.  Again, see history.  Google 'perfect human.'  Let me know how many examples you find.  Don't bother bringing up Jesus.  I'm talking about science, not religion.

And, in conclusion, may I please remind you that it does NOT say R.S.V.P on the Statue of Liberty!

Guest Blogger: Glambo Angelala shares her thoughts but not her cosmetics money

Hello.  I am Angela, friend to Buffie and 2 other people.  Buffie and I had a conversation about something very important and came to the conclusion that we are geniuses and people should listen to us.  I said nobody listens to us because we don't blog.  She was taking a very long break from her blog and I've never blogged about anything in my life.  This seemed to stir her blog juices because she blogged that very night.  Granted, she was not sober but she assures me it's best to blog when you're drunk. 

I confess!  I have a boyfriend.  He IS stupid but he’s the good kind of stupid.  That’s all I’m going to say about him.

Also, his name is whatever Buffie wants it to be.  He has me French pressing my coffee AT HOME!  See what I mean?!  Stupid!  He DID furnish me with a bean grinder, a French Press and a kettle so at least I didn't invest any of my cosmetics money.  That’s REALLY all I’m going to say on the matter.

I want to share some things about Buffie because reading her blog doesn’t give you a full appreciation of the excellence that you’re dealing with here.

She is not lying when she writes in her blog that her self-esteem is high, as it should be.  One way to tell if a woman has low self-esteem is by watching her interact with other women.  Women with low self-esteem will immediately begin finding ways to make the women around them feel ugly or inadequate.  Buffie does exactly the opposite.  She tries to make everyone around her look and feel beautiful.  You never have to worry that she’ll allow you to leave the house for a night out looking less than stunning.  She would never criticize or even look at you funny if you were a mess but if you ask her to, she’ll make you look like a fashion model in 15 seconds time.  You also never have to worry about putting on makeup or doing your hair if you don’t want to because she’ll make you FEEL beautiful even if you look like ass.  She is a firm believer in accepting people the way that they are and loving them for it anyway.

Buffie also nurtures one through the booze flu and doesn’t even try to make one feel bad for puking a streak down her truck.  She simply takes that opportunity to invent practical tools like the Hoark Tube®™ over breakfast the next morning with Mr. Buffie.

Buffie makes you feel sparkly even when you’re not.  She sees the beauty in everyone until their UGLY gets so big, she can no longer ignore it.  She is an amazing friend but a fierce enemy.  I’ve seen her track bitches down after they had spent years tormenting her anonymously for no good reason other than they’re evil.  She didn’t do anything to them except remove their cloak of anonymity and make their UGLY public.  That was enough.

Pro Procastinator’s Tips:

Sometimes when I’m sitting around and thinking of excuses to not take care of the 500 things that need done around my house, I will suddenly yell “ACTION!”  Sometimes this works because I can convince myself that in this movie, I'm playing a productive go-getter.  This motivates me to act like a much better person than I am. 

I also will coax myself off my ass with a British accent, “Sweetie darling, please get up and go and make some tea.”  This helps me to get up and make tea.

Fun fact:

I'm so weak that I haven't been able to open a jar of pickles bare-handed in 3 years.

Peace!