WTF Wednesday Video Preview for FOAD Thursday

https://odysee.com/@auntciesattic:0/eff_your_size_shaming:3?r=GTwnGJ4fFBQfzuJgpHVpfKBKaC9b8B16

I look like I'm about to cry in the preview shot of this video. I'm not. I'm my usual snarky, deadpan self. 

My rosacea is flaring up. I will not cover it with makeup. I think it's important to show my face as it is because I think it's necessary to show the faces of those of us who aren't considered "hot." We have something to say and our voices deserve to be heard.

Anyone who thinks a person needs to be conventionally attractive before they are allowed to speak is too shallow for me to waste my time on. I'm afraid their bottomless levels of stupidity might draw brain leeches to me. 

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

"Fuck's sake, I'm surrounded by idiots!"

(Free use image from Pixabay)

"Don't sweat it, Ornery. Do you want me to carve 'em up, stab 'em with my fork, or both?"

(Free use image from Pixabay)

Lunch Break: 2874

Lunch Break: 2874:  wear them they must masks of every design - back to school students © gillena cox 2021 REVISIT   sumie sunday 49 Sunday Standard 49 Sunday...

I hope that with both the church and the school having Halloween events we won't have any tapping at our door. Then my son and I can eat all the gummy bears.

I'm glad that my son is an adult and we are in a small town. Kids at the schools he went to were, overall, better behaved than the kids at the schools I went to but it would still make me nervous. At the schools I went to, the kids would have gladly pulled the masks off of kids they didn't like and spit in their faces.

WTF Wednesday: A Fearful Fall

 

Image by Mark Payton

A response to this post:

https://pipersadventures.blog/2021/10/05/facing-a-fearful-fall

I love this rhyming anecdote and the perspective of meeting the end with humor. I have to say that I didn't react with humor either time that I was looking the grim reaper in the eye. On one occasion, I was angry and swore to come back and haunt the driver coming up my tail way too fast for me to react. (These thoughts occurred in the space of about 3 seconds.) Obviously, the jackass swerved at the last minute or I wouldn't be here to say this.

When a wave of water slammed into my car during a flood, I felt one moment of abject terror, and then I went into shock. I managed to brazen my way through, but I had PTSD following the event.

If you'd like to see my response to the above photo, sashay on over here.

https://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2021/10/helloween-2021-day-666-two-perspectives.html

In other thoughts, if any of you have ever wondered why disabled people tend to shut themselves off from the world, wonder no longer. I can't speak for anyone else, but I am certainly tired of being treated like a retarded child, getting pep talks, having people ask me if I'm okay when I'm just fucking sitting there looking at the sky and trying to figure out what to make for dinner, having people offer me rides when I'm just trying to take the fucking walk that I'm told I should take more and longer of because I'm too fat (probably according to the same people), and having people talk about nothing but my fucking disability or my fucking mobility aid. It makes me really fucking grouchy.

"But how should I talk to disabled people, Ornery? I mean, they're special and handicapable and all that!"

If I am special (an idea that I find questionable) it certainly isn't because my back and endocrine system are fucked beyond repair. And if anybody ever uses the term "handicapable" in my presence, I will hulk out and drop a car on them. I much prefer the term "disabled, not incapable." 

I'm thinking about having a snarky bumper sticker made to put on my walker. Something like "I'm just taking a walk," or "not dead yet," or "disabled, not incapable." What I'd really like is a bumper sticker that says "fuck off," but I think that's probably a bit confrontational.

Ornery Owl is...

(Free-use image from Pixabay)

with everyone's patronizing shyyyyt

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)

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WTF Wednesday: Some People Just Suck

Things that make you facepalm.

Image by Сергей Корчанов from Pixabay

This is a response to a post on Quora.

https://qr.ae/pGTY3P

Leigh says:

I was working in a upscale Canadian restaurant while 7 months pregnant. It was later in the evening and I was serving two older British tourists, both women in their late 60’s. They were polite for the most part. As I delivered their meal one of the ladies asked “when are you due?” And I answered honestly. The other lady asked “do you know what you’re having” and I replied with a smile “it’s a girl”. What she said next will stay with me forever because I still can’t believe that someone could be so rude. She said “well let’s hope she aspires to be something more than a waitress”. I was floored, speechless, utterly aghast. I walked away immediately and asked my manager to continue looking after that table because I couldn’t bear to approach it again after being insulted so badly. My manager walked up to the table, took their only-just-started plates off the table and told them to leave the restaurant immediately, that they weren’t welcome. I’ll also never forget the way he stood up for me that day.

Cie says:

Good on your manager. My son’s fifth-grade teacher was a real piece of work. One time when I was talking to her and I said it was my hope for him to do better than I had in life. She said, “yes, we certainly don’t want him ending up being a waitress like his mother.”

I said “lady, I’m leaving now before I do something you’ll regret.

I later found out that this woman was singling my son out as a bad example because he fidgeted in class. She would keep him behind when the other kids were sent to lunch, and when she finally allowed him to go, they weren’t serving anymore, so he went hungry. He never told me until the end of the school year.

My son has ADHD, and this woman and the principal tried to force me to put him on Ritalin. I wouldn’t do it so they expelled him from the school.

The story has a bit of a humorous ending. Many years later when my son was in his 20s, this woman came to his apartment campaigning for some local candidate or other. He recognized her but pretended not to. She finally said, “Don't you remember me, Michael? I was your fifth-grade teacher.”

He said “yep,” and shut the door.

My son is normally very polite, but he had nothing nice to say to this woman who had emotionally abused him during his fifth-grade year. I guess he was being polite nonetheless by not giving her the earful that she deserved.

Sly's WTF Wednesday + Ornery Reviews: Don't Be Like a Girl and Play Through the Pain

Disclosure: If readers purchase a copy of the book through the preview link, I will receive a small commission from Amazon.

Man Mission is actually a very enjoyable book, and I recommend it. The following comes from a discussion of the Pink Bracelet Rule: he who whines loudest wears the pink bracelet. 

This rule is amusing in the context of the book and is in keeping with the book's characters. However, I had a few thoughts.

I've always found the "don't be like a girl" thing to be both sexist and untrue. Girls have plenty of strength and ability. What are we telling boys about girls when being "like a girl" is an insult?

The pink bracelet bit was fitting for the dudebro camaraderie in the story. However, in real life, "playing through the pain" tends to lead to lasting problems, and it isn't only guys who do it. I ignored numbness and tingling in the fingers of my left hand and kept working a job with a lot of heavy lifting for months until one day I woke up with my left arm in excruciating pain. I didn't have insurance and had to quit my job and wait a month until I could get Medicaid and get physical therapy. The pain was so bad that I considered committing suicide. It took a long time for the arm to become anywhere close to normal again. It still isn't entirely normal, and I still have to be careful with it so I don't exacerbate the injury that I allowed to become as bad as it did by "trying not to whine" and "playing through the pain."

Last time I checked, I was a woman. This bad idea isn't reserved for men, although for some inane reason society pats them on the back for it.

What the fuck, you guys?

~Sly Has Spoken~

Image copyright juliahenze @123rf.com

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Ornery Literary Services

Will work for links and tips

WTF Wednesday: Overkill

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

A while ago, I wrote this post about sometimes having problems responding to comments right away.
Before I get around to what leads me to revisit this post, allow me to just say that I had a very difficult day.
As my -666 readers on this blog may be aware, my son purchased a house in a very small town using inheritance money, and I am going to be living there with him. I am unemployed except for freelance work due to my deteriorating health. This house is a little over 125 miles from the townhome where my son has lived for 10 years. It has to have electrical and plumbing work done before we can move in. We've had to go up there twice this week to deal with contractors, and today the people from the Historical Society came to view the place, which is on the Colorado Historical Registry to see if my son might qualify for a grant of some kind.
I was all ready to help out when suddenly my blood sugar decided to take an express elevator straight to hell.
There were five people in the group, but I was seeing ten people. I was pasty and diaphoretic. I was drenched in foul-smelling sweat. I excused myself and went to sit down before I fell down while my son took the group on a tour of the place.
I took my blood sugar reading and it was in the hole. I ate a mini-Danish and checked it again ten minutes later. I still felt like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack. It was ten points higher but still in the hole. I ate a glucose tablet, waited ten minutes, and checked it again. It had risen to 102 and I didn't feel like fainting anymore, but I felt like I had just run a marathon.
I needed to lie down, but there is no bed or couch in the place yet. I rolled up a blanket inside my old pizza carrier from when I was delivering food and created a makeshift pillow. I lay down on the floor to take a nap. I knew I would pay the piper, but I had to be able to drive home.
Sure enough, every inch of my body ached. Bone, muscle, skin, I think even my hair. I took Naproxen, but it didn't help much. I sat down to see if there was a new poetry prompt, hoping to relax a little. I wrote a snarky little Senryu and went to answer comments.
Lo and behold, because somehow the Universe always know when I need bullshit the least and that's when it always delivers a steaming pile to my doorstep, I received this honey of a comment.

If you made comments on other poems, you might have some on yours. I have made positive comments on your poems and you never even said thank you. So this is the last time I am commenting on ykur lost. Don't be a prick slick.

I'm not correcting any of the typos. I wonder if this individual was drunk typing. Whatever. She's been contentious towards me (and others) in the past, and this is why I tend to avoid interacting with her. The "Don't be a prick, slick" remark is a dig at my Rules of Engagement, which go like this:
We love comments, with three caveats.
Be cool, Fool.
Don't be rude, Dude.
Don't be a prick, Slick.
That's all, Saul.

I replied:
That's fine with me. I sometimes have difficulty returning comments. You do whatever you want. I sometimes reply to comments right away, sometimes I have trouble doing so due to mental health issues or circumstances. You could just opt to not comment rather than be contentious.
Seriously, there are times when I comment on people's blogs and they never return my comments. I don't get in a dither about it. Either I go ahead and comment anyway because I feel like it, or I don't comment. It's really that simple. You don't know what another person may be dealing with. Which is the way I'm trying to look at you because I'm dealing with a great many other things and it isn't worth it to put myself in a tailspin about a person I don't even know getting upset with me about something which at worst is a minor social faux pas. I apologize that you're offended that I haven't always replied to your comments (or other people's) immediately. However, it really is not worth scolding someone over. I hope you feel better for having "put me in my place." I'm a bit gobsmacked, so, mission accomplished, I suppose. Go you.


The unfortunate outcome of this is that I no longer feel comfortable sharing links at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads blog hops because this individual is one of their admins. I really cannot deal with her unpleasant personality at this point in time.
She attacks other people too. She wasn't always part of the admin team, so I suppose she must be friends with someone there. In any case, having a blog admin who goes off like Donald Trump on Twitter when people don't respond in the correct way tends to drive participants off. Losing me won't hurt the Real Toads blog much because it's fairly popular, but it's a shame nonetheless because I've participated there for many years.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

WTF Wednesday: Assholes Will be Assholes

The following was written in response to a post by a person who has been accused by family members and so-called friends of lying about her illnesses, including cancer, because she "just doesn't look sick" and "doesn't act like she's in pain" and her attitude is "just TOO positive."

I find your approach enviable, and I don't find you pitiable at all. Yes, I'm sorry you've had to deal with cancer because I know cancer can take a lot out of a person, but I do not offer pity because pity is something no-one wants.

The best I can muster a lot of the time for the crap I deal with is an IDGAF attitude. I can't say I celebrate the hand I've been given. Then again, I do better with it when people aren't pitying me. I once said that I don't think I'd know how to navigate life without the lens of bipolar disorder, because I've never not had bipolar disorder. So, if I were given a cure for bipolar disorder, I wouldn't take it. People freak out when they hear things like that. Why wouldn't I want to be "normal?"

I can't say I think bipolar disorder is a "gift." Before it was correctly diagnosed, it wreaked a lot of havoc. It just happens to be something that twists the control knobs in my brain in different directions than most people's brains. It can't be "cured," and I wouldn't take the "cure" if it could be.

If there were a cure for all my endocrine problems, I'd take it, because I hate having no energy. I've been tired my entire life, and it's gotten worse in middle age. People have no sympathy for that sort of thing because the illness is invisible. "Well, if you'd just get up and get going..." Yeah, if I had a penny for every time I heard that I'd have enough money to hire someone to get up and get going for me! Not that I'd actually want to do that.

I truly believe in accepting people as they are, and I don't believe in pathologizing people. Nobody lives forever. I wish my attitude could be more like yours, but I tend to be a bit of a gloomy cuss by nature, and no, it isn't a "choice." 

~Cie~

WTF Wednesday: Those Damn Annoying Pop-Up Boxes

"Heyyyyyy, I see you're trying to read this post! But don't you want to fucking subscribe to my shit too? I'll only ask you every goddamn time you come back to the site, even if you've already subscribed, Bitch!"

If you know me, you know I have multiple blogs for the various different crap that I do. Check the Blogs of the Netherworld page for more information.

You want to know what none of these sites have or will ever have?

Those goddamn annoying pop-ups that appear right in the middle of the goddamn screen every fucking time you visit the page.

Why would I want to visit a page that is certain to piss me off?

Because some of these blogs have actual good information. But the first thing they do is piss me off with an annoying pop-up.

I am extra done with annoying pop-ups.

If you're going to have a "HEYYYY, YOU WANT TO SUBSCRIBE TO THIS SHIT" pop-up, at least don't put it in the middle of the goddamn screen! Because you know what that makes readers want to do? Tell you to fuck off!

Advertising is a necessary evil. But I greatly prefer advertising which is informative rather than a form of psychic attack.

So what I want to know on this WTF Wednesday is WTF do I have to do to make those annoying-ass pop-ups fuck right the fuck off?

(Yeah, I'm in a foul mood this morning.)

~Cie~