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Siri has a dirty mind. . .still

25 Sep

Some time ago, my daughter asked my iPad what the windchill was on that particular day. Siri responded, “Would you like me to search my fellatio football?”

When iOS7 came out recently, I upgraded and though Siri’s voice has changed, her mind doesn’t appear to have climbed from the gutter.

This morning my daughter asked Siri, “Where does corn grow?” This was Siri’s response:

Image

Heigh, Ho, Racism! Away!

6 Jul

Everyone’s buzzing about Paula Deen. An overweight white woman who made millions showing the rest of us how to get overweight, all the while giggling like a ninny, has got the entire country outraged over her racist ways. She’s lost her TV shows, her book deals and her sponsors. She’s apologized three or four times—I’ve lost count now—and we’re all still talking about what a racist cow she is.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a white man takes a job away from a Native American and nobody says a damn thing.

Johnny Depp owes Paula Deen a big fat thank you, preferably sandwiched between two Krispy Kremes.

See, Johnny has cast himself as Tonto in The Lone Ranger, Disney’s latest cinematic release. Yeah, yeah, Disney did the casting, but Johnny Depp is Johnny Depp and he’s a big enough star that he gets to do whatever the hell he wants. He wants to play Tonto? He gets to play Tonto.

And Johnny’s Tonto is as far from the Tonto I grew up with as a Tonto could be. My Tonto was played by a man named Jay Silverheels. Jay’s dad was a Canadian Mohawk tribal chief. Johnny claims that his great grandparents said some relative on down the family line had Native American blood. My family had a similar kind of story about Grandpa Mike. Johnny’s not really sure what tribe, but you know, Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek? What’s the diff?

The diff is a big one if you’re hoping to be accepted in many tribes. Many have rules regarding how much tribal blood you need to be recognized by, well, your tribe. The Mississippi band of Choctaw would turn their backs on Johnny. They have a 50 percent rule.

Johnny’s lucky, though. Not only is his great-grandma’s cousin’s nephew’s sister-in-law Native American, but Disney got Johnny around all that nasty blood business. He was adopted by a Comanche activist and accepted into the Cherokee Nation. That, and a big fat Disney donation to the American Indian College Fund, makes Johnny a Native American!

Whether or not Depp’s got enough tribal blood to fill a thimble, though, isn’t my biggest problem with him playing the loyal friend of the LR.

My biggest problem with Johnny is that he’s making shit up about Native Americans and throwing it all up on the screen to see what sticks.

I’ve been to the North Woods in Wisconsin a few times. The place we stayed is a beautiful resort on a wide lake in the middle of the forest. Bald eagles nest there; people fish there; snakes swim in the water there; I don’t swim in the water there. And Native Americans call the place home. The resort sits in the middle of an Ojibwe Reservation.

First stop after getting to the lake cottage would be a visit to the local grocery store, where we would see real-live Native Americans. Not one of them walked around in full ceremonial paint with a dead bird for a hat. They all had shirts on, too, it being not the beach and all. But Johnny Depp plays Tonto in full whiteface, no shirt on his back and a big black bird on his head. Sort of a reverse Al Jolson, if you will.

Here’s the kicker, though. Depp believes that he is doing Native American children a favor by reminding them of their noble warrior heritage. Never mind that the head-scalping warrior is the first thing that comes to mind when many non-native Americans think about their native neighbors. Never mind that Native American children have Native American doctors and lawyers to look up to today. Never mind that any number of Native American actors could have played a more authentic and, to my mind at least, hotter Tonto.

 

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Johnny Depp’s arrogance knows no bounds, though. The man who has less Native American blood in him than a wooden dime-store Indian, grinds Native Americans into the Hollywood soil with a twist of his mocassin’d foot. The only thing Depp reminds Native American children is they still aren’t good enough to play their own people in the movies.

So, call Paula Deen racist. She did, afterall, use the N-word and fantasize about a plantation-style wedding replete with all Black waiters. And for her racism, she lost work. Unfortunately, Johnny Depp’s racism doesn’t cost him work; it costs the very people he claims to revere.

Tat’s Funny!

14 May
koi dragon tatoo

Tatoo: Ink180 http://www.ink180.com

Daugther, husband and I were walking down the street together not too long ago and the conversation turned to tattoos. My husband hates them and finds all of them ugly. Our son can’t wait to get one. I think some of them are just fine and have toyed with the idea of getting one myself. Here was the conversation.

Me: I don’t know. I think some tattoos are ok.

Husband: Hmph.

Me: Maybe I’ll get one across my low back, you know, right above my butt.

Daughter: And it can say “Kiss This.”

Note: Ink180 is a tatoo parlor located in Oswego, IL, not too far from my home. It is a non-profit ministry, founded by tatoo artist Chris Baker, dedicated to “transforming gang & human trafficking tattoos into something beautiful.”

While I knew about gang tatooing, I had no idea that pimps would tatoo the women and men who work for them as a symbol of ownership. Ink180 donates coverup tatoos to help former gang members and sex workers leave their past lives. When son turns 18, I’m suggesting he go to Ink180.

Here’s an example of a coverup tat’ . . .

cover up tatoo art

Cover up tatoo by Ink180. http://www.ink180.com

Tellin’ it like it is

7 May

From the back seat of the car came this dialogue:

My son, to his sister: You’re an ungrateful little brat!

My daughter: So are you!

My son: No. I’m an ungrateful big brat.

This is one funny guy; read his stuff

7 May

jmlindy422:

I’m the world’s worst at blog rolling, so I think I’ll just reblog posts from bloggers I love. Here’s the first.

I love this blogger. He doesn’t post regularly, but when he does it’s absolutely worth it. Today’s post had me laughing out loud and I’m still smiling.

Originally posted on MIKE IS HAPPY.:

 

Screen Shot 2013-05-07 at 9.50.59 AM

 

Aww. :(

View original

Happy International Women’s Day

8 Mar

My gift to you this IWD are the following tweets, in the order they appeared in my feed. This is by way of amusing you (I hope), demonstrating my lack of dinosaurosity (I may be old, but I know a hashtag when I see one), and putting together a really quick post so I can go back to recovering from the chaos that is home improvement and writing about my miserable childhood (to be published some day, perhaps soon).

@craigkielburger:

Around the world, women spend 200 hours a day cumulatively collecting water. #internationalwomensday

@JimmyChooLtd:

Wishing all women around the globe a happy #internationalwomensday.

I’ll leave you with the happy image of women, water jugs on their heads, tottering through the third world in their Jimmy Choos.

My son said something funny I can write about!

12 Feb

 

 

I’ve said numerous times that my son’s sense of humor is so obscene that I can’t write most of what he says. I attempt to keep my blog relatively family friendly and he tends to use far too many F-words for print. A while ago, though, he uttered the following gem.

My daughter and her friend were in the back seat, singing along to a favorite song. It was something kind of Selena Gomez-ish or maybe it was Call Me Maybe. Regardless, they were young girls and sang in those screechingly high, thin voices that make even in-tune singing painful to hear. The girls were not singing in tune. It wasn’t bothering me as I will accept just about any sound that isn’t whining. My son, however, is a musician.

“My god, Mom,” he said, “It sounds like somebody’s grabbed a camel by the testicles!”

 

Follow Me

18 Jan
Image: Beyond Bliss Poodles

Image: Beyond Bliss Poodles

Just about every blogger I follow has done the Search Terms post. Because every one else was doing it, I did it, too. And, no, I would not jump off a cliff if everyone else were doing it.

For the uninitiated, the Search Terms post is about the terms people type into Google that then lead them to a blog. I know lots of bloggers who have really cool search terms in their records, like “the most beautiful chickens.”

Me? I get people who are either really kinky or really worried they’re kinky. A while back, I wrote about accidentally seeing my son’s penis. Since then, my top five search terms always include at least three referencing “son’s penis.” Today’s top search term was “son wants to drop out of high school.” I sympathize; my son has spoken the same blasphemy, causing me to write a letter to Dave Grohl. When I finally become a Twit, I will tweet Mr. Grohl and see if he tweets back—or whatever is supposed to happen. Hey! I should do that! Blog Fodder!!

Of course, the next three terms included “son” and various words for penis. Coming in at number five was the disturbing “dark skin women titties.” I don’t think I ever want to meet that person; I certainly don’t want him (I never said I wasn’t sexist) anywhere near my daughter. And it better not be my son.

Because I am completely preoccupied most of the time and when I am not preoccupied I am being interrupted, I only recently discovered that my computer keeps track of the terms I have searched. I research just about every situation I encounter so my Google search history has become a sort of historical record of Janice.

Some search terms I remember using, like “shark socks.” My son’s girlfriend has a sock fixation. Among her favorite foot coverings is a pair of Batman socks, complete with little capes. My son decided she needed shark socks, so I searched for shark socks. I was hoping for something ferocious, but most were really lame and barely recognizable as ferocious man-eaters. I did find a very cool pair I could have knit for Girlfriend, but I’m pretty sure the “don’t knit a sweater for a boyfriend” caveat probably has a corollary: don’t knit socks for a girlfriend, especially if she’s not even your own girlfriend. My son settled on Robin socks to go with the Batman socks.

image-sockrobincape-primary-watermark

I frequently search for information related to my kids, like “how much water should a 10-year old drink,” “puberty for girls,” “good curfew for teen,” and “getting high with morning glory seeds.”

The reasons behind some of my search terms seem mysterious if you aren’t particularly familiar with me. “Three squatting myths that refuse to die” could be about Occupy Wall Street or whether squats are harmful to runners’ knees. You might think I was planning a murderous rampage if you saw “how many rounds can a semi-automatic rifle shoot in one minute,” but the opposite is true.

Some of the things I’ve searched are just plain gross, like “phlegm and coughing after exercise.” Some I’m not even sure I actually searched. While I agree with the sentiment, I have no idea why I searched “and i feel so much depends on the weather” or if I even searched it. I know I didn’t search “pandas” and “giant panda coloring pages.” I bet if I looked in my print queue, I’d find someone printed  35 copies of a Giant Panda coloring page. I also bet she’ll soon be searching “discount price on ink jet cartridges.”

I have a pretty good idea who searched “when will Earth die.” I know I never would because I just get depressed when I think about it and, with bipolar disorder, I don’t need any help getting depressed. I do a lot of searching about bipolar disorder and bipolar meds. I remember why I searched “forgetfulness and Lamotrigine,” but I don’t remember what I learned.

I search medical issues for my family, too. Recently, I searched “kidney stone pain,” and “Edward Hospital ER wait time,” then “ureteral stent,” and finally, “can probiotics stop diarrhea.” I learned that kidney stone pain is worse than childbirth, particularly if the person who is experiencing the kidney stone pain has lousy veins in his right arm and the medical worker doesn’t listen to the person’s wife when she says the veins in the left arm are better until he’s blown out two veins in the patient’s right arm. And, yes, probiotics can help stop diarrhea. You’re welcome.

Following the flurry of kidney stone related searches and their attending life events, I did something I swore I’d never do, so I’m glad I only swore it to myself. Looking for a cheap thrill, I’ve searched “standard poodle puppies” for the past two days. Yup, I’m reduced to looking at pictures of puppies to escape the fun and frivolity of living with a man in constant pain, a daughter who regularly criticizes everything from the way I wake her up to the way my bingo wings flap when I shake a pair of dice, to a son who is more mercurial than Mercury.

The poodle puppy pity party was effective. For a few minutes, I imagined myself and FiFi, jogging along the prairie path, the wind ruffling our hair, Fifi perfectly trained so that even the occasional pheasant didn’t cause her to break stride. In fact, poodle puppy pictures were so soothing that I upped the ante today. I’m blaming a book I am currently reading but I’m still almost ashamed to admit what I’ve been doing. In fact, I think I’ll do a search: “is it weird to look at baby pictures on the web.”

Extra credit: There is an inside joke about the Boy Wonder socks. Guess what it is and I’ll write a post about your blog next week.

Oh, no she didn’t!

15 Jan

My daughter is a fountain of funny kid stuff.

Every evening, my daughter tells me when she would like to wake up. Last Thursday, she told me to wake her at 5 a.m. so that she would be awake by 6 a.m. to study for a test. I have no idea why it takes her an hour to wake up, but it’s her beauty sleep so I go along.

Five a.m. I woke her, saying “Sweetie, it’s 5 o’clock.”

“I’m tired!” she groused.

Five fifteen. “Peanut, it’s time to get up.” Grousing was the reply.

Five thirty. “You told me you wanted to me to wake you at five. It’s five thirty.” Again, grousing.

Five forty five. “Leave me alone!” was the reply.

At six a.m., I told her it was six a.m. and went downstairs to make my tea, telling her I was going downstairs to make my tea. I left her grousing self to get dressed.

At seven a.m., I came up stairs. (Even at seven, she had plenty of time to study.) I was greeted like this:

“IT’S SEVEN O’CLOCK!! I’M GOING TO FAIL MY TEST!!! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WAKE ME UP!”

“Sweetie, I tried waking you up for an hour.”

‘NO, YOU DIDN’T!!! A NORMAL MOM WOULD HAVE GOTTEN ME OUT OF BED!!!!”

Confused, I said, “What was I supposed to do that I didn’t do? I tried to wake you up and you kept telling me you were too tired.”

“If you were a regular mom,” she said, “you would have said, ‘GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED!’ “

 

My kids say funny stuff, too 12

18 Dec

I recently attended an event in which my daughter flipped her body around in ways that frighten me. In other words: a gymnastics demonstration. My son had to attend as well, much to his dismay. Rather than watch his sister perform, he sulked in the hall. Performance over, we headed to the car along with daughter’s friend and her mother. My son was nowhere to be seen.

Me: Where could he have gone?

Friend’s mom: Maybe he ran away with the circus.

Daughter: Nah. He hasn’t got the talent.

 

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