The other day NPR reported on the activities of the Minutemen. No, I don’t mean that great punk band from back in the eighties. This is the vigilante boarder patrol keeping watch over our boarder with Mexico, if you have not already heard of them.
Accordind to the NPR report they have begun to see a need here in the interior of the country. Now they are recruiting citizens as close as North Carolina and Alabama. It seems they want to keep an eye on who businesses hire, where supposed illegal immigrants live, and various Emergency Rooms.
How the hell can you people wear ankle socks?   I’m a fan of Reality Me’s Doug, as he espouses a very zen like whatever-doesn’t-kill-me-makes-me-stronger attitude, which I can relate to. However, the essential difference between Doug and myself, is that he smiles as he says it, and I add the words “asshole” at the end of mine.
This week has just been chock full of those obstacles.
But first, I want to address socks. This morning I mistakenly grabbed a pair of my brothers ankle socks, and didn’t feel like digging in the dark to find more socks in the clean clothes basket, so I wore em anyway. Its one of the more uncomfortable experiences I’ve dealt with recently. Its kinda the foot equivalent of underwear that just keeps wedging into the crack, but not enough to require major alterations. Enough where you look around to see if anybody’s noticing a cheek hanging out, tho. Except on the foot.
You see, its got me all messed up. Ankles aren’t designed to get air when wearing socks. Its a biological oddity, and against the master plan.
This has been a metaphor for events recently. Poor GAC is having more god-awful tooth pain that we can’t really afford to fix, because my insurance (while great on the health side of things) sucks on the dental side of things. Hopefully she’ll be able to deal with it today, because her hurting sets off my protective instinct (which I shouldn’t have anyway with a liberated woman, right?), but the problem is that theres nothing to protect her from, so I end up becoming stressed, and then I start snarling and frothing and bellowing like the dumb beast that I am.
Then we’ve got the assorted school financial aid problems, mine being sorted (and documented in the tumor here, and here), and GACs beginning this morning with finding out that her F.A. isn’t done for the semester, and oh, hey, cutoff is 8/28. Burn.
This, on top of our regular cyclical chorus of money troubles, is enough to make a man wanna sing the blues. However, as I am essentially a cynical ass trying his best to smile, I’m going to think of the good things.
While my throat was king hell sore last weekend, it is much better today. Woot.  Nobody else is sick, doublewoot. The Of Montreal show was damn nice. MastaG, who was at the lip of the stage with us declared that lead singer Kevin Barnes is “A GOOOOOOOD”. Always nice to have your kids enjoy a show by a crossdressing, glitter wearing dancing fool. And the things he can do with a samurai sword, whew.
The weekend trip to the Blueberry Farm was a sublime treat. That place is refreshing, and a little manual labor can be just what you need sometimes. That, and I learned to drive the family tractor, just like a real life farmboy.
So far, our house hasn’t burnt down.
Man, Doug, how do you do it? Its just too much fun to wallow in self pity and anger!
I’m a fan of 
The Of Montreal show was damn nice. MastaG, who was at the lip of the stage with us declared that lead singer Kevin Barnes is “A GOOOOOOOD”. Always nice to have your kids enjoy a show by a crossdressing, glitter wearing dancing fool. And the things he can do with a samurai sword, whew.