Monthly Archives: April 2009

Pitchforks, pistols and “going postal”

Pitchfork: n. a long-handled fork that has two or three long somewhat curved prongs and is used especially in tossing (pitching) hay

Pistol: n. a handgun whose chamber is integral with the barrel

“Going postal”: v. To become extremely angry or deranged, especially in an outburst of violence. The term derives from a series of incidents from 1983 onward in which United States Postal Service  workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or general public. Between 1986 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed in at least 20 incidents of workplace rage.

Used to be when the rabble got roused, they’d go after the bad guy with their pitchforks pointed at his butt, thus running him out of town.

No more. We’ve got guns, and we’re gonna use ’em.

Pistol, by Christoph Niemann

Pistol, by Christoph Niemann

How many mass murders are we going to allow before we stand up to the gun lobby???  47 just in the past month!

An article by AP writer Ted Anthony asks, “What is happening in the American psyche that prevents people from defusing their own anguish and rage before they end the lives of others? Why are we killing each other?”

I can answer that:   Because.We.Have.Guns.   Without guns we’d have to resort to fisticuffs, maybe a knife, maybe lots of screaming and yelling.

The other issue, raised by Charles Blow in the NY Times: Are certain susceptible people taking as gospel the call of right-wing crazies like Glenn Beck, Chuck Norris, Michelle Bachmann, Rush Limbaugh to be red-blooded patriots and take up arms if necessary to prevent SOCIALISTS and ATHIESTS and LIBERALS from taking over the country?

What are we becoming?

Palin family pratfall: wacky Wasillians?

Palin: n. a name I keep hoping will go away

Pratfall: n. a fall on the buttocks; a humiliating error, failure, or defeat.

The latest buzz from Wasilla is the arrest of Diana Palin, Todd’s half-sister, who TWICE burglarized a Wasilla home for the cash therein.  And wasn’t it the future mother-in-law of Bristol (Levi Johnston’s mom) who was arrested in December for selling OxyContin?

I’m sure there are good people somewhere on the Palin extended family tree, but from the moment many of us encountered Sarah we felt like we’d met someone who’d made a miraculous rise from trailer trash by virtue only of her good looks and ambition.

Sad.

Proxy post: PMS

Proxy: n. a person authorized to act for another
Post: n. a blog entry, like this.

My computer is on the fritz again, causing me shit fits – it’s a Windows boot issue, and though most of my data is backed up, the two files I’m presently working on are NOT and one I have to reconstruct by tomorrow. So….

I’m resorting to using a post sent to me by fengshuibyfishgirl
, a fellow WordPress blogger and feng shui practitioner. She is my proxy today while I hyperventilate and hurl dog turds and bad language at my computer.

She sends these definitions of PMS:

10  Things PMS Stands For:

1.  Pass My Shotgun
2.  Psychotic Mood Shift
3.  Perpetual Munching Spree
4.  Puffy Mid-Section
5.  People Make me Sick
6.  Provide Me Sweets
7.  Pardon My Sobbing
8.  Pimples May Surface
9.  Pass My Sweatpants
10.  Pitiful Mood Syndrome

I’ll take 2 aspirin and feel better in the morning. Grrrrrrr.

Pressure to pare down

Pressure: n. the burden of physical or mental distress; the constraint of circumstance; the weight of social or economic imposition; the application of force to something by something else in direct contact with it.

Pare: v. to trim off an outside, excess, or irregular part of; to diminish or reduce

Because I haven’t posted in a week you may think that I’m moving prematurely into slow blogging.

But no. I’ve just come to the realization that I can no longer afford to think about down-sizing. I need to DO down-sizing. Which means putting time and effort into planning, divesting, tossing…

Which means that instead of thinking about P words, I’ve been inventorying my stuff in preparation for the Great Divestiture.

Really, there’s no way I can go looking for some cute little shoebox until I sell the home I have – my beloved home.

To buy something, even a shoebox, would be silly when it could take months to sell my place in this challenging real estate market. And who wants to be paying for two places?

I’ve made myself a fine Excel spreadsheet on which I’m listing all my stuff, including measurements (will it fit in my shoebox?), and whether it’s a keeper, a give-away, a “store it in case the kids ever have real homes AND want Grandma’s embroidered antimacassar” , a “will it sell on eBay?” or “could I just dump it?”

I started with the easiest space – the guest bath. How much can a guest bathroom hold? I asked myself. Turns out quite a bit: a nice little rug, an antique commode, three pieces of art, and a very very very old Greek water jug. Sigh.

None I want to part with. And I’m just getting started.

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