Heartbreaking Experiences

I’m about to tell you a long convoluted story of three different things that, depending upon your political bent, you might not think are related. That’s ok. I’m not here to change anyone’s mind on anything.

So, today, while at work and chewing on a strawberry Twizzler…I lost a front tooth. I did! I never thought I would ever have to go through that experience again after finally getting up the nerve to suffer through


I suffered through braces, bad teeth and being genetically ‘defective’ ALL of my life. No joke. Every single motherfucking day of my life. In elementary school my ‘genetic defect’ caused me to have two very small and extremely pointy teeth where my canines should have been. People made fun of me. When I was fourteen and the braces came off I got a retainer that had false teeth on it. For the very first time in my life I had a SMILE! A REAL one! When I was fifteen and the retainer was cast aside I got ‘bonded teeth’. Unfortunately those three false ‘bonded’ teeth were connected to baby teeth that I’d never lost because there weren’t any adult teeth to replace them. BUT, again, I had a SMILE.

When I was 25 those ‘bonded teeth’ began…stripping away. Literally. In strips. They fell apart. The baby teeth connected to them decayed and died.

I was married with two children by then and our lovely dental ‘insurance’ didn’t cover ‘pre-existing conditions’. I had to BEG my mother to help me. She saw fit to get me a plate. Truth be told, if she hadn’t been so cheap or shortsighted she would have realized the true benefit of having a BRIDGE made but…whatever. I got my first plate and my SMILE returned. I guess no one told her that plate would eventually erode my existing teeth although she should have known that since she had more false teeth than I ever will. She was just mad at me for leaving home, getting married, having children, and living my own life. I see that now. Truly, I do. Trust me, she had way more than ‘enough’ money to allow me to avoid a lifetime of pain, agony, and embarrassment but she chose not to spend it that way. Whatever. It was her money. She could spend it however she chose. She could have left me TOOTHLESS! But she did not and for that small fact I am forever grateful.

I know she was trying to help me while safeguarding her own financial future. BUT…the bridge was only about $200.00 more than the plate. AND my mother had plates on top and bottom in her mouth. She might have wanted to protect me from the pain and embarrassment she went through for so many years until, at at age 62, she was forced to get a full top plate. She died 4 years later. Always covering her own smile. Never Laughing Out Loud. Never fully opening her mouth to state whatever opinion she might have had. I guess she felt the same was ‘good enough’ for me, her daughter (although nothing more than an adopted daughter).

That’s not to say she didn’t love me, I have no doubt in the world that she did. But, being a ‘change of life baby’ herself….the doctors told my bed ridden grandmother that the child growing inside her (my mother) was a…I shit you not…’cancerous tumor’. They held that belief right up until my grandmother went into LABOR with my mother!

Yeah. Good deal. So much for the ‘medical profession’ and therein lies my distrust of the same.

Flashforward…there I am..TODAY at WORK…doing nothing more than eating a Strawberry Twizzler when my front tooth falls out.

Thankfully that’s not the FIRST time that’s happened to me.

I dealt with the situation with as much grace as I could muster even as a Union Member was attempting to buy a stupid t-shirt. He’s a nice guy. He looked at me, as he’s done so many times before, and said; “Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you ok?”

I showed him the fallen tooth.

“What the fuck is THAT? A TOOTH? Are you ok? Are you HURT? What can I do?”

Covering my mouth to block his view I uttered something like; “I’m fine. What can I do for you?”

“Come on, smile, it’s ok. Do you know how many guys I know who’ve lost TEETH? It’s ok, smile.”

No motherfucking way! Gods love him, I know he was absolutely sincere but still…NO.

I finished his transaction. Then I went home to get my back-up plate. The reason it’s my back-up plate is because it never fit very well and it has a…well…I dunno..an imperfection that cuts into my cheek. BUT I didn’t lose my shit. That’s the important part. I went home. I got the back-up plate, I washed it, I sealed it, I shoved it into my mouth and I WENT BACK TO WORK.

So…yeah…go me.

I did that EVEN THOUGH my car is fucked up! I’m afraid to drive it. I am.


It’s low on transmission fluid.

And, according to Ford, one should not be allowed to do maintenance on the vehicle they own.

That’s right, my hubby of 31 years, who has always taken care of our vehicles CANNOT do so much as put transmission fluid in my car.

Yeah, sorry, Charlie, you need a ‘special tool’.


So he made an appointment with our mechanic…definitely NOT the local FORD dealer…for me to bring the car in and have the transmission fluid re-placed/filled. Yeah, there’s no way we’re giving money to Ford for such a simple thing. In fact, I have come to firmly believe that owing the American Muscle I’ve so longed for is the ONLY way to go. Give me a car built in AMERICA between 1940 and 1980 any day! Chances are its easy to work on and even easier to soup-up. Fuck your damn computers.

Any-hoo…I came back to work and started doing my job when I overheard two males talking about Abortion.

You know, Women’s Rights.

All that happy slappy.

I cringed. I really did as I listened to them talk.

I realized how far we’ve yet to go.

Wanna know something? If not, click out now.

I’ve laid on that fucking table 4 times and had 4 children sucked away from me.

Yes, I have.

For all of the studies and the ‘talk’ from the Democratic Party…each one of those times took a little piece of my soul that I can never get back. Not ever.

I know ME more than anyone else will ever know ME and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that at least one of the times I laid on that table, against my will, with tears in my eyes, a son was taken away from me. A son that without doubt hesitation or reservation I KNOW  was meant to bring into this world. I grieve his loss. It weighs on my very soul until this day and beyond.


If I hadn’t had the courage to lay on that table then my LIVING daughters wouldn’t have the life that they enjoy.


Because a whole shit ton of people only care about their God.

They only care that a baby is BORN.

They couldn’t give a shit less how it survives.

Time and again, I laid on that table heartbroken. Wishing for better. But knowing that wasn’t a reality.

To this very day the loss of those children haunts me even though, in my heart and soul, I know I did the very best I could for my living children.


So, you know, when crawl int bed at at night and reflect on your political beliefs…..ask yourself; Am I pro-choice, pro-life,  or merely pro-birth.


As a reformed Catholic….the answer might surprise you.


But only if you have the spine to be totally honest with yourself.

Do you?



Tee Chip Debit Card Fraud

The good news is; It’s FRIDAY!

The bad is; Some place noted as TEE CHIP COM is trying to steal nearly $800.00 from my bank account! WTF?

Early this morning, over coffee and Good Morning America, hubby pulled out his phone to check out bank account and see if Good Ol’ Uncle Sam had taken his money. He had. No surprise there. This left us with a grand total of about $600.00. That’s not bad. Not great but not bad. It’s enough to buy groceries and get gas and be OK until our next paydays.

Or it would have been. That’s when hubby noticed two charges from TEE CHIP COM. Both of them were for right around $370.00…each.  Both of them were ‘in process’. We just sort of stared at each other puzzled for a few moments then we asked each other; “What did you buy?”

I didn’t buy anything.

He didn’t buy anything.

I never heard of these people.

He never heard of these people.

I get on my computer and get into the account. I send the bank a ‘secure message’ letting them know that fraud is being perpetrated and to cancel this ‘in process’ transaction. Meanwhile, hubby’s looking up TEE CHIP on Google and it ain’t pretty. You can Google them yourself or you can have a peek here for a small sampling of what people are going through with this place https://www.pissedconsumer.com/teechip/RT-F.html or you can go here https://www.sitejabber.com/reviews/www.teechip.com or here https://www.scamguard.com/teechipcom/  It was eye opening to say the least.

This is an actual company with an actual website  (http://www.teechip.com) selling actual t-shirts and stuff like that but it seems even the ‘legit side’ of their operation is not so legit. Even people who have actually ordered something from this place are pissed. Oh and it seems they like to steal other people’s artwork and stick it on their crummy stuff.  Nice place, huh?

Anyway, the bank got back to me with a; We’re so sorry, we can’t stop this transaction but you can come in, fill out the paperwork, and dispute it. If it’s found to be fraud the money will be put back into your account and any overages you might incur will be voided. We suggest you get in touch with this company to cancel your order or to see if they can be of help. If not, you’ll have to come in and fill out the paperwork. In the meantime the debit card used to make this purchase has been canceled.

What the hell do you mean you can’t stop a transaction that it is still in process? Shouldn’t there be a way to do that? It hasn’t finished yet, there’s time to head them off, so…what gives? Could some computer genius out there start working on this problem, please? If you come up with a solution I’ll bet you make a ton of honest money.

I emailed them back letting them know that we’d never done business with this company, had never heard of this company, and yeah, BTW, if you Dear Bank Lady, just take thirty seconds to Google them you’ll see what’s going on. Then maybe your bank can flag this company or something so your other customers don’t get banged this way.

My only tiny consolation here is that it was hubby’s debit card that was used to make these fraudulent charges and not mine. I keep telling him to stop buying stuff online! Stop buying stuff online from companies you don’t know! Go to the damn store!  But no. I’m betting when he purchased his e-cig/vaporizer that’s when the card number was stolen. Me? I almost never buy anything online and on the rare occasion that I do I use PayPal. If the site doesn’t take PayPal they don’t get my money. Yes, that goes for lovely Amazon.com too. No, they don’t take PayPal.

So, I had to leave work and run to the bank and withdraw as much money as I could so that we can buy groceries. Once those transactions actually go through we’d have to wait up to 72 business hours to have the money returned to us. Today’s Friday and Saturday and Sunday are not ‘business days’ so that would have left us flat broke until at least Tuesday. Well, looks like at least one of those fraudulent transactions is stopped cold! LOL.  I wish it could be both but they weren’t open yet and the most I can get out of the ATM is $300.00 per day. Hubby will have to leave work early, go to the bank, get a new debit card, lodge a formal complain, and then we’ll have to wait for the money to be put back into our account.

Oh joy!

Well, at least Uncle Sam got his money. It’ll be a tight few days for us but we’ll make it. That makes us lucky because some of those lodging complaints on those sites did not catch the charges while they were still processing.

So watch your accounts closely. If you see TEE CHIP COM…get on the phone immediately!

Freakin’ jerks. I hate ’em.

Racism in America

This will undoubtedly be an ‘unpopular’ post.

So be it.

Back when I had the ‘old blog’ I made several posts in support of the inequalities in America.

I did!

I am a great supporter of Human Rights.

I am!

I believe the world should be colorblind!

I do!

This is my downfall. Yes, here in 2017 this is my Achilles Heel. Believing that every single person wandering around on Planet Earth should be judged by their character rather than merely on the color of their skin. I can’t help it, that’s what Society taught me as I was growing up. My parents, members of not the Baby Boomers, but of the Greatest Generation were sometimes at odds with my ‘hippie’ ways. I loved the both (they’re long dead now) but I formed my own opinions as I grew up and into the person I am today. In a lot of ways, my parents were “Archie Bunker”, but looking back, as much as the three of us gathered around the TV for ‘All In The Family’, even they knew “Archie” was outdated. I watched my own parents come to grips with their preconceived notions of ‘race’. Trust me, as a 4-10 year old that was freakin’ WEIRD. But, those were the times in which I grew up and came of age. The Civil Rights Era. The Vietnam War Era. The Women’s Rights Era. And please let’s not forget Kent State or the 1968 Democratic Convention.

These were the thing brought to me every single night on the ABC Evening News with my dinner.

If you’re younger than me and the only thing you have to cling to as a Life Changing Event is 9/11….yeah. You’re cute. You’re adorable. You’re a special little one (so say saith your teachers).

The following words in this post are dedicated to a very long time friend. Someone I love to pieces and who has made me sad beyond belief these last several months.

My friend wants me to understand that, in today’s Political Jargon, I have “White Privilege”.  Whatever the fuck that is past some made up concept by…well…here… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_privilege  judge for yourselves if the concept, at its core, is valid.

Personally, I believe it is not. It’s just some made-up BS, nothing more than a concept put forth by one person that’s been latched onto by a generation (and some of its predecessors who need a reason to feel ‘guilty’) that for whom the concept fits their narrow reasoning of why certain segments of the population can’t advance in Society and that’s  why they’re ‘targeted’ by other certain segments of the population.

Hey, ya know.

Ok, so…coming back to my and my longtime friend.

I love her to death, please don’t misunderstand that fact and she has some valid points to make but…she’s a Zealot.

I hate Zealots no matter what cause they take up.

I’m just a YT a #000000 as far as she’s concerned. Because she’s #fffffff and I’m just #000000

That what she posts!

Hey, darlin’, if that’s the case she might as well nut-up and post words like ‘cracker’ and ‘honky’ and, yes, ‘whitey’ on her posts rather than trying to subliminally  hide what she’s saying. Put it out there. Say IT.

But don’t ever forget that this YT, from the ‘elite’ State of Connecticut, this Scot/English/Irish German, Native American, Portuguese chick, MARRIED a Filipino, Russian, Turkish, Jewish, Native American, Cajun/French boy from New Jersey.

Please, don’t ever forget that my darling husband whom I love beyond belief is seen by others by nothing more than ‘Asian’ even those he’s actually Pacific Islander! LOL Throughout his life as a 100% American Citizen has been called; Gook, Chink, Chinaman, and so many more lovely things by “Americans” who, for whatever reason, believe they’re better than him. Don’t for one second forget the horrible thing *I’ve* heard in relation to my husband when others didn’t think I was listening. For fuck’s sake, don’t thing for one millisecond, upon hearing such bullshit, I didn’t get my “Irish Up” and put those fucktards in their place.

Hey, what can I say? On July 17, 1984 I got dragged down to Ocean Beach by Cris DaCosta after several weeks of moping around because a 2 year relationship broke up. I was WINNING at an arcade game when she pulled me away so that she could piss-off Nancy-What’s-Her-Face by walking up to him. I stood there, disgruntled, then he looked down at me and said; “Who’s your friend”?

I looked up at him.


Wow! It’s YOU! That was my very first thought because I was thunderstuck just looking into his eyes. His ethnic background mattered not.

I knew I’d be with him for the rest of my life.

We weathered a lot of storms and put up with a lot of shit outside what is Universal to Everyone.

You know things like;

What’s she doing with him?

Do you know the kind of mixed babies they’ll have!?

He’s just a Flip! Get her away from him!

Minor Case In Point; the day, before we had any kids, we walked into Leisure Sound. He went his way and I went mine as we searched for a ‘boom box’ (yes we are thatt fucking old!) I found one before him, well, ya know, cuz he’s a musician and was looking t PA equipment! I brought the boom box to the check out counter and heard; Look at the fuckin’ gook, what does he think he can buy in here? Look that the guarder on his leather jacket, who does he think he IS!

I put the boom box on the counter and said; That’s my husband. That’s my guarder. You know, from our wedding. Any more questions?

They shut up faster than I could take the boom box off the counter and shout across the store; Hey! Honey! Let’s get out of here.

Admittedly, I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman”: You work on commission, right?

And so on and so on and so on over the course of our entire relationship including so-called ‘cousins’ of mine who felt perfectly free to stand up and tell my mother why I shouldn’t marry him. How I could ‘do better’ based solely on the fact that I’m ‘white’.

You know, people I hadn’t even laid eyes on in a decade or more.

Fuck them.

33 years later…we’re still here. Still standing strong.

My long-time friend forgets that I’ve been in an ‘inter-racial’ marriage for those 33 years. And I’ve heard every single reason why I shouldn’t be in  one from the mundane to the totally cruel. But I’m still here. He’s still here. We still love each other. I still bore him two beautiful daughters who are now 31 and 25. Good, bad, indifferent, we’re still plugging way…together. Side by side.

I look at my long-time friend’s post and IMs and I think but never ask; How many people outside of your own race have you had to ovaries to simply go out with, just once?

I don’t ask only because I’m fairly certain the answer is: Never.

I look at those posts and wonder what she’s trying to accomplish by making enemies out of people who would otherwise line up to be her allies.

Therefore, as much as she rails and baits me, I know that she has never and will never face the kind of ‘racism’, ‘prejudice’, ‘bigotry’, that we have. She only comes at the problem from her own narrow perspective. When one can only see 50,000 pixels of a 1, 000,000,000,000,000 picture then ones vision is skewed.


When believing that the entire Universe comes down to nothing more than Us or Them you better be sure you got your reasoning right.

It DOES come down to Us or Them but not based on race or skin tone.

Not at all.



After all, the closer you are the less you see. So step the fuck back.

Don’t Pit Me Against You on the basis of our pigmentation.

We are so much more than that. I know some people don’t want to understand that. That they don’t want to have to face the simple fact that the really important things in life are universal. They belong to all skin tones and ethnicity.

If we don’t come to grips with that much larger ideal…that fucktards win.

Think Big or Go Home.

That’s the message the universe is sending.

Heed it or….well….be just another cog in a wheel of propaganda.

It’s up to you.





Sad Day but Sadder Times

On three levels it was a crappy day. Today we lost J. Giles, Charlie Murphy, and Peter Hansen. In ONE freakin’ DAY. WTF?

Anyway, Dear Reader, if this Old Lady is very lucky you know who two out of three of those men were. If you only know one of them or Dear Gods no! You know NONE of them the rest of this post may not make any sense to you. Therefore you are invited part this post in peace. Please return another day, you’re always welcome.

It seems that in the first 4 months of 2017…like through the entire year of 2016…’people of a certain age’ have lost far too many of our

Even though I do very much want to say ‘heroes’ I understand there are ‘people of a certain age’ who might find word ‘offensive’ in some manner. The last thing I want to do is get some dumbass SJWs chomping at my heels.  So let’s just say that

We’ve lost far too many people who influenced and may even molded parts of our lives. People of a Certain Age, like myself, lament these passings because they put us closer in touch with our own Mortality. AND because the world lost some damn talented folk and there doesn’t seem to be many people out there rising to their levels so they can aid in filling the gaps left behind.

The thought of facing the days…Dear Gods, please, not the SAME DAY…that Stephen King, Bruce Springsteen, and John freakin’ Cougar (ok, Mellencamp) depart this world are events that fill my heart with dread.

So was the same with today. At work.

Backstory….my boss has been out on Medical Leave for a few weeks and he’ll be gone a few more weeks. Someone else is filling in for him and they’re very nice, I like them. BUT, that didn’t change the fact that I spend many many many days in my office totally ALONE. Hell, a lot of days even the people who rent out the front two offices don’t come in. A lot of the time I end up believing that I have one of the loneliest jobs on the planet. It’s just me and the radio. And Yahoo! “News”. We all know I need to stop reading THAT shit! LOL

As I sat, alone, at my desk, in my office AGAIN today I was listening for any signs of life with a keen ear when, near the end of the day, the door opened and I heard the nice lady in the front office say her familiarly infamous words; “Carpenters? They’re down the hall. Talk to Lisa.”

So I perked up as I readied myself to greet someone. Given those words I figured it would be someone who either wanted to know how to join the union, a spouse coming in to pay their spouses dues, or some type of salesman. Either way, it was company so I was up for it.

Or so I thought.

I was greeted by the sight of a 20something female snapping gum and who couldn’t understand she was supposed to stand at the window rather than letting herself into my office. Keep in mind, I never mind when Members (on occasion) walk right in and sit right to chat a bit as I take care of their payment. That means they like me. I do get a few bristles up when a complete stranger does it no matter their gender. But not many. No biggie.

“Are you Lisa?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” In my head I’m thinking; who else would I be? Since the door to the back offices is not only closed but locked, how much further did you think you were supposed to walk before finding me?

Gum snap. Gum snap. Gum snap. “Yeah, um, ya know, what do you guys do here?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do’ya do? My husband’s a carpenter and he needs a job.”

A few more bristles up. A few tiny red lights start going off in my head but I smile and say; “Commercial and Industrial carpentry. Big buildings, bridges, some roadwork, you know overpasses. If you’re looking for Residential, we don’t do a lot of that.” That sentence always kills me to have to say because I think Carpenters Unions and Plumbers Unions and Electrical Unions should GO AFTER that kind of work but I understand why they don’t. Still…bummer. Sucks.

Gum snap. Gum snap. Gum snap. “Oh, why not? Never mind, how does he get in with you guys?”

I love your command of the English language and admire the way you can snap gum.

Still smiling, “Our next test is on____ at _____. Just let him know, have him come in with a valid CT photo ID and he can take the test.” (Obligatory sentence now) “Taking the test is not a guarantee of joining the Union and joining the Union is not a guarantee of work.” (None obligatory sentence now) “If he wants to know more he can visit our website local24.org all of the information is there.”

Gum snap. “Oh, ok, but he needs a job. Like now.”

Yeah, I got that sweetheart, but I’m not God, can’t conjure him up a job. Sorry.

She walked out of my office, went to the window and started to pluck one of the BAs business cards from the holder. “Can I write on this?”


“No, sorry, here I’ll write the web address down for you.” I grab a Post-It Note.

“You got any stuff I can take home?” Gum snap. Gum snap. Gum snap.

Yeah, I do and I’ll give it to you but….whatever. “Sure.” I walk out of my office and get her the information on Apprenticeship & Training and taking the test and blah blah blah. I hand it to her. “Here take this home, give it to your husband, if he thinks it’s something he’s interested in he can call me or he can visit the website. The address is right there.”

She takes it from my hand and glances at it. “Yeah, ok, sure.” Gum snap. Gum snap. Gum snap. “I see ya got a nice clubhouse here but what’s the fight about?”

Clubhouse? Heart sinks to my toes. For one very blessedly brief moment in time the Honeycomb Hideout commercial flashed behind my eyes.

“Excuse me?”

Gum snap. “Yeah, I mean, who do you vote for Clinton or Trump? What’s the deal?”

Measuring words and retaining composure, “We don’t tell our members who to vote for.” Ok that’s a bit of a stretch but not really. The Union does back individual candidates but every member’s vote is private just like yours is. Once they get to the point where they can fill in a dot it’s all up to them.

“Ok, so, what’s a Union?”

My heart comes to a dead stop. I can feel my mouth drop open as the color drains from my cheeks. My brain is scrambling for the appropriate answer under the circumstances and all I could manage was; “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” gum snap, “What’s a union?”

Brain scrambles to hold back mouth and body. A few seconds later I manage something along the lines of; “We’re all about prevailing wage. Good pay. Good benefits. Good working conditions. You know, An Honest Day’s Pay for an Honest Day’s Work. No one’s paid under the table or treated as though they’re nothing more than a 1099. We have a great training program for new members and ones for journeymen to keep on their skills. We work only with Union Contractors who agree to abide by Union Rules because they value the worker.”


“Oh,” gum snap. Gum snap. Gum snap. “I’m new to the area so I didn’t know.”

GET OUT! That’s what I wanted to say. Dear Reader don’t take this the wrong way but the only thing I could think at that point was; you don’t have a Southern accent.


I guess she just never heard the truism; Buy American and Americans Work. She never saw this commercial.

I also guess that the Education System (public, private, magnet, or charter) it utterly failing our youth! They no longer teach things of importance just whatever’s going to be on the next standardized test. ‘Back the day’ when I went to school we spent 1st through 6th grade doing what one might call General History. It was a little American History, a little World History, a little Social/Cultural Studies, you know a nice mish-mash of everything one might need to know in order not to repeat past mistakes in their future. In 7th through 12th grade we got to pick our own classes and we could focus in more on things that interested us. I always chose American History for my History Credit. So…I knew the History of Unions in the United States (good, bad, and indifferent) nearly 40 years before I ever went to work for one. That’s why I was very excited when I got my present job. I knew about it and it was inline with my own personal political/economical belief system therefore, baring any assholes, it was right up my alley. Even though the job can be very lonely I am very happy and proud to work for Local 24.

BACK to the conversation.

“Ooookay,” I said as politely as I could muster. “Well, you just take that home to your husband and see if he’s interested.”

Gum snap. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

She left.

Thirty seconds later she was back.

Gum snap. “Did I leave my phone here?”

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!

“I don’t know, let’s look.” I walk out of my office and go back to the table across the Hall–not the fucking ‘clubhouse’!–where we’d been standing and I don’t see a phone. “No, I don’t think so.” I turn around.

Like Alley Sheedy in the ‘The Breakfast Club’ she dumps this YUGE satchel onto the nearest table. All manner of…stuff…falls out and she rummages through it. “Oh,” gum snap, “I got it, it was in my purse the whole time.”

Dear Gods save me!

She finally actually left. I had a headache. I went down the hall to talk to Mark and Linda. Mark greeted me and I said; “How do you like our clubhouse?”

He said; “What?”

I related the story and we all had a good, if puzzling, laugh over it.

The saddest part is that when we went to pick up our youngest daughter at her job today I asked Miss Rebecca (a 20something herself); “What’s a Union?”

She couldn’t answer me.


We’ve really failed our Youth here. Not ME. Definitely not ME. Time and time again I railed in the face of teachers about trophies for doing nothing, not correcting spelling and grammar on papers, teaching things that were far more political than they were substantial. Time and time again I was shot down by said teachers who constantly told me they were the ‘professionals’ and I should just ‘leave it up to them’.

It’s not that I don’t have respect for teachers…well yeah it is…it’s more than I was the victim of the Educational System far more than I was benefactor of such. I’m 50 years old and to this day I can count on ONE hand the teachers who were awesome throughout my 12 year academic ‘career’. Considering I had at least 36 of them, that’s a terrible track record.

If you scored 33% on anything you’d fail too.

So, please, teach children more things that actually MATTER and far less things that don’t amount to a hill of beans in the Grand Scheme.


Lady Killer


For your perusal here’s the  First Chapter of Lady Killer. If you like what you read please continue at the link below

Lady Killer

A Novel by Lisa Beth Darling


Chapter One

What a shit show this turned into! It should have been a very simple B&E, just in, grab what they came for, and then out, no one would ever even know they’d been here. That was the plan anyway and it was a good plan that was weeks in development. Then this bitch messed it up. By the time her headlights could be seen making their way up the wooded driveway it was too late for escape. Rather than run, the only thing that could be done was done. When the woman came through her backdoor she was summarily lumped over the head with the nearest heavy object; her Kitchen Aid mixer. For just a second, she just seemed to hang there on some invisible hook no more than laundry on the line in a summer breeze then she crumpled to the kitchen floor.

Dragging the dead weight out of the kitchen, past the small dining area, and into the living room the homeowner was laid on the white Berber carpet that quickly turned crimson as the blood oozing from the side of her blonde head soaked in to the expensive floorcovering.

Ripping off her high heels they reached under the navy blue skirt to relieve the unusually still woman of her panty hose. In a rush to finish the task, she was unceremoniously wrangled into a heavy maple dining chair where her wrists were tied to the armrests with her own undergarments.

Then all there was to do was to stand over her for a few moments to see if she was dead. The mixer left a hell of a gash in the back of her head. Blood was still leaking from it as it pooled it in her shoulder-length blonde hair heavily matting it down to her neck before saturating the collar of her pretty white sweater.

Standing over her, the intruder looked down and saw no signs of life. Leaning in close and holding their breath, they listened for the thump of a heartbeat or the gently hissing sound of air escaping her lungs. Prying open an eyelid the only thing that stared back at them was a blue eye that no longer held the glimmer of a soul.

“Shit! Damn it lady! You’re supposed to be at the movie for at least another hour and a half. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck!” Running their hand encased in a black leather glove over the side of their head equally encased in a woolen watchman’s cap they paced around the living room. All they had needed was another ten minutes and they would have been out of here. No one would ever have known they’d been here. “All I wanted was some information. I hope you know that this is not how I wanted the night to go! It’s all your fuckin’ fault!”

Yes, it was, but the damage was done and now, no matter how unsavory the task, it had to be controlled.

Looking around the in the dim light of the cute little living room with its airy open floor plan and bucolic décor all done up in shades of light blue, sunny yellow, and white, the solution to the problem at hand settled in; Home Invasion. That was big these days—well not so much in this knothole town where the rich frolicked and almost always left their doors unlocked. But it was close enough to what really happened, so, why not go all out?  In for a penny in for a pound, just rip off those pretty lace panties and shove something up there in that dead pussy a once or twice then go to town on the rest of the place. By the time the cops arrived it would appear that the poor newly departed Kristie DePalma had interrupted a burglary—which she had!—in the process she was sexually assaulted and killed.

“You play softball, right?” Waving a steadying hand in the air they let out a huff of air signaling the dead woman that an answer was not expected, “Sure you do, your team won last weekend but the pitcher for the other team really sucked. My grandmother could have knocked those pitches over the fence. Where’s your bat?” Across the room just to the right of her desk stood a small closet, “There it is. Don’t get up, I can get it myself.” On the way to the closet the screen on the laptop signaled that the files finally finished downloading. Snatching the USB drive from the port and stuffed it into the right pocket of the black jeans on their slender hips, “This is all I wanted but the best laid plans, right?” In the closet, just as expected, was a heap of sports equipment including an aluminum softball bat.  “Just gotta go with the flow.”

The flow was going in the direction of the rather expensive laptop. That just had to go now that things had gone so mercilessly sideways. Bringing the well-weighted metal up high they bright it down again with all the strength they could muster. The bat fell on the laptop sending bits of plastic flying through the air with the first blow in the second chunks of the motherboard hit the wood and beam ceiling. Peering into the gaping hole exposing the guts of the laptop and finding it unsatisfactory, the bat was driven home a few times directly atop of the hard drive ensuring it would never again be readable.

For the next five or maybe even ten minutes, with more joy than they’d felt in years, the intruder bashed and shattered everything within sight; wood and glass coffee table with matching end tables, porcelain lamps, big screen TV and surround sound system, the free-standing bar with its array of crystal glasses and decanters made a particularly grand display when the bat met it. They took special delight in obliterating her collection of stupid little ceramic yellow ducks on the mantle.

Then there was just one little thing left to do, “Sorry, honey, you really should have stayed at the movie.” With a resounding thud echoing through the blood, warm and salty, burst forth from the dead woman’s head. It sprayed over their face, landing on their lips, and worming its way into their mouth before covering their cheeks and eye lids. Another blow and it spattering all the way across the room as it opened the side of her pretty head like a rotten melon cast to hot cement. “Yep, that’ll do it.”

One last detail to keep the cops busy but it was the most unpleasant detail of all.

With a sigh, they went back to the obliterated bar to see what they could find. What they found was a magnum of champagne tucked into the custom mini-fridge. “That’s good.” They looked back to the dead woman with the split skull and bulging eyes. “Sorry, babe, gotta do it.” Standing over the dead woman they kicked her legs apart and rammed the neck of the bottle inside of her still cooling body with both hands. Yanking it down they shoved it up again and one more time for good measure. Taking the bottle out of Kristie they noted her pussy was still warm as the neck was covered with white cream almost down to the label. “I used to play baseball,” they whispered, “none of that girly softball bullshit.” With one hand they tossed the full magnum high into the air. Before it could crash to the floor the intruder grabbed the bat with both hands and swung for the fences. The green glass shattered into tiny shards as expensive champagne sprayed over the damaged room.

Looking back at the dead woman who hadn’t felt the utter violation they sank to their knees and looked into her pale face. “You should have stayed at the movies. Better yet, you should have gotten a respectable job. This is your boss’ fault and yours. You knew who he was. You knew what he did. But you let him buy you this sweet little cottage anyway. You let that fat pig stick his smarmy little dick inside you so he could sweat all over you and you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.” Yanking the top of the dead woman’s blonde head they held it up high so they could look directly into her unseeing face, “So, babe, you ain’t that innocent and I gotta admit it, I really don’t feel so bad about this. You could have done better with your life but you took the easy way out, look where it got you.” Letting go of the hair in their fist, they watched the woman’s nearly obliterated head drop down to her chest forever blindly taking in the sight of her own ample breasts. “Time to book, babe.”

Making sure that the USB drive was secure in the front pocket of their black jeans, on their way out, they trashed the little dining area and the kitchen with the bloody bat before throwing it to the floor. With one last look around at the scene they let themselves out of the back door. Outside they hit the glass pane with their leather clad elbow leaving a point of entry behind for the police to find whenever someone reported the woman missing. It certainly wouldn’t do for the cops to know that they had a key that would cast suspicion on people around the poor pretty newly-departed Kristie DePalma who’d met such a nasty end to her short life. It was best if the cops thought this was a robbery gone bad. Nothing more than another Random Act of Violence committed by someone who was Mentally Ill.

The key from this point out was to keep it that way. The first thing the robber-turned-first-time-murderer did upon arriving home was to burn every stitch of the bloody clothing they’d worn during their surprisingly exhilarating adventure. It was all over the wool cap, the black turtle neck, and the black jeans. The leather jacket was too heavy to burn. According to the TV a bleach solution should take care of that the same went for the boots on their feet.  After a long hot shower wherein evidence was washed away and overly exerted muscles were soothed a bottle of vodka was opened before settling into bed with the laptop to get the first look at their hard-won prize.

Chapter Two is available at http://lisabethdarling.com/ladykiller/lk02.html

Pepsi vs. The “American” SJW

Yeah, this white ‘privileged’ middle-aged American female titled this post like that.

So…you should know what you’re in for. Read further at your own risk.

First and foremost, as a preface to this post, I’m one of the last people to say that ‘racism’ doesn’t exist in the USA. I’m not blind. In my old blog I talked about it several times and railed against it. I grew up in the 70s, a time where everyone was taught to be ‘colorblind’. So I am. I have no problem with that or the fact that whatever COLOR or sex someone is…in the utter end…we ARE ALL HUMAN.

However, here in 2017, I’m given to understand, via the Internet, that my upbringing was wrong. I should see COLOR way before CHARACTER.

That’s not to say that I agree with such notions just that this is what Social Media and The Internet would like me to believe.

Going onward….

Pepsi Cola (not my favorite brand…in the end I’m a Coca-Cola Girl at heart!) came out with a very short-lived new advertisement for their product. Those of you in my age group might remember that Pepsi was, at least once, The Choice of a NEW Generation.

I wanted to post the ad here so you could see just the ad. I wanted you to actually WATCH it with clear vision if that was possible. As you watched it, I wanted you to keep in mind that I am really NO FAN of Kendall Jenner, anyone ever even remotely associated with the Kardashian Clan, or for that matter, ANYONE who rides their daddy’s coattails to fame without having anything else to back them up.

BUT…after a bit of searching I cannot find JUST THE AD anywhere. I can find lots of commentary on the ad and lots of comments written on the ad but not solely the ad as it was intended to run on its own. SO…I hope YOU actually saw it.

IF YOU can find it, just as produced without any BS attached…for the love of any God you might believe in (or not! Whatever.) PLEASE post the URL in the comments section.

Any-hoo, I got to see it run ONCE…on its own…on TV…as intended by Pepsi.

I saw it during early morning TV just before this craptacularly overblown shitstorm erupted.

When I saw it, along with my hubby over our morning coffee, we both looked at each other, gave a smile, and nodded our approval to the ad.

Granted it wasn’t going to make us want to BUY more Pepsi but we immediately understood the message behind the ad. Basically that message is something like; Unity and Healing begin, not with weapons of war, but with ya know….

To me, a fifty year-old white ‘privileged’ American female, who was taught by the ‘media’ that it was substance and not skin color that mattered, when I watch that Pepsi ad my memory is immediately harkened back to things like

Those images are MY reality.

Truly, honestly, I’m sorry if they’re not YOURS.

So when Pepsi came out with its latest ad what I saw, ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ depending upon your own POV was

and even

(Coke rip-offs to be sure!)

But, what I saw was message of Hope and possible Unity.

I’m sorry that the SJWs of the Twitter-Verse were so narrowly focused they couldn’t see the Big Message. I’m even sorrier that Pepsi pulled the ad and apologized to these individuals who wouldn’t know what to do with themselves and their lives if they couldn’t find something…ANYthing…to be offended about.

It was a good message and one that needed to be shouted from the rooftops even if it was just for selling more cans of Pepsi. Maybe if it had been a PSA such as this

People would have more readily understood.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m sick and tired of living in place/time/country where people are so easily offended and believe so much in their own damn opinion they can’t see beyond the tip of their own noses anymore.

The further you step back the more of the picture you see.

And it’s HUGE freakin’ picture. You know like Hubble Telescope and Google Maps MASSIVE.

Perhaps people should keep that in mind before they spout off on Social Media and perhaps the ‘media’ should keep that mind before they report on it and perhaps companies should keep that in mind before they decide to kowtow to what amounts to nothing more than vociferous special interest groups.

Just a thought put forth by this middle-aged, white, working class, American female.

That’s all.

As a PEOPLE, an ENTIRE GROUP, we can be easily distracted by the Small Picture..the pixels….and totally ignore the big one. You know, the picture in which we ALL (race, color, religion, creed, sex, orientation included!)

A very simple yet crucially meaningful truth.

That’s what that stupid Pepsi ad was trying to tell you.

If you saw it and understood the message…good for you! You should automatically advance to the next level of life.

If not….Go Directly to Jail, Do Not Pass ‘GO’, Do Not Collect $200.00.

To obscure of a reference?

Oh….here let me help.


In the end, the best all of us can do is

So do you want to be part of the solution or part of the problem?

Being part of the problem is easy! All you have to do is look out for you.

Being part of the solution demands that you look far beyond yourself to the Whole Picture and that is difficult.

Still…ball’s in your court.

So….(Lord of the Rings quote coming)

What are ya gonna do now, Wizard?

Nut up or shut up and for the love of all the Gods…pick up the damn pace!

Labor Pains After Menopause

This is probably a Way Too Much Information post. LOL

Sunday, I actually started working on a story again and was going along pretty well. I took a break to use the bathroom and when I came down we had company which didn’t make me happy because I was writing at a really good clip for the first time in a very long time and then I had to stop. We all sat around the living room talking. I had a small coughing fit that led to a feeling of vertigo (that’s nothing new). I got over it, or so I thought. Then I started having pain in my left thigh. I rubbed it and rubbed it. It didn’t get better. I started shifting around in my seat to try to get more comfortable and then, all of a sudden, it felt like my ankles (just the ankles mind you!) had been encased in a thick block of ice. I don’t know if it was my blood pressure or my sugar levels but something plummeted like a boulder thrown off the Empire State Building.

The next thing I knew company was leaving and hoping I felt better soon. I stumbled to the couch where they had been sitting grateful to lay down. Then I vomited all over the place! When I stopped, hubby asked me if I remembered anything. I said: “No.” But I didn’t really care because I felt like I’d been run over by a Mack truck. Hubby said I had been sitting there and all of a sudden I started to shake, my whole body tensed up, and I passed out. There I was lying on the couch finally able to stretch out my leg which still hurt like a son of a bitch but felt better when I could elevate it. THEN…wham!

I had the worst cramps since the last time I gave birth!

I kept thinking I had to poop really really really badly BUT I didn’t have the energy to get up off the couch. So I laid there for a while rubbing my thigh and holding my gut until I couldn’t take it any longer. I pulled myself off the couch and stumbled up the stairs with Cai in the lead and hubby right behind me. Not caring who saw what, I ripped down my pants and sat on the toilet but nothing came of it. That’s when I started feeling as though I was standing six inches from the sun. I pushed hubby away, ripped off my sweatshirt and promptly collapsed onto the bathroom floor where it was so blessedly cold. Oh…wonderful. I snuggled my back against the base of the tub for extra effect. I don’t know how long I laid there but it was a while it felt like forever before the heat dissipated when it did I was so weak I couldn’t pull myself off the floor hubby had to help me. He got me, he walked me into the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed and those cramps hit again. All I could do was stare off into space somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.

They were so bad and so intense that I felt my legs do the wiggly thing they did on their own both times I was in labor. They were so bad I actually PUSHED several times! I had no choice, everything in me just started screaming; PUSH! They were so bad that along with regular labor it felt like I had back labor. I even started to breathe as though I were in labor. I remember staring up at hubby mumbling something about not wanting to be on some episode of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. In those minutes I could have sworn I was on the verge of giving birth. (What shocker THAT would have been, huh?) I kept pushing and breathing eventually the pain subsided but in a really weird way. It actually moved, I felt it move, from my back to my abdomen and points south right to the pubic bone where it lingered and hurt like a bitch until it went away.

I laid there trying to catch my breath. Hubby stood over me wondering if he should call an ambulance. I felt so weak and drained that all I could do was lay there for a good long while staring off into space.

Then it was over. Little by little my strength returned. My head cleared. The pain was gone and I was ‘me’ again. Although I did opt to just lay in bed for several hours (I hadn’t realized how early in the day this happened!) I managed to eat a chicken sandwich hubby made and brought up to me. That made me feel better. Eventually, around 5pm I even managed to haul myself out of bed and watch “Forged in Fire” on the couch for a few hours. Then it was back to bed with some more TV for an hour or two.

I slept like a friggin’ rock!

I got up this morning and all was well.

Weird, right? I mean, like, totally and completely weird. Right?

I tried looking it all up on Ye Olde Internet but didn’t really get any answers. If you should have some idea, well, you know where the comment section is. Leave me one. Right now I’m just hoping that whatever that was it never happens again.