Thursday, September 08, 2005

Sometimes I just look around me and think to myself, "Please no more, the stupid burns so bad." I can't give any examples because there's just so many right now. But I'm gonna speak my mind and there's more than a bad word or two therein so I give you the official disclaimer and warning. If you don't like what I have to say, I don't want to hear about it. This is my opinion. This is not about you. Please not to be making it so.



I have this thing, that when my kids are grown (my oldest wants to shed her material possessions and go live on a beach in Thailand with "crust punks" and the youngest wants to raise horses and puppies but not kids, so I'm not anticipating grandbabies) and my husband dies before me (because they usually do in my family) I'm gonna chill out in a house somewhere with a bunch of cats, a sawed off 12 gauge and some rock salt. So whenever someone (not the Thai or curry delivery boy though) approaches my front porch.... BOOM. Picking rock salt out of the butt-ocks. It's a little scary, how all about the cat lady I get some days. And hey, if I get senile dementia (which also runs in my family), I will be able to hide my own Easter eggs and won't THAT be fun with all those cats?

But I digress.

Sometimes I change my mind. Like, when I see what some people are doing just because it's the right thing to do. Then I think maybe it's not such a bad idea to hang out with the rest of the human race. And sometimes, the stupid just burns and I start to think longingly of that rock salt again. It gets very conflicted in my brain some days.

Took a huge pile of clothing over to the local SA yesterday. The guy was shoving stuff onto the truck and he said, "This is nice stuff." in surprise. See, I think giving people your raggedy old nasty cast offs is just rude. So no holes, no rips, no horribly worn thin spots. I make no rules abut fugly because there is never any accounting for taste and one girl's fug is another's Valentino. But nothing raggedy. Raggedy goes into the scrap bag for quilts or into the trash where it belongs.

The guy told me I'd be horrified at some of the crap they get. The local SA's monthly garbage bill is >$40,000 a MONTH. Okay that's forty g that's not going to the poor, the needy, that's not housing, helping or doing jack for anyone. And that pisses me off. You add that up over one year? That is a horrifying amount of dollars that is not being used to help in my local community. Imagine that nationwide.

I used to be a welfare mom. Two kids. AFDC. Food stamps. We shopped at the SA. We still do sometimes but now that's by choice and don't I know it. Do you think I wanted to dress my kids or myself in raggedy, nasty, twenty years out of date crap when I couldn't afford new? No. Here's the thing. It kinda dehumanizes people when you expect gratitude for your garbage. Do not get me wrong, I've always been grateful for everything anyone has ever done for us - but I am not going to kiss someone's ass for it and I'm not going to fawn over something with the arse worn half out, like I'm completely thrilled to get it, ok? I'm not gonna magnanimously haul my garbage down there and expect them to say thank you and sort through it and throw half of it away because I was too half-arsed to do it myself and feel like they're lucky for the experience because that'd really blow ropy goat chunks. Throw the trash out. If you wouldn't be seen in it, don't inflict it on someone else.

I got rid of about half my wardrobe this week. One of the lessons for me in all of this has been, I could still live a lot lower on the food chain. I could still consume less. I could stand to have less and not suffer for it. This does not apply to yarn, fiber or knitting paraphernalia. I stood in front of my closet and realized I only wear about 7 outfits of all the clothes I have on a daily basis. I don't need all the black baby doll tees. I don't need three plaid schoolgirl skirts. I don't need two pairs of fugly yet serviceable mom jeans. It all went out. Someone'll like it, I'm sure. And there's suddenly room to breathe and I've got way less stuff to feel sad about losing if I ever do.

I still have way too much stuff. It seems to multiply when I am not looking.

So I'd like to liberally pepper the people fobbing trash off on the SA with rock salt. And the head of FEMA. And a lotta neocon fuckwits, and a few other people to boot. But see, I haven't got any rock salt, nor a shot gun and anyway, most people who need salting don't come near close enough to my front porch anyway to quote a friend of mine. Which is a damn shame.

In the absence of those things, I did a little spinning.


Did you know if you enter "spinning + los angeles" into Google, you get a bunch of advertisements for gym memberships?

People have too much stuff. More stuff than sense. And the stupid just burns and burns.

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