Meniscus Tears

I think most of you guys are in the know regarding my seriously f'd up knee. Probably because I won't shut up about it. Nothin' better than hoppin' onto my blog only to hear about the trials and tribulations of my meniscus tear. Scintillating stuff, I'm sure. Really breaks up the monotony. What's that? It really doesn't? Well, unfortunately that's what's on my mind at present. It kinda hurts. Well, in today's episode of Hopalong Christie Seeks Medical Attention, Hopalong gets a phone call! You see, gentle readers, I had an MRI yesterday. This was rather significant in that not only was it a step towards getting this thing taken care of once and for all, I also sat quietly in a room by myself with no iPhone or reading material. People were placing bets against my ability to do this. I actually was fine and was complimented on my ability to stay still. So HA! The tech said, "Okay, I see you've got an appointment next week......the results should be back in plenty of time". So, imagine my surprise when I get a phone call first thing this morning saying that the doctor has seen my MRI and wants me in TODAY. Uhhhh......I'm not running for rocket scientist any time soon but I'm pretty sure that's not good. I'm kind of having a mini panic attack as I'm thinking that I've either A) got a very bad case of knee cancer or B) My knee is considerably more messed up than initially anticipated. Not that the knee cancer wouldn't be messy as well. I don't think that doctors haul you in this quickly if it's an "ice and advil" situation. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain and as has been established am not very smart so I have continued with my somewhat rigorous exercise program in spite of the pretty obvious nature of my injury. So I'm guessing what they found in there was not good. I can just see the doctor looking at the image....."HOLY SHIT!!!! THIS WOMAN DESERVES SOME SORT OF GREAT BIG AWARD AS SURELY THERE HAS NEVER, IN THE HISTORY OF PAIN, BEEN A PERSON BRAVE AND STOIC ENOUGH TO HANDLE THIS SORT OF EGREGIOUS INJURY AND SOLDIER ON". He probably had a single tear rolling down his cheek as he gazed at the train wreck that is my left knee. I'm a little surprised they didn't just send an ambulance. Or a fire truck. A fire truck would be good. I like firemen. Do I get to get thrown over a fireman's shoulder if I can't walk? I hope so. So anyway, you guys get to look forward to more Deep Thoughts about my knee later today. Isn't it fun!?! I know I'm enjoying it. 

New Picture

I was recently talking to my dad, who strangely is one of the biggest "Deep Thoughts" fans going. You would think that most fathers would not want to keep up on the antics of their daughter who drinks and swears and causes all sorts of trouble and is pretty much a menace.....nee, nuisance, to the polite society she was raised to be a part of. Well, most fathers are not my dad. He's a bit of a character himself and actually likes my blog in spite of the fact that it may call into question his parenting skills or lack thereof. I wasn't raised by wolves per se.........just something kinda like wolves. In parent clothing. Hey, my brother and I are productive members of society. Well, okay.......my brother is a productive member of society. Fifty percent isn't bad, right? And at least I don't live at home. Yet. And I'm a pretty good mom in spite of the all too human aspects of my nature. My parents successfully shepherded me through my 18th birthday wherein I was off to nine magical years of matriculation at Michigan State University. I don't remember most of those years. And I surely don't remember anything I learned. Largely because I'm pretty sure you had to go to class to pick up anything relevant. But I did manage to graduate. Twice! So really, my parents did a fine job. Just look at me! Oh wait......you can't. And that was the point of this post. My dad is concerned about the profile picture of me with the bag on my head. Dad: "People are going to think there's something wrong with you". Me: "Duh, there IS something wrong with me....." Dad: "Yes, but not with the way you look. You're a pretty girl and you've got a bag on your head!" I would like to point out that not only do I have a bag on my head but a very nice pair of sunglasses. But okay. FINE. I'll change the picture. But I'm not doing any freakin' glamour shot or anything. "Come hither and read my blog". I don't think so. That's why I like the bag on head pic. I think it's funny. Kinda like the "Unknown Blogger" or something. Except for the fact that I used my real name in the blog title. That blows the "unknown" thing. Dang. Alright.......a new picture it is.  But I really liked the bag. I'm just sayin'. 

Fore WHAT?

If you looked at me on paper, I am supposed to like to play golf. I do not. And it's not a Green Eggs and Ham situation. I'm never going to like it. I have tried, I have failed and it's just not going to happen in this lifetime. That being said, it's all around me, figuratively and literally. My mom LOVES to golf. She's actually pretty good. She even won a car by nailing a hole-in-one during a tournament at the esteemed Oakland Hills. My son is into it. And Dave likes little more than golf. Oh, and have I mentioned that we live on a golf course? Thus the literal surrounding. I can't get away from it. I have a precarious truce with the game as I am left with no choice but to deal with it. I try to peacefully coexist. It's much like a loveless marriage. I'm cool with the fact that most of my friends and family play but I don't want to get coerced into it. And they try.  Ohhhhhhh, they try. "Goobie! It's so fun! And you're so athletic! You could be really good if you would just try!!!!!" I don't know how many ways there are to say that you are not interested but I do believe I've tried most of them. Golfers are a lot like Bible Thumpers. They won't give up until you're being dunked in the river and baptized and start screaming, "Sweet Jesus, I've seen the light!!!! How could I have been so wrong my entire life???" My dad is my companion in arms on this one. He is staunchly against it. Like me, he is supposed to like golf. If you looked up "golfer" in the dictionary, it probably says "old white guy". That's my dad. He also lives on a golf course. And he also does not like golf. He does not want to play golf. Ever. He does not even want to entertain the TOPIC of golf. I do believe he has actually said that he HATES the game and he was rather emphatic on this point. I believe it harkens back to an incident that involved the hurling of a nine-iron but I digress. We have similar feelings on this. I don't like participating in activities that a) I suck at and b) take a ridiculously long time in a BEST case scenario. Four hours is a pretty big chunk of your day. And that's if there's not a dumb-ass in front of you. And there are a lot of dumb-asses that play golf. Your odds of being stuck behind one are pretty fuckin' good. Trust me. I think they should put horns on golf carts as well as shopping carts. And maybe a PA system. "Excuse me? You? With the 12-putt? AM I NOT BACK HERE???????" or "DUDE. THE BALL IS GONE. I will personally buy you a new one if you will give up with your futile search and move along so that having fulfilled my obligation, I may end the living hell that is this game and go do something I actually enjoy. Like have a big fat gin and tonic. Which probably would have made this 'good walk spoiled' go a little more smoothly". Shit. Now I'm in a bad mood. Even thinking about golf makes me a little surly. And now I have to walk out my front door and smile and wave at all of my fellow country club members that look so freakin' happy to be swinging a club around at a little white (and very hard to hit) ball. GRRRRRRRRRRR. 

I'm Talking To YOU!

www.blaghag.com

www.altnet.com

Hey......tap, tap, tap.......yup, that's me, Mollie Christie, coming at you from the other side of your computer screen.  Wine glass in hand, I rock the land! Pay attention, you! There are a bunch of new people out there.  I love new people.  I love old people.  I love people in general. 'Specially people that read my blog!  So if you are new and have landed here from www.blaghag.com or www.altnet.com and you like what you see, bookmark this page! As advertised, you cannot make this shit up. I promise I will do my best to outrage the PTA, the Muslims and the Christian right simply so I can serve to entertain you. And tell all your friends! Momma needs more cheap wine! 

Gay Camp

http://www.alternet.org/story/146557/?page=entire

Ummmmm.........YOU DON'T TURN GAY. YOU ARE BORN THAT WAY. NO AMOUNT OF GOD OR CAMPS OR HEALING TOUCH THERAPY WILL MAKE YOU AN "EX-GAY". This bullshit incenses me. And nope, I'm not gay. I just love some people that happen to have been born that way. If you know a gay person, you know that it's not something that is a choice. It just is. My eyes are blue and I like men and am a prickly bitch prone to throwing hisssy fits and drinking a little.  It's how I was put together when my parents genes collided. Gay people are just that......people. Their lives are shockingly similar to those in the so-called mainstream. They have partners and children and houses and jobs. Being gay is not something that you fix. That implies that something is wrong. There is nothing wrong with being gay. It may not be how you view the world but that's the deal. We all view things from our own unique perspective based on a variety of internal and external stimuli. Some you have control over, some you don't. And you can't change genetics. I would LOVE it if there was some camp that could rearrange my genetic makeup so that I wouldn't have a propensity to turn to fat at the drop of a freakin' hat. That would be awesome. The assertion that attending some intensive workshop/camp bullshit can change who you are is like saying that I could just as easily go to camp and have my DNA rearranged. As has been established, that's an empty set. Not going to happen. You may be able to brainwash somebody into thinking that they have sinned and must change or burn in eternal damnation. You can even tell them that they are "cured" but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck it's a duck. And if you put it in a bear suit (like Mohammed a la South Park!) it's still a duck, no matter how hard it prays to not be a duck. I honestly think that many on the Christian right spend a lot of time pointing fingers at the supposed sins of others so that they don't have to take a look in the mirror at themselves. I am not religious in the traditional sense but if you are, isn't your belief that God created everything? And that God is perfect and doesn't make mistakes? Well then, fucktard, why try to change what God has made? I wouldn't change a hair on the head of the gay friends I am lucky enough to have in my life. Well, there was that time when Brainer decided he was going to color his own hair. That didn't go well. I'd change that. It's kinda like this whole Boobquake thing. So this Muslim cleric thinks that women are the root of all evil. Well, personally, I do not. I think we quite rock. But boyfriend is entitled to his opinion and if he would like to not look at boobs, he should refrain from doing so and whack off while dreaming of boobs behind closed doors. Extremism of all kinds is just plain fucking obnoxious. Believe all of the crazy shit you want. Just don't push your opinions on me. My philosophy is one of acceptance and love. Unless of course you piss me off. So please leave me and my main gays alone. You're going to have to go through me to get to them.  And they're not going to "camp". Everybody knows gays don't camp! You may have better luck if you try to trick them into attending a White Party in Palm Springs. "Camp". As if. Now back off, closeted self-haters! 'Cause you're the ones that protest the loudest! Please recall the anti-gay Colorado Springs minister! I believe he  turned out to be, oh.....um.....gay? So shove off, haters. Physician heal thyself and all that. 

Boobquake.....The Aftermath

http://www.blaghag.com/2010/04/and-boobquake-results-are-in.html#disqus_thread

So, it seems that showing our boobs did not result in any unusual seismic activity, thus dispelling the Muslim clerics assertion that essentially boobs are the root of all evil and human suffering. Jen McCreight, the founder of the Boobquake movement is a scientist and has all kinds of graphs and charts on her blog today explaining it all. I'm just a housewife with a penchant for booze and naughty words. And a couple of useless degrees. But I've got YOU Deep Thoughts readers.....smooches. Here's what likely DID happen yesterday, what with all of that lovely cleavage on display all over the world: I'm sure there was a run on those idiotic looking cervical collars as SURELY a whole lotta men suffered from whiplash. There may have been increased emergency room activity as a bunch of guys walked into traffic having been distracted by a set of knockers. "Oh no! I've just been hit by a bus! But did you see the jugs on that broad?" And I'm also thinking that there were some gals out there that got out of speeding tickets a little more easily than usual. "My license, officer? Why I believe I'll have to bend over to retrieve it! Oh wait.....no, here it is! In my bra!" And in bedrooms all over the globe, surely there were even more husbands than usual pestering their wives for sex. You see, men are pretty simple creatures. It was best summed up in a book I read recently by Dr. Louann Brizendine called "The Male Brain". In it, she describes "The Man Trance".  It explains a LOT. "All that testosterone drives the "Man Trance"--that glazed-eye look a man gets when he sees breasts. As a woman who was among the ranks of the early feminists, I wish I could say that men can stop themselves from entering this trance. But the truth is, they can't. Their visual brain circuits are always on the lookout for fertile mates. Whether or not they intend to pursue a visual enticement, they have to check out the goods. To a man, this is the most natural response in the world, so he's dismayed by how betrayed his wife or girlfriend feels when she sees him eyeing another woman. Men look at attractive women the way we look at pretty butterflies. They catch the male brain's attention for a second, but then they flit out of his mind. Five minutes later, while we're still fuming, he's deciding whether he wants ribs or chicken for dinner. He asks us, 'What's wrong?' We say, 'Nothing." He shrugs and turns on the TV. We smolder and fear that he'll leave us for another woman". Innerestin', huh ladies? Who knew we could entrance with nothing more than our boobs? I didn't realize the power these babies had. I'm going to start tapping into this shit! I am rife with power and never knew it! Is there anything they can't do? No villainous force they cannot thwart with one simple flash of flesh? Boobs for President, I say!!!!! Oh wait. They've already tried that. 

Boobquake!

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=116336578385346&ref=ts

www.blaghag.com

Alrighty.........now that my pity party (table for one, please?) has concluded, I will now enlighten you as to the brilliance that is "Boobquake".  This was dreamed up by a sista blogger named Jen McCreight in response to an Iranian clerics assertion that "Many women who do not dress moderately......lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society which consequently increases earthquakes". This genius's name is Hojatolesiam Kazem Sedighi. He lost me at Ho. Apparently, he is not just a cleric but a seismologist! Wow! Are male babies routinely dropped on their heads as a rite of passage in Iran? Seriously? Yep. All of the world's troubles are caused by women and their lady bits. Um, excuse me, Hojowhateveryourname is......see that thing dangling between you legs? IT'S CALLED A PENIS. Young men are lead astray by their penises!!!!! Look down there again......there should also be a set of balls. And coursing around your hairy little body is this stuff called TESTOSTERONE. All of that stuff is what leads to being lead astray! And corrupts chastity! And leads to adultery! I'm pretty sure it's not all the fault of women and their boobs, dumbass. You see, we are mammals and are programmed to procreate our species!  And guess what!? Males are usually the pursuers! They are supposed to spread their gene pool! With their PENISES. I personally have never met a penis that caused an earthquake but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. The earthquake, not me meeting one. So anyway, I am all for this initiative. I'm going to go out and shake my boobs around in my most revealing shirt. You might want to lock up your china cabinet and stow any loose objects. Join me, won'tcha?