Tuesday Evening Mental Chex Mix


*- I met my parents for dinner yesterday. We went to a lovely local diner featuring all-day breakfast.

*- I should mention that this makes sense for me, since I was just waking up at 4:30 in the afternoon.

*-My parents, bless them, just enjoy eating breakfast foods for dinner.

*- So I was sitting there, eating my lovely ham, mushroom, and Swiss cheese omelet, and I went to jelly-up my toast.

*- The restaurant manager ran over and knocked the jelly out of my hand.  “Can’t you READ?”

*- Sure enough, this little tub of jelly was “Grade A Fancy,” and I was wearing shorts and a Montana Grizzlies t-shirt.

*- The waitress brought a vat of “Grade C+ Sloppy-Casual” apple butter.

*- Amazingly, it did taste more appropriate somehow.

*- I mention this, only because you can sum up the aggregate change in my world view using that above-pictured container of jelly: When I was a kid, I thought mixed-fruit jelly was awesome and special, the careful blending of fruit extracts, formulated to delight the palate.

*- 2011 tom just thinks they dump whatever leftover crap they have from the pure flavors and call it “Mixed Fruit,” trusting naïve consumers like 1980 tom to praise it.

*- Hell, in 1980, maybe mixed fruit jelly was special. Maybe the world is decrepitating along with me.

*- I mean, what’s next? Congress trying to raise the standards for what constitutes rape?

*- Oh. Right. They’re doing that.

*- It makes sense, in a way. By eliminating statutory rape, date-rape using rohypnol (or chloroform, if you’re old school), or any other form of rape that doesn’t involve overpowering brute force, the government can save money.

*- By that same logic, I think they should refuse to treat stab wounds inflicted by anything smaller than a 10″ blade, gunshots smaller than .38 caliber, and any tumor smaller than 2″ in diameter.

*- All they’re trying to do is legislate meanness.

*- There’s a great line in The West Wing episode “In This White House.” The Republican lawyer Ainsley Hayes tells Sam & Josh, “It’s not that you don’t like guns. You don’t like PEOPLE who like guns.”

*- I don’t like abortion. I don’t know anyone who does. But there have been friends and loved ones in my life who have needed them, because they were date-raped, or 14, or whatever. None of these were connected to me–I wasn’t “getting off the hook” for anything–but I’m glad that these loved ones, who decided that this horror was their best option, didn’t have to go to some back-alley criminal and risk their lives.

*- And I know that Congress isn’t legislating abortion. They’re simply trying to reduce the number of abortions the government would cover under Medicaid.

*- What I think, sadly, is that they don’t dislike abortion as much as they just don’t like women who are poor and get raped.

*- I would imagine the current Medicaid abortion tab is far smaller than a week’s worth of our current war. Just saying.

*- Last Saturday, I suffered a workplace injury. I was rolling my chair over to assist my coworker, April, and I smashed my leg into her open filing cabinet drawer. I said something like, “Holy #@!!*! THAT hurt. What’s wrong with your computer?” Five minutes later, I scratched my leg, and lo, there was blood. A coworker saw it. “Better tell somebody.” We told the only supervisor who was above us and still there at 1 am. She came over quickly, and unsealed an accident report packet. I had to fill out forms. April had to fill out forms. The supervisor had to take our forms, then fill out her own form. I had to refuse further medical treatment. She gave me the corporate “Worker’s Compensation Specialist” business card. She also made copies of all the forms, and gave them to April and me for our files. When I came back to work, I had I nice, caring e-mail from the Worker’s Comp Specialist. She asked how my leg was, and wanted to make sure I really didn’t need any further medical treatment.

*- I felt really comforted, that this person over in HR or Legal or wherever was genuinely concerned about my injured leg.

*- Except that she addressed this heartfelt message to “Theresa.”

*- I think Congress is like that (and by “Congress,” I’m referring to the Congressional Asshole Caucus). They get so caught up in thinking about “those damn people” en masse that they forget that it’s individuals who get sick, or stabbed, or roofied and raped.  “Those damn people” aren’t a group, a caucus of people who weigh their options and decide to be poor, un- or under-employed rape victims, just so they can get pregnant and have an abortion at taxpayer expense.  “Those damn people” are however-many-million “one persons.”

*- And I’m sure at least one of those would be named “Theresa.”

*- And maybe, given a chance, Theresa could grow and improve herself, till she finally can enjoy paying for her own health care (and, of course,Grade A Fancy mixed-fruit jelly).

*- Have a great night.

3 Responses to “Tuesday Evening Mental Chex Mix”

  1. [this is good]

    I had to fill out forms at work when I got stung by a wasp. Why there was a wasp swarm in the back of a pool car is another question entirely (Answer: the teenage interns had left a puddle of ice cream in it a couple of days earlier). Everyone was more panicked than I was, worrying if I was going to stop breathing. It “only” swelled up and hurt like a mofo. Since my job entitled writing things by hand, I went home after filling out the form for the boss and making sure the maintenence guy knew to clean up the ice cream and the boss knew to chastise the kids. Drove myself home, slapped on an ice pack, took a Benadryl, and slept it off. Called later to say I was fine, still respirating, but no work for a bit.

    But then my co-workers were kind people *, even though they spent all day dealing with… er… the less-evolved among our species.

    I was presented with a giant steamed oyster last night, and it reminded me of your Brain Chowder description as I indeed pried mucus-like things out of a calciferous shell. But it was in a lovely Chinese black bean sauce.

    *Although the boss’ initial reaction was “Suck it up, cowgirl!” (being a cowboy, Marine, SWAT guy) but he too immediately asked if I needed an epi-pen or a ride to the ER.

    • I love the phrase “presented with a large steamed oyster.” It’s like you won an Chamber of Commerce award or an Oscar. 😀

      I hope you’ll be able to enjoy oysters again without mucus-intensive thoughts.

      This is the second job-related injury I’ve had the past ten years. The other one was a little more horrible–the radio station van I was riding in got rear ended by a giant tanker truck full of citrus pulp. The van was totaled; JJ the promotions guy (who was driving) got wicked whiplash, and I wrenched my shoulder and scraped the crap out of my left leg. The scrape was just that–a scrape–but it looked like my leg had gone through an woodchipper. Because I went to the ER for x-rays, I spent that summer answering calls from the worker’s comp insurance company.

      At least I got painkillers. 😉

  2. Of course, when we were young, the mixed fruit jelly wasn’t all corn syrup either, so it was fancier. It may have been all sugar, but not HFCS.

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