pain in the neck.

Going to the chiropractor today.

Imagine my displeasure. (it is, however, a far better thing than my discomfort.)

Urgh.

You know you've had a bad night's sleep when the first thing you say in the morning is, "I'm going to bed early tonight" - while you're still in bed.

Coffee couldn't happen soon enough today, that's for sure.

Snowpocalypse, part, um...

Hmm. Seems I've lost count.

Anyway, we got five or so inches overnight and there's no sign of it stopping. There is a utility truck stuck in front of my driveway and the guys are trying to dig out as fast as they can, because I have to get to work. Sometime. (yes, schools are closed but the library is not.) Five minutes outside cleaning off my car and I'm soaked - my hair is wet and my mascara is somewhere in the vicinity of my cheekbones.

UPDATE: Called the library to say I'd be late. Was told nothing was plowed and my boss wouldn't be into work because the freeways are closed.

Hey, at least we're not in Japan, God help them.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

opt out

Sorry, NRA Store. I don't want any of your essential "man cave gear." Take me off your email list.

(Although I kind of want to see what stereotypes they use to advertise to women - pink .38 snubbies for the little lady!)

this was once for me

Oh, I suppose I could write about how I bought my mom a pink camo case for her new pistol and how excited she was when she unwrapped it Christmas day, or about how I've rediscovered my love for lamb and the amazing (and easy!) crockpot recipe I used, or about my awkward misadventures with Bollywood dance, or perhaps about the brand new crazy lady at the library, or maybe I could write about that blank canvas on my easel taunting me and how I've been craving color like a drug, or about how when I'm feeling sad or anxious I calm myself by imagining the view through a rifle scope and the mindfulness of breath that it requires.

But I won't.

Tender and thin skinned, tears brimming at random nonsensical moments, I find myself unable to bear the argumentative comments that somehow appear even on my most uncontroversial of posts. The sheer tediousness of undeserved snark and the weight of scrutiny have crushed my desire to write.

This, combined with 2010: Breda's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Year has made blogging a struggle, even on my best days.

Please stand by.

TLNC*

Ugh, yesterday was just...ugh. That's about all I can say.

However, I will never again doubt the power of free internet. The usual suspects braved below zero wind chills just to get their fix.

The library was the slowest I've ever seen. In 8 hours, I had 4 reference questions. We're between billing cycles, so I couldn't place an audiobook order and because it's the end of the year and all available storage space is taken, I couldn't weed the fantasy fiction. I was bored. Painfully, tragically bored. And lonely. I would have even been happy to see the creeper who, when he's not ogling my coworker, offers us Hershey's chocolates along with a sly, "How's about a kiss?"

And somewhere in in those hours of backlogged blog reading I saw just what I needed**.

9:20 PM and I was there. Home.


*too long, no cats
** this is my favorite "smiles guaranteed" blog. Enjoy.

First they came for the gimps...*

For the past week, there has been a lot of talk on the news and in blogs about the TSA, opting out and full body pat downs. The entire country is offended that, suddenly, they are being forced to choose between being ogled by perfect strangers with x-ray vision or being felt up by perfect strangers with questionable fetishes in order to fly the friendly skies.

Well, welcome to our world - where the only opt out, ever, has been to not get on an airplane at all.

(Did you think you wouldn't be next?)

_______________________

*wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came...

(and for your reading pleasure, my TSA experiences: part 1 & part 2)

scrap paper

The other day, a semi-regular patron approached my desk holding a crumpled up piece of paper and asking if we had a recycle bin.

"Nope, sorry." I almost told her that even if we did, everything would still go into the same dumpster out back, but I was feeling uncharacteristically benevolent.

The patron tsk'ed at me. "Well, I'm a real tree person. I hate wasting paper. I'll take this over to the children's department." (They have a recycling bin, see. They're nice. They care about the environment.)

About eight seconds earlier, I had decided I'd already grown tired of this conversation. It was after 5 o'clock, I was alone at the desk, and it was the final hour of a very long day. I went back to my audiobook order. "Uh huh. You do that."

A while later, this patron printed out some PDF files from her email. Unfortunately, she had no idea what she was doing and never bothered to ask me for help. As a result, the printer on my desk began to churn out paper.

"Uh...ma'am? Are these yours?" I showed her the stack of print outs - only one page in ten was usable and the printer was still going at it, no end in sight.

She gaped at the pile for a moment. "No, those aren't mine. I mean, I...I didn't mean to print all that."

"Right. Well...so much for saving the trees, huh?" I sighed dramatically, making a big show of taking each ruined sheet and slowly putting it in the trash before she could reach for them. I shook my head sadly. "Seems so wasteful, but oh well...what can you do? Computers, you know." I might have shrugged but I was full to bursting with an internal smirk.

Horrible, I know...but she deserved it - as usual, she left without giving me a dime.

back at it

It's just like Monday! Except it's a Tuesday!
And today's first patron was a hipster asking for Bukowski.
So shush...you were warned.

on being modular, III

(I & II)

In order to make us feel safe, the TSA abuses a young mother and terrifies her child - just because she's an amputee.

I found it interesting that Peggy and I both described our security theater experiences as humiliating. Though, really, what other word would be as apt when you're being treated like a criminal and forced to feel completely vulnerable in front of strangers? (Just about any female amputee will tell you she feels more exposed when she's sans prosthetic than even when she's totally in the buff.) *

But now, motivated by anger and a desire to help other amputees, she's joined with the Amputee Coalition to say "Enough is enough." (Thank you!)

*Before traveling, I would suggest that all people with disabilities go to www.tsa.gov and do a little research. Find the guidelines for your particular disability or medical equipment, and PRINT THEM OUT. Bring this paper with you when you go through airport security, just in case a TSA worker decides to ad lib their own rules.

sign of the times

With its pastel palette of spring flowers, blossoming trees, blue skies, tender new leaves on the trees, Monday was a beautiful spring day - so I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood on my lunch hour.

I left through the library's back door, listening to my iPod and enjoying the sunshine. I passed my former elementary school, wishing I could use the swings but it seemed my lunch coincided with recess. (Oh well, maybe later.) I still had about a half hour, so I figured I'd investigate some of the side streets.


Bah. Rain on my parade, why don'tcha?

chicanery

Happy Tax Day everyone! I hope that you're all able to spend a moment basking in the warm glow of being able to be in that lucky 50% that has the great honor of keeping your fellow citizens in the lifestyle to which they've become accustomed. Never mind that you have been coaxed into these philanthropic good works by the barrel of a gun - we're spreading the wealth for the common good of the children or something.

And remember, if you do happen to go to a Tea Party rally today, be on the lookout for infiltrators. Stay vigilant...


...they are a wily bunch and their cunning strategy might make them hard to spot.

(via WND)

must have been a rookie

...because this isn't the sort of thing a seasoned police officer would do, right? (heh, "seasoned", get it?)

It's a good thing pepperball and tasers are being used more frequently in law enforcement - helps make negligence less lethal.

the situation so far

Since a few people have asked how things are since the car accident (and thanks to everyone who sent those emails of support and advice), I thought I'd post an update here. There are a few factors involved, so for simplicity's sake I'll address them individually.

car - The other guy's (let's call him Timothy because, hey! That's his name!) insurance company totaled my car and then proceeded to make me an offer that was far less than what I feel it was worth. Granted my car was older, but it was paid for and it was sound - very low mileage, well maintained, new tires, clean, etc. It was a good little Honda and probably would have still served us well years from now. We don't have the money for car payments, I don't want to have to pay the deductible if we decide to go through our insurance, and it feels like I'm going to get screwed no matter what. So we're getting by on one rumbly, beat up van. It makes me sad and angry to see the Honda sitting there, completely destroyed. It's like a big green "fuck you, life sucks and you're powerless to do anything about it" symbol in my driveway...with a taillight missing and a trunk that won't close.

neck - A week after the accident, my neck hurt, my body ached, I had this weird tingly pain running down my right arm into my hand and I was having twitchy little muscle spasms down my right leg. I was in so much pain that I realized I couldn't tough it out anymore - and believe me, that's saying a lot. So I went to a chiropractor and it's been helping immensely. I feel almost back to normal now.

insurance - Timothy had some sort of high risk, "I'm a dangerous, irresponsible asshole, so this is the best coverage I could get"-type of insurance through Nationwide, who apparently hires only psychopathic weasels to handle their claims. Better than nothing, I guess, but trying to negotiate a property settlement for my car has almost driven me insane with stress and anxiety so I hired a lawyer to handle the medical/pain & suffering portion of the claim. If he only gets me one dollar over the flat fee I've agreed to pay him, it will have been worth not having to deal with the details myself.

court - I had dressed nicely, blowdried my hair, shined my shoes, and had my statement in hand. I threw up the night before from stress but no matter - I was ready. I sat in the courthouse counting neck tattoos while I waited for my particular douchebag to arrive. Timothy and his father/lawyer showed up almost an hour late only to file a continuance. He looked different than I expected but I wasn't surprised - typical baggy pants sideways ballcap 20-something who thinks he's a badass thug when really he's just an immature, stupid, eyes a little too close together mouthbreather who smokes dope, probably watches too much MTV and lives in his daddy's basement. In another circumstance, I might have pitied him.

The prosecutor brought me into his office to explain and to apologize, saying that that's the way these things go, the lawyers try to drag things out as long as possible. "But what about my statement?" I asked.

"I have the police and accident reports," he answered.

"No, not those. My statement...the one I was going to read in court today." I offered him the paper I had folded up in my purse.

He read a few lines and said, "I think this should be in the file. I'll put a case number on it, you bring it down to the clerk, and she'll add it in."

Timothy has now decided to change his original plea of not guilty.

Buffy vs. Edward

In a perfect world...



Every time teenage girls (and their mothers. Ugh.) came to my desk and asked for Twilight, it pained me. Sure, I was happy that people were reading again and coming to the library but I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and ask, "Have you ever seen Buffy? Don't you want to be made of kickassery and win instead of mooning over some emo twink with too much eyeliner? And Willow, zOMG! She's this supergenius nerdy chick who helps to save the world and it's really cool! The show is all about being smart and strong!"

I'm sure they'd just blink at me, mouths agape, and say, "But Edward is so sparkly."

today, in my inbox

from: Jeanette K-

to: bredafallacy(at)gmail(dot)com

date: Thu, Feb 25, 2010 at 3:33 PM

subject: 20 Awesome Pink Guns & Accessories

Dear Brenda,

I hope things are going well for you! From reading your last blog post, it sounds like it. We’re finally getting some sunshine and warmer temps in the Midwest. The sunshine actually inspired this blog post I put together of 20 pink guns and accessories. Being that you’re a chick with guns, I figured you and perhaps your blog readers would enjoy it! You can check it out here: (link removed)

My response?

Dear Jeanette,

If you actually DID read my blog (especially my last post, like you SAID you did) you would notice that I was just rear ended in a hit and run accident. So, no - things are not "going well" for me.

Also? My name is not "Brenda."

Do not ever contact me again.

And yes, she did write back. Sigh.

crashed.

That adrenaline stuff is amazing...

...until your body stops pumping it into every fiber of your being.

Two days after a man who wasn't allowed to be driving somehow managed to plow a van (twice!) into the trunk of my Honda anyway*, my muscles have mostly stopped twitching, my joints have quieted down, and I am oh, so very tired. I fantasize about big bathtubs full of hot water and Epsom salts and my own personal massage therapist. I'm ashamed to admit Mike had to drive me to work last night because I was too skittish to do it myself. I might call a chiropractor after I talk to the insurance. My car is a mess and I smell like Absorbine Jr.

And, sure - I've definitely felt worse in my life but I'm pissed off that I have to feel this way at all.

So I'm spending the day in bed, feeling tender, sore and blue, and taking comfort in my cats, a bottle of Advil, and Netflix on my EeePC.

*He was arrested for driving with a suspended license, among other things. I'm sure the judge will make it even more illegal-er for him to get behind the wheel this time. That should work.

We're #1!

According to Forbes, C-Town has yet another claim to fame...

It's astonishing how colorless and shapeless a wintery world becomes - trees are charcoal gray silhouettes against a lighter gray sky, roads are slate stripes cutting through white drifts, people become shadows trudging around in dark parkas and the edges of things blur as the snow sifts down. A bright yellow school bus rumbling past my window becomes a visual feast.

It's not so bad, really - around here, snow is a sign that things are still normal. When I was a child, I had a toy shovel, snow forts were an obsession, a red saucer was my favorite mode of travel and I even had device for wobbly, homemade igloos. Snow is just what we do. I'll admit I'm glad I have the internet to remind me that blue skies still exist and that not everyone lives a portion of the year scraping ice and trying to figure out a way to make wool less itchy. For instance, Alan (the mastermind behind Vicious Circle) lived for a long time without ever having seen a snow brush. Unfathomable.

We're snow snobs in Cleveland. We scoff at Southerners when they're in the midst of one of their French toast and toilet paper panics, "You think two inches is bad? You've never seen real snow! Around here, people are still wearing shorts in what you call winter." We boast about our winter driving skills, we don't bother to wear gloves if it's only 20 degrees.

Perhaps it's the bravado that gets us through till spring.

hue are you?

I'm sure by now everyone is sick of hearing about race. According to liberals, in one way or another we're all racists. Don't like Obama's policies? Racist. Involved in the Tea Party movement? Racist. Think affirmative action hurts more than it helps? Racist. Use the term "black hole" to describe a great sucking void in outer space? Racist. (srsly, look it up.)

I've been called a racist and the first time it happened, I was mortified. I had asked a patron to pay for what she had just printed, a novel sized stack of paper. She only wanted the first page and insisted I was targeting her because of her race. I examined my behavior - had I really done anything racist? Did I treat white patrons any differently? I didn't think so. I'm equally mean to everyone.* Like the time I kicked a bunch of rowdy teenagers out of the library...racially, they were a mixed bag, but as they all shuffled off toward the door it was the black kid who flung a muttered "racist" over his shoulder at me.

This sort of thing has happened frequently enough that the epithet has lost all its sting. I see it now for what it is, a knee-jerk reaction to some perceived slight combined with a lack of better vocabulary.

And honestly? In a way, I can almost understand it. Introspection is hard. It's so much simpler reach for that single word that has the ability to end any debate. What I don't get, though, is the double standard.

Neatly explained away and excused were Democrats Joe Biden calling Obama "the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy," Harry Reid complimenting Obama for being "light-skinned" with "no Negro dialect," and then last night, after the State of the Union speech, MSNBC's Chris Matthews saying that for an hour, he forgot Obama was black. (so tell us, Chris, what did you think of your president during the other 23 hours?)

And then there was the 83-year old black man who came to the library prior to the last presidential election. He told me he had never voted before and needed to register so he could support Barack.

I sighed and handed him the form, not bothering to mention that he could have voted for a black man two years earlier, like I did.

_______________

*that said, I've since given up fighting this battle. Pay or not, I don't care - it's really not worth the grief.

vice squad

Last night at the library, about a half hour before quittin' time, JD (one of our regulars) started shouting about the porn that kept popping up on the computer he was using. JD is deaf and he tends to lose all sense of volume control when he's excited or agitated, which seems to be a lot of the time. To make matters worse, the more wound up he gets, the harder it is to understand him which in turn makes him louder and, well...you can see where this is going. I usually hand him a pen and a piece of paper - it's slower but less frustrating in the long run.

Anyway, a little backstory... the library computers are running IE6, & probably without any virus protection at all. The guy whose job it is to maintain the computers (let's call him Dick. Heh.) seems to believe that rebooting will solve everything. When he's told that a computer seems to be in the midst of a self-destruct sequence his usual response is, "Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" (here's an idea...YOUR JOB.) He also has every single little function password protected so that we librarians aren't able to do anything except hang an "out of order" sign on the monitor.

So anyway, JD is at my desk, shouting and doing what looked like a cross between ASL and a wild pantomime. He was clearly upset. I nod sympathetically, not entirely understanding his rant, but suspecting the pop-up porn had interrupted his online gambling.