Sometimes, I weep for my state. I really do.

The Rainbow Lounge in Fort Worth, an openly gay club, was raided last night. According to eye-witness reports, one person suffered a fractured skull during the ensuing arrests, which Fort Worth’s finest said was the result of “public intoxication” and patrons making “sexually explicit gestures” at the officers. (The Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission used the “public intoxication” rule to arrest people in Irving a few years ago, stating it was preventing drunken driving… although no one they arrested were actually in their cars. They were sitting in a bar.) People at the club reported no one was acting disorderly and police simply started grabbing people at random. There were protests today at the Tarrant County Courthouse and a Facebook page has been created to report the incident.

40 years to the day after Stonewall.

*sighs*

Living here, I trust the patrons’ reports. Although Fort Worth likes to think of itself as being looser than its tight, plastic twin Dallas, it’s not that far behind. It’s Cowtown and that means you’re either a real man or a queer. You see where this leads. This is a red state, by god, and anyone who doesn’t follow the rules shouldn’t let the door hit them on the ass on the way out. Our governor said so.

I’ve lived in Texas all my life. I don’t think I could exist anywhere else, as I’m plenty full of the ticks and twitches that comes with planting your feet and heart here. But, sometimes the gun-toting, god-fearing, redneck mentality is just too much. Truly. The damned conservative, two-faced bigotry that parades itself off as “family values” and good morality makes me want to choke.

We blues are here. We hold to our belief that everyone is entitled to live without harassment, regardless of what you do in the bedroom or the doctor’s office or in defiance of faith. Sadly, a lot of people here do not.

I am sad tonight.

*bimbles off*

“Going to Argentina” – colorful Republican phrase for “having sex with someone without my spouse’s knowledge.”  Also see “hiking the Appalachian Trail.”

Just remember, kittens, it’s those awful gays who are destroying the sanctity of marriage.

*bimbles off*

While sitting in openly-hostile morning traffic today, I actually saw the following license plate:

330-WTF

I KNOW! Is that fantastico or what? Unfortunately, the greatness of it all was probably lost on the driver – a bleach blonde driving a gold Cadillac Escalade, trying to kill people while scheduling her next pedicure on her cell phone.

On the other hand, if this plate had shown up in my mailbox, I’d would still be lying in my driveway, laughing myself into seizures. Followed by a lot of pictures, then a lot of e-mails and a blog post.

One out of three isn’t bad, I suppose.

*bimbles off*

*bimbles off*

I’m not a big fan of baseball. Don’t hate it, just don’t prefer it. Never watch it on television. However, I have been to a handful of Texas Rangers games in my life and do enjoy the experience. But, I’ve never paid for a ticket. It’s always been “Hey, we have some extra tickets? Wanna go?”

So, what are the chances the one game I’ll go to in as many years is also the one where former President W. Bush is there and walks out of the VIP box to be recognized by the crowd.

The ONE fucking game?

I mean, doesn’t he have a 50-foot, HD TV in the Dallas McMansion he lives in that he can watch his “home” team on or something?

If I was in Vegas, I would be walking out with the jackpot right now.

*bimbles off to stuff head under pillow*

Random bits when I should be going to bed:

What color, exactly, is “Phantom Black”?
A friend of mine recently got his motorcycle license. The color of his new bike is “Phantom Black”. I put that in quotations because where, in this plane of existence, does “Phantom Black” exist, except in the mind of the over-paid marketing retard who come up it? I mean, do we suddenly have shades of black? Call me old-fashioned, but I thought that was… oh, what’s the word… fucking GRAY. Black is black is black. Just like white is white. This is why the word “marketing” is interchangeable with “bull shit.” Okay, that and the “The outside of the can turns blue if your beer is ice cold” campaign.

The bible: Abortion, wrong. Killing a man in cold blood, right.
Pardon me while I blink. Because outside of the world of christianity, this is called hypocrisy. That’s with an H. Right below “hell” in your little dictionary. Might want to look into it.

The bigger the vehicle, the smaller the brain.
Perhaps this generalizing just a tad. Maybe the phenomenon only exists in Texas. But, my experience has been that the larger the scale of vehicle, the smaller the brain that is required to operate it. Case in point:  Yesterday, as I’m driving JS home from HIS spinal injection (we’re making it a family tradition), this asshat in a Ford F250, extended-fucking-cab, decides to turn in front of me. Like right in front of me. Forcing me to jam on my brakes, throwing me and JS – who is still whoosy and sore from the injection – forward. I start setting the dashboard on fire with profanities, just in time realize this guy is not turning in front of me. He’s pulling a U-turn in six lanes of traffic. All the while yammering on his cell phone. Yeah, cell phones are come standard with a truck this size. Or a Cadillac Escalade (nothing is too tacky or too big for the soccer mom circles) or, the universe fucking forbid, a Hummer. Or H2. Or whatever. People in my state still drive these monsters, even in the midst of a recession with gas prices bouncing like a ping-pong ball in a gymnasium. You can’t go three blocks without some moron in a black Hummer running over you. Wait… excuse me… PHANTOM black.

The slow end of “pro-life.”
I’m pleased to see many blogs, including a few on MSM sites, have switched from using “pro-life” to “anti-choice” when describing the conservatives’ arrogant position of wanting to remove a woman’s ability to make her own personal medical decisions. “Pro-life” implies I, by default, am pro-death. This perception is, of course, what the far right wants to reinforce… that liberals and progressives are wild-eyed baby killers who want to make abortions a right of passage for 12-year-olds. In the real world, we are for a woman’s right to make her own private, informed decision on abortion. Therefore, those who aren’t are anti-choice. Sometimes the truth is stunningly simple.

*bimbles off*

I’ve never been scared of needles, even as a child. I’ve had shots, IVs and blood drawn countless times and, while it’s not my idea of a really good time, it never bothered me. And, it still doesn’t… much. Last year, a nurse blew a vein in my hand trying to start an IV. I had gone four decades without someone driving the IV lead freakin’  THROUGH my vein. Bloody fuck, that hurt. And, I don’t have teensy veins. Seriously, I could have had a great career as a lifetime drug addict with the pipelines I have running just under my skin. Turns out, the nurse’s only cat had died the night before and she wasn’t exactly, shall we say, focused. It all went downhill after that. She was pressing on my hand to stop the swelling, I said “Ow” because it was hurting, she said it wasn’t that bad, JS nearly took a swing at her, another nurse had to start the IV and, just to top things off, I woke up three times during the colonscopy. Three times. Felt like my intestines were being pulled through my belly button. Good times.

And, where were we?  Oh, yes. Needles. Not scared of them.

Until now.

Tomorrow, a rather large needle will be stuck into my spine in order to pump cortisone into my neck. Theory is the cortisone will act as an anti-inflammatory on a disc in my neck that is being pressed on two vertebrae. Said disc has been singing “Ava Marie” since last September, when a tingling sensation started running down my arm and my right hand felt like thousands of needles were being stuck in it. Now, after cramming mucho drugs into my system everyday, the killer pain has been reduced to a constant ache/pain and I’ve lost feeling in part of my right thumb. So, if we can get the disc to settle down, the nerve won’t be pressed on and I might, just might, have some relief. Without painkillers and nerve medication and anti-inflammatories and anti-spasming meds.

I’m for this. Really, I am.

But, someone is going to jab a needle into my goddamned spine.

On purpose.

I’m just not good with that concept.

I’ve asked JS to please hit me in the head with a hammer around 10 p.m. because that’s the only way I’m going to unconscious land tonight.

Needle. In spine.

It’s done all the time. I’ll have a local and be sedated. I’ll be fine and, likely, home by noon and in napping clothes shortly thereafter. My hope is I’ll be among the majority of people for whom this procedure provides relief. No more handfuls of drugs. No more pain. No more tingles and, with time, get to regain the strength back in my right arm. That’s all good.

Needle. In spine.

Man, oh man, oh man.

*bimbles off to find a hammer*

(hat tip to Friendly Atheist)

*bimbles off

Tetris is 25, too?  How much fucking older can I feel today?

In honor of this event, Mustang Bobby asked his readers the name the first video game they ever played.

Pong. DUH!

blip… blipblip… blip… blip… blipblipblip

It doesn’t get any better than that, folks.

*bimbles off*

Today’s marks the 25th anniversary of Purple Rain. (Hat tip to Jezebel)

*pauses while knife digs into her rib cage*

I obsessed over this movie only slightly less than Pink Floyd’s The Wall, which should tell you how fucked up I was even as a behbeh. I wanted to change my name to Apollonia. OH, SHUT UP!  So, did you. I just admit my weirdness in public.

Eventually, I gave up the lacy blouses, purple eyeliner and desire to change my name to something that would allow me an excellent career in stripping. But, I never gave up my fondness for Prince’s music. Okay, except for the “Raspberry Beret” years. But, hell, ZZ Top released “Eliminator” during the same time. The 80s were such a mixed bag. Metallica and Boy George. No wonder my generation walks with a twitch.

So, here we are. The Freak. The Purple King. The mutherfucking Guitar Virtuoso.

*bimbles off*