Tom Torlakson

Voting is getting easier and easier.  Instead of sifting through inflated, ego driven "vote for me" propaganda attempting to dissect the difference between actual accomplishments and campaign manager orchestrated fluff, it's come down to this....

Each and every robo call I receive endorsing a candidate or ballot measure gets the opposite desired effect from me.  Sorry, Tom Torlakson, you also just lost my vote -- even if your opponent is Satan himself.  At least Satan has enough savvy and tact to not make cold calls.

Tom, here's a little tip for you and your robo calling friend, Erin Carlstrom.  Fire the campaign managers who insist this ultra annoying tactic is actually swaying votes to your favor.

Rule #1 for those seeking public office:  Do NOT annoy the constituents whose vote you desire.
Rule #2 for those seeking public office:  Under ALL circumstances do people find robo calls annoying -- even your own mother.

Again, if your pea-brained campaign managers have not figured out that they are costing you votes thinking robo calls are effective, fire them immediately.  They are not hip and wise to public sentiments.

Crossfit Craziness

There's a fad out here in California that involves boot camp-like tough, gritty, fitness.  The instructors have a hard core philosophy and run you until you puke, have you lift weights 5x your body weight, etc. 

One "friend" out here posts pictures of herself almost daily of her grunting, pushing, sweating, blah, blah, blah, blah along with stupid-ass words of inspiration and praises for her personal trainer(s). 

I could digress into this woman's personal history of owing people money and taking advantage of them and pawning off parenting duties.  I wonder how she pays for a personal trainer while ignoring seemingly more important financial responsibilities -- like rent. 

The other irony I find amusing is that this woman has been out on workers' compensation for her knee.  She pays through the nose for a trainer to work her physical body to a pulp straining every joint and muscle with abusive tactics, but if you worked her that hard at her job she'd bitch about it.  Go figure. 

Freaking Out People at Parties

It was a busy weekend full of socializing and parties.  Being an introvert, being around a bunch of people tends to be an energy suck for me whereas others delight in it.  I don't like the feeling of being "on" and trying to navigate the land mines of social topics to bring up in general conversation with people you don't know all that well.  Well, I stepped on one.  The collateral damage was not too bad, but I stunned them nonetheless.  I did not mean to.

It was your typical holiday weekend gathering.  There was a small subgroup of us talking at the BBQ.  I knew only one other well, and the others not at all.  The topic went to eBay and online shopping.  Before I even thought about what I was saying, I blurted out how the guy in our small group discussion likes to collect Star Wars figures.   Three sets of eyes immediately turned to stare at me with, "How did you know that?"

I didn't.

Club Scene Part III - NSA First Generation

Ok.... I'll stop after this.  I'm just having too much fun.  All of you age 20-something hackers and computer geeks were spawned from us.  We were the first technological generation.  Yes, NSA babies, this is how you came to be;)

Club Scene Part II

The memory floodgates have been opened and I find myself back in the day and us girls would be at the club drinking our drinks.  Suddenly, a song would come on.  We would point at each other across the table and get that high-pitched squeal going and our feet would start tapping excitedly and we'd say to each other, "OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!! We all have to go out and dance to this one!!!!!!!!!!!"

The drinks were abandoned and all of us were out there.  We owned the dance floor.  In retrospect we probably scared off any potential dance partners/dates LOL. 

This song brings me back again to SSP and "the girls."  There was so much truth to this song. If nothing else, I think the guy in the video should be crowned King of Chair Dancing. 

The Club Scene

Once upon a time, back in the 1980's, Quiet Rage LOVED to go out at night dancing.  My on-again-off-again boyfriend could not be bothered with taking me out (long story that ultimately led to me dumping him), so I went out with my gal pals hitting the clubs. 

My friends wondered why I stayed with Boyfriend and I knew all them secretly wished I would rid myself of him permanently.  They had my best interest at heart, but I thought I loved Boyfriend.  I would finally get to a place of acceptance after one of our many break-ups that the relationship was over and Boyfriend would show up on my doorstep wanting to rekindle things.  He would reconcile with me to borrow money, my car, and for me to pay his bills.  When he got himself back on his feet he would break up with me (again) to date other girls. 

This yo-yo cycle went on for a long time.  I finally figured out I was being used and broke it off.  Boyfriend then began to get creepy.  His meal ticket (me) walked and he was FURIOUS.  He did not want me, but did not want me to go out with other guys.  I thought we could be cordial and remain "friends."  Nope.  It went to the level of physical abuse, stalking, and other creepy things that make my skin crawl to this day. 

Anyway, when I finally got the courage to cease communication with Boyfriend, my bestie from home, SSP, took me for a girls night out of dancing to help me forget about him.  At the time I thought I would never meet anybody else.  SSP knew better and helped me along with this tune that still makes me smile to this day...and yes, we danced like black chicks even back then;)

Santa Barbara Shooting

Another school related shooting.  I don't even know where to begin.  This one hits home as my kids' friends attend UC Santa Barbara as many, many Sonoma County kids do. 

The shooter, Elliot Rodger, was mentally disturbed and felt rejected by the sorority girls. He plotted his revenge and carried it out.  He was going to make them pay.  Society gasps in horror.

I've got news for you all.   Mark Zuckerberg, the grand pooh-bah of launching social networking, created Facebook for the very same reasons, to get back at girls who rejected him.  Society gleefully posts pics and information with wild abandon.

While gun shootings grab attention and spotlights and "film at 11:00" Facebook is much more insidious.  I keep warning you all that whatever you post online is a hacker's paradise.  There is way too much information out there about you already and you have *no* idea where it goes once launched into cyberspace.  Most of it is collected using a benign looking app or social media.  

Your odds of being a victim of involuntary data collection and spying are much greater than being a victim of a rogue shooter.  What's even more disturbing is that the motivation behind the shooter's actions and the creation of Facebook were born of the same angry revenge, negativity, and intent to do harm. 

Tell me again exactly WHY we are rewarding Zuckerberg's sick, twisted motives that mimic a murderer/rapist?  You all really are being raped -- digitally.  Mark and Elliot have a lot of things in common.  Both are clearly dangerous misogynists.  One has a computer.  One has a gun.  One is hailed a hero.  One is not.  Go figure. 

Party Season

It's that magical time of the year where weddings, graduations, confirmations, proms, etc., proliferate everybody's social calendar. Needless to say, I think people should take a course in basic manners prior to accepting an invitation.  The rude behavior I'm about to describe was demonstrated by somebody who thought themselves "worldly, educated, and an accomplished artist." 

They are always the worst and behave badly. 

For starters, upon arrival to the party I met up with some other guests in the parking area I've known for a long time.  We all entered together.  BadlyBehavingArtistWoman was also a guest at the party and was already there.  I have never met ArtistWoman before, and Hostess wanted to make introductions.  ArtistWoman said to Hostess, "Oh, you needn't bother with introductions until the party attendees reach critical mass."

WTF?  Just who in the hell does this bee-atch think she is, anyway?  Whatever.  Strike one. 

Strike two came when ArtistWoman used a personal party to display her work.  No, this is *not* a gallery showing, and I really don't care to hear your personal story behind finding a rock in the African dessert that is now mounted on top of Hawaiian lava that you think is art we all should find deep and meaningful. 

Strike three came when ArtistWoman was harassing the caterers and the bartender about her aversion to salt and asked for obnoxious accommodations.  ArtistWoman was flabbergasted and rude when her demands for "salt free" were met with shrugged shoulders.  I do have to give the bartender credit.  He was getting sick of her prima donna routine and gave her plain water and said, "There.  No salt in that."

If ArtistWoman is on that strict of a diet, she should have brought her own food/drink and apologized in advance to the hostess about dietary restrictions as she would never dream of asking for a personal chef and menu at a party for 100. 

I was so close to saying something snappy to ArtistWoman, but I refrained because I was also a guest and guests are not to cause angst nor problems -- even if that bitch deserved to get smacked and I would have received a standing ovation.  My hand is still numb from sitting on it so I would not reach out and hit her.  I'm also refraining from tagging her name to this post lest it gets back to Hostess.  Again, fingers twiching.......I'm soooooooo tempted. 

Bag Your Face

I know I'm dating myself, but the Latin root of all TeenSpeak is the 1980's Valley Girl "OMG, Tooooootally, and Bag Your Face, I'm sure..."

I was a bitch to a total stranger for no reason today, but the recipient deserved it. 

I needed to stop by a grocery store to pick up an ingredient for dinner.  It was *one* item.  I scanned the checkout lanes to see which one was the shortest.  Ah-HA!  I spotted a cashier I have known since she started kindergarten with my own daughter.  awwwwwwwwwwww  look at her now all grown up and working.  Of course, I had to go into her line to say hello and inquire about her family.

The woman in line in front of me only had an item or two.  She should be brief, right?  Nooooooooo.
This woman began a lecture to the cashier and bagger about the lack of availability of plastic bags.  She went onto say that she needed them to throw up in when she gets sick and lamenting on and on about her chronic health problems.  She was holding up the line wanting to speak with the manager and generally making an ass of herself by saying how futile the ban of plastic bags are and the lack of availability will not save the planet.  Finally, my cashier-daughter looked at the woman and asked if she would like her receipt because she was trying to keep the line moving.

The Irritating Woman stepped a couple feet forward so I could begin my transaction.  Finally.  Irritating Woman moved a little bit out of the way so I could get my one item and go home.  I got a huge hug hello from cashier-daughter as she reached across the cashier grocery belt and the teen-speak inquiry of "How's the fam?"

I gave her the five-words-or-less version (which is all anybody really wants, anyway).  The irritating woman was still standing a couple of feet away rambling on about the lack of plastic bags.  I looked at cashier-daughter, and she looked at me.  We could read each others' thoughts about this annoying woman going on and on about there being no plastic bags and we started giggling.  I gave a frosty instruction aimed at Irritating Woman saying, "....and I don't need a bag."

Both cashier and bagger tried to conceal their laughter.  I went on to say that the only people who needed plastic bags were for the purpose of "bag your face..... I'm sure." 

e-invitation

I'm all for saving trees and the environment, please do not get me wrong.  However, there is something creepy and tacky about the proliferation of e-vites going 'round these days.  Worse yet, using Facebook as the point of contact for your social calendar.

More and more, people are using email and social media to manage their guest lists.  Please stop.  For starters, I refuse to respond to electronic invitations by the means delivered.  I will personally phone you or initiate personal contact to let you know my reply.  Why?  Partly because I *hate* evites.  It's my own personal pet peeve, I guess.

The other thing is that I don't like the entire world viewing my response and the lame excuse I will give for blowing off your candle/pampered chef/tupperware party or First Communion for junior.  One more gripe.. if the event is worth celebrating and you really want me there, make the effort like you really want me there.  Clicking "send to all in address book" gives the impression of casting a huge fishing net out into cyberspace not really giving thoughtful consideration as to whom you actually invited.  It's all about getting as many people present so you can take pictures and post to social media how "successful" your bash was.

No, when I view your e-vite I don't want to see your entire guest list as to whom was invited along with their "My Aunt Mertyl has her 95th birthday and we won't be there.  Have a great time!  xxoo" replies.

It's nobody's business but of that between the person initiating the invite and the invitee.  Doesn't anybody else worry about the public disclosure of your social calendar?  Hellooooooooooooooo????  Anybody home????????????  I guess not. 

It's a free pass for those with devious intentions.  No pun(s) intended. 

Your Turn

I guess it's a sign of advancing years, but no matter where I look everything seems to be run by KIDS.  Bank tellers = kids.  Firemen =  kids.  Policemen = kids.  Politicians = kids.

It's the last one that is *really* getting to me.  For whatever reason, I have a hard time with policy makers with limited life experience.  Let's be real.  Nobody really has a clue until you turn 45 no matter how mature you think you are.  I can hear you 40-year-olds protesting.  Stop crying and whining like the babies you still are.  You really are still wet behind the ears.  You'll know what I mean in just a few more years.

I suppose each and every generation thinks they have all the answers.  The old regime is dismissed as tried and tired.  However, there are just as many problems today (if not more) than yesterday.  Nobody has yet to figure out how to stop:  greed, corruption, lies, wars, selfishness, murder, violence, racism, sexism, etc.

The moral of the story is to listen to those who have more life experience than yourself.  It does not mean you have to agree with them, but just listen.   I dare you to attempt to understand somebody older who has the opposite viewpoint of yourself. 

Teen Bedrooms: Contest for the Worst

A bestie from home, MRH, is having difficulty relaying to her late teen/early 20's children the common courtesy of keeping one's living space orderly -- especially when mom and dad are paying college tuition and then they come home to stay (rent free) only to leave mom with:  overflowing garbage bins, mystery puke/shit from the dog on top of clean laundry that stinks to high heaven, and candy wrappers and soda cans galore strung along the floor.  That's just the tip of the iceberg. 

What's the excuse the adult children give?  They don't have TIME to pick up after themselves.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  I'm sorry, but MRH has been through severe health issues and nowhere does it state that being a mother makes one a personal slave/servant to capable adult children.  Like us moms have nothing better to do than to clean up after everybody else?  Like *we* don't want to sit on the couch and watch the Kardashians eating cheetos while somebody else cooks dinner, picks up our messes, and does our laundry? 

I don't blame you, MRH, for being upset at this.  I can sooooooooo relate.  You are NOT out of line for expecting some sort of effort from adult offspring.  Start your blog, MRH.  Let the power of internet pictures, name tagging, facebook tagging, hash tagging, whatever, give you the ability to expose selfish ingrates as you see fit.  If they don't want their hideous messes exposed all over cyberspace, they have the power to keep their living quarters in decent shape.  If they don't like their sloppiness exposed they have the freedom to MOVE OUT AND PAY THEIR OWN EXPENSES. 

YOU GO GIRL!!!!  I AM 1000% BEHIND YOU!

Freedom from Bored Moms on Prozac

Life is a litter better lately.  Why?  I'm not exactly sure, but one source of stress that has left my energy field are the Bored Moms on Prozac.  I had *no* idea how much angst and stress I allowed to infiltrate my being with their constant obsession with comparing their houses, husbands, children, schools, and test scores with each other and then passing judgement like they were ordained by some supreme being. 

I always instinctively knew when my kids entered the elementary-school-hatchery-environment-neo-Nazi-incubator that it was toxic, but let me now state that the environment was down-right lethal.  I can't name a more vicious bunch of horrible people than the PTA.  They should be labeled as a domestic terrorist group as they are ruining our country from the inside out. 

The PTA, which is a division of the Bored Moms on Prozac, like to legitimize their actions as saying it's "for the kids."  What a bunch of you-know-what.  It's for their own egos. 

Erin Carlstrom: One Less Vote

From the short time since my last post until now, I received a robo call from Erin Carlstrom.  Erin, please read my post from a few minutes ago.  You just lost my vote.

Political Pollsters

Smell that?  It's the stench of politics in another round of elections here in Sonoma County.  I will not digress into the flaws and idiotic ideals each party holds.  I refuse to discuss politics with strangers or acquaintances.  It's intimate discussion strictly reserved for those in my intimate circle.  That does NOT include political pollsters.

My son is deployed overseas.  When he does get the opportunity to phone home, it's from a strange string of numbers or "unavailable" that pops up on my caller ID.  I usually ignore phone numbers I don't recognize.  However, I now answer the "caller unknown" because it may be my son.

Imagine the disappointment of waiting to hear the sound of your beloved son's voice only to get a robo-call or pollster wanting to know the color underwear you wish the candidates wore.  

My, my, my.....  the pollsters know no shame.  They phone on Sunday evenings, at dinner, or interrupt a meaningful conversation you're having with your teen.  Not only do they intrude on your personal time while you're happily minding your own business, they then have the audacity to ask such personal questions about your political beliefs.

Social lesson for idiots and for those seeking election:  It's extremely rude to cold call strangers and try to solicit them.  You want their vote for a particular person or ballot measure, so you *ARE* a solicitor.  I have never met you, so you *ARE* a stranger regardless of how many times I may have seen your picture in the media.  It's bad enough you are calling people and interrupting their personal space, but you then ask questions that are off limits to even spouses.  

My time is valuable.  Stop calling.  Stop asking for my opinion.  You'll get the results on election day.  Besides, you only want opinions to programme your "robot" you propped up for office.