Sunday, September 29, 2019

All About My Ass

Life is difficult when you have no ass.
My name is FirstNations, and I have no ass.  Flat as a pancake.  Hank Hill assless.  No butt whatsoever.

Regular slacks and jeans hang weirdly in the back, so I wear cotton knit, which hides a multitude of sins, and are baggy naturally.  My lack of an ass is nobodies business but (Ha) my own.

I did not know that I didn't have an ass until Sir Mix-A-Lot came out with his dumb song 'Baby Got Back.'  Until then it was enough that I had big tits. And with those I was winning in the 'Hey baby check me out' game. That was all I needed.  (And a belt.) But after that song came out, ass afficianadoes came swarming out of the damn woodwork to sing the praises of bulgy buttocks, and videos featuring women flapping their enormous cheeks rapidly, or in time to music, became rampant.

This was what the new Sexy looked like.

 You can't have just any old ass either - it has to be shaped like an apple.  Nothing I have is shaped like an apple. What I have is shaped like an apple that has been run over by a car.

I cannot sit for very long before I am shifting about uncomfortably, no matter how soft the seat might happen to be.  The only tolerable position is to have one leg thrown up and over the left arm of the chair, which isn't always something you can do, like if you are on a train or a bus or an airplane or at a funeral.  Someone is going to have something to say about it. On a long flight, I am in a pretty fair amount of pain by the time I shuffle off that plane.  All I want to do is find a place where I can lay on my stomach.  Unfortunately, that's when my tits get their revenge.  "Not sexy enough, huh?  Go ahead.  Try and lie on your stomach."

I am not able to wear underwear, because they roll down the back of me as I walk, and they fall off.  No word of a lie.  My legs are curvy enough, I just don't have the wide hipbones needed to hang the waistband from.  Same reason I cannot wear pantyhose.  In fact the last time I wore pantyhose was Christmas about 2003.

There I was, all dolled up for the company Christmas party.  A department heads' wife!  Seated at the front of the room!  I'd gone to a beauty parlor and had my hair and makeup done! (I know, right?)  I was wearing a beautiful holiday dress and even heels.

And pantyhose.  Pantyhose pulled up all the way to my tits, where they were held in place by the band of my bra.

And this worked.  I was able to walk from the car to the banquet room and wander around, and that was nice.  It wasn't until we'd been seated for awhile and I was feeling nice and comfortable, when I had to go hit the ladies room. Thinking nothing of it, I stood up, and my pantyhose went 'Flurp! Vzzzzzz!' and rolled all the way down to the middle of my thighs.

Now when you are in a position like that, you can do three things.  Hold it, which HA.  I've had two kids, so that wasn't going to happen.

 You can clutch the rolled margin of your hose, and totter off with your hose all super baggy around your calves and ankles.  I sure in fuck wasn't going to try that, not with my husband's boss and crew and work buddies and their wives all over the place.

 What I did was to ooch around a bit there in my seat, just as though I were settling in, and meanwhile my hosejust continued to roll their way downward, fell down over my knees, and landed in a warm puddle around my feet.

 Then, my lap and legs covered by the long tablecloth, I kicked
 off my shoes, nudged the pile of nylon way back beneath the table, and then slipped my shoes back on and walked to the bathroom bare-legged.

I wonder what the cleaning crew thought about that.

This is about all I have to say about my ass. I am perfectly happy with it otherwise. It works well. It gets me around.  All it's inlets and outlets are in tiptop shape, and I don't horrify my gynocologist.  And she's not just being nice, either.  That woman has told me some stories.

At sixty years old, this is the best I can hope for without resorting to surgery, and seriously...just, no.  I'll buy a granny cushion, and to hell with you, Sir Mix-A-Lot.

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Bill Gates

I lived in Seattle in 1984.  My daughter wasn't even a year old.  I had left my husband and cycled through three different womens' shelters before I found a place to live and got on Welfare.  Seattle in those days was pretty mellow.

Now I don't mean that real shit wasn't happening.  It was, everywhere.  But in Seattle, things were being done to assist the populace.  The vast majority of those things were funded by Bill and Melinda Gates.

Bill Gates saved the people of Seattle in the 1980's.  His foundations funded some incredibly forward thinking, humane programs for the homeless and the poor.  He hired stinkin' EVERYONE, be you facially tattooed, morbidly freaky or terminally white. If you could pass the Microsoft Mordor brainiac gatekeepers, you worked at Microsoft.  Period.

Bill Gates went to my Dicks Drive-In.  You would see him driving his shitty car around the area, and there he'd be with his shitty haircut and bad suit behind the wheel, talking on his space age Bluetooth setup (it probably wasn't Bluetooth but some custom comware that he'd whipped up in his basement.)  He would wait in like at the Dicks for his Dick Burger and his three Dick sauces - a substance that never turned if left in it's funky little plastic container unopened - and his large fries, and then leave his enormous cannonball wallet on the drive-up counter and off he'd go, chewing on his burger.

Dicks would call him and leave a message:  You left your wallet here again dude.

He would come back the next day and pick it up, and they'd make sure that he got his shit together. "Mr. Gates, are you sure you have your wallet?  Have you checked the contents? Now make sure you have it in your car.  Is it with you?  OK.  You have a good day now."  It held up the line forever.

I would walk to that Dicks - it was only five blocks from where I was living in a railroad apartment - and be standing in line when Bill Gates came driving through, holding up the line, causing a lot of back and forth on the speaker system.  He was a neighbor.  You smiled at him or not, but you knew he was there.  Richest man in the world at the scuzzy Dicks Drive-in off Capitol Hill getting his burger and fries and Dicks' sauce in his shitty car with his shitty haircut.  Whores all over the place.  Welfare moms and kids and stamp crackers, because the Welfare office was nearby.  Hard, bad traffic.

He gave that whole city hope. In the beginning, anyway.  He was a rich dork, and so he didn't quite have the rich dude thing down right.  He actually gave back to the city there for awhile, before he got interested in third world toilets.  You felt like there was hope, like you had something to fall back on, because there were so many programs being bolstered by his money.  I was a dirt-poor woman with an infant on my hip, I knew I could depend on the programs I needed at that time to be up and running.  And those programs were the difference between me and the street.  So don't talk no shit about Gates to me.  He's changed, his agenda has changed, and he finally figured out how to be a rich. But when I needed it, his cash was working for us out there in Seattle flat on our asses, and he went to our Dicks, and he was OK.

Sunday, July 28, 2019

Yeah, More Gardening Stuff. Fuck Yez.

Here are some tricks, some tips, some advice, and some total bullshit.  You decide.

1. Cutting back plants. 
This is done to prevent the (perennial) plant from blossoming too soon, or getting too tall, or both.
Example:  Perennial aster.  Just regular, run of the mill, big vase shaped perennial aster. If you cut this off by one third it's height in May, it will stay compact, the plant form will broaden, and blossom time will be moved back from July to mid-August.  Believe me, in August, you want a big, massy fan of color, because your lawn is dead, everything is wilting and setting seed and looking ratty.  There in the middle of your post Apocalyptic garden is *cue angel song* Your Aster!  Glowing!  Thick with bloom!  Native pollinators are loving you! People smile as they drive by!

The same can be said of most herbacious perennials.  The longer you keep them from blossoming, the broader they will become, and the more abundantly they will produce blossoms.

NOTE:  Only do this once to any herbacious perennial.  You might get away with it twice with a centranthus ruber, or a monarda, or some of the coarser campanulas, but more than three times is killing it.  All you guys reading this are laughing now.  I know you are.

2. Cutting back shrubs/woody perennials. 
Anything that has bark is a woody perennial, and this is basically shrubs and small trees. 

OK.  With this the rule of thumb is, cut hard to shape in February or March, and then cut to thin after blooming (if it blooms.) 

Here is why you have to thin, which means cutting off mass. 
Small trees like ninebark and magnolia will start putting out the branches right after they bloom.  And that is fine, until over time the plant gets as thick as you want it to get.  After that, go up in there after it blossoms and start cutting out small branches (mass,) or else you'll end up with a huge beast come winter, and if it ices over, that small tree might very well end up torn apart by the sheer amount of ice that can form and add dead weight to all that mass.  I lost a gorgeous Mountain Ash like this - and Mt. Ash qualifies as a small tree, even though they get huge here.  We got an ice storm, I hadn't bothered to cut out the mass, and come winter it iced up and half of it tore away from the trunk. The whole tree died two years later - and that was a tree that I'd been carrying around with me from rental to rental for fifteen years before I planted it here.  It was fucking heartbreaking.

Star magnolia is a waterhog - meaning the more it's watered, the more it grows, and that watery growth is weak and excessive.  Keep an eye on it, and if it's looking really massy - thick and impentrable - in the canopy around July?  Get up in there with the loppers.  I have a mature specimen that I have to take care of in midsummer and early winter, and it's absolutely worth it because STAR MAGNOLIA.

Buddleia is also a waterhog.  If it gets overwatered during the summer, which is something that I am guilty of, it will put on all this huge angular weak, heavy mass.  Come winter it will literally tear itself in half in a high wind, or given a very rainy week.  Fortunately, assuming this has happened and you're standing there going "Oh shit my buddleia tore itself in half" you can choose the half you like, leave it rooted there, and cut off the other half; just completely cut it away at the point of breakage.  Boom. Then cut away half the height of the part you are keeping, backfill with compost if necessary, and haul all the discard out to the compost heap.  It WILL come back.

Hazel/Filbert:  It's a funny tree.  You can let it grow as it will from seed, and in four years you will have a very nice tree.

That is also when it will begin suckering.  And I mean suckering like a mad motherfucker.  Sudden straight poles that do nothing but have leaves without fruit will come shooting up from the trunk and the branch axils for no good reason, the way an apple tree does.  You always have to be cutting on a hazel, and you have to be very careful about sanitation.  Seal the cuts with Vasoline.

3. Sanitation in the garden.
No I am not high.  Make sure your loppers, secateurs or sawblade has been swizzled in a bucket of bleachy water.  About one teaspoon of bleach to your basic plastic pickle bucket of water.  Sozzle that blade around in there between each cut, if you are working on a single plant that you suspect has a fungus or other disease.  When you move to another plant, sanitize your equipment again.  Slosh it around in the bleach water.

And speaking of excessive sanitation and bullshit, the Cornus favorite dogwood tree in the world.  It is a water hog, it will come on with lots of soft, heavy mass, and even with benign neglect it wants trimming almost constantly because the branches take off in weird directions for no logical reason.  This happens in the wild, too. 

Unfortunately it is also horribly prone to Anthracnose, which is a fungal disease that roses are also prone to.  This shit took out my beautiful, beautiful tree after fifteen years, and I blame myself for having gone from trimming off an infected rose bush right to the dogwood, without sanitizing my tools between jobs. 
I kept it going with my sulphur-water-castille mix for another two years, and then I just cut it off slick with the ground. 

Once you get a badly diseased plant in the garden, tear it out AND BURN IT.  If you can't burn it, wet it all down with pure bleach.  The dead wood, root mass and the dirt that clings to it will spread the disease otherwise.

Gasp! Clutch the pearls!  This is so freaky and terrifying!  Whatever shall I do?
Well I'll tell ya.

Do not divide plants that are in bloom. Period.

If you must, cut off ALL THE BLOSSOMS FIRST.  This way the plant will receive a biochemical signal telling it to direct its efforts to building callus on severed roots and growing new roots to reach for more sustenance.

If a perennial plant has two stems that come up separately, not from a single trunk, now, but separately - from a single root mass?  Stick a shovel between the stems and lever half of that plant out of the ground.  Backfill the hole with dirt or compost, water it until it puddles, and walk away with your brand new half a plant.  You can stick it in the ground somewhere else, or you can compost it.  Your choice.  It's just that simple.

If there is a huge clump of stems coming from a single root mass, like a hosta or a daylily?  Stick a shovel into the middle of it and lever half of it out.  See above.  Just that easy.

The key is to have everything ready beforehand. 
First, cut off all the flowers and seedheads. Have ready at hand a shovel, hose, (hole dug and watered in heavily to receive the division) sharp shovel, keyhole saw to get through the roots if necessary, and dirt or compost to backfill.  All that in place and ready, it will go smooth as silk. No fear.  No secret substances or unnecessary surgical procedures.  Water the half a plant that's staying, backfill, water in again, and walk away.

Expect that these halves will look like shit for a week or more. (Particularly the one you threw into the compost heap, right.)  Then you will begin to see signs of new growth.  If there is a hot, windy spell of weather then water the divisions again, deeply. Once.

This is pretty basic shit, kids.  Plants are pretty basic things.  (I am not counting raising orchids or conservatory growing here because I know exactly jack shit about those methods.)  True, every plant does have conditions that it prefers.  Go to Daves for more articles, information, answers to your questions, and growing information on just about every plant and variety of plant you can imagine.
Here is a screenshot of the Plants and Information page.