DIE HARD

 Well that dream died quickly.

Turns out we don't qualify. At all. And never will, because of finances.

BUT I'LL BE DIPPED IN DOGSHIT BEFORE I MOVE TO THE FUCKING SOUTH

Flip a coin like a responsible adult and blame chance

 Where have I been?  

PROCRASTINATING.  

  

...just being all semi-clad  running up a hill, y'all.  

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Good news!  We qualify for subsidized housing! What that means is two things:  1. We, being all old and shit, can save lots of money on our rent, and most importantly,  2. this means that we don't have to up stakes three years down the road and move to motherfucking Kentucky when the Biker retires.

The Biker has been trying to talk me into the Kentucky idea for decades now.  It all began when we were doing a lot of motorcycle touring, and he began looking up places that are well-known for having beautiful motorways.  He found one in Kentucky and that sealed the deal for him. We would move to Kentucky and I don't know, just motorcycle around looking at poverty or something.

Because Kentucky is not a place where most people have a lot of money. You won't find a lot of liberal politics there either. What you will find is hundreds of dying little towns scattered throughout the mountains, remote as fuck, (only accessible by presumably beautiful motorcycling roads) inhabited by the seventy-year-old results of generational incest, captive workforce politics, and fundamentalist religion. 

-folks, it's not a stereotype because it never happens that way. Have relatives in Kentucky? It's a beautiful place?  How dare I?  

  

 Beginning mere hours after the Biker made his Kentucky Pronouncement, I've done all kinds of research on this region, going on Google Maps street view, accessing blogs, comments, really diving deep, doing this for years, and...it's depressing.  No, it's more than depressing. It's GRIM.

But hey!  We qualify for subsidized housing! 

  

   HOORAY!!!!!  

We can stay here, in Bellingham, where the elderly generally don't sit out next to the road gumming corn cobs (depending on what part of town you're in.) We have a chance to live out our lives in one of the few parts of America that won't be seriously affected by the results of global warming, that has good medical care nearby, that is liberal, and where I am settled the fuck in dammit.

Lengthy Rant Follows.

Now it's just a process of applying, waiting, re-applying, waiting, being on absolute minute-perfect time to appointments, having the paperwork lost, applying, being on time for appointments, being interviewed, having the paperwork lost, talking to five different people who do not talk to one another or check their computers and have no idea what's going on, 

   

re-applying, talking to people, talking to more people, waiting, being told we don't qualify, being told we do qualify, being told there are no units, telling people that we are already living in a qualified unit and have owner pre-approval, being told that they'll have to speak to a supervisor and then disappearing without a trace, waiting, re-applying, 

   

being told our paperwork is incomplete, being told that we don't meet certain criteria by someone who has no idea what they're talking about, and most of all, being pleasant, clean, well-spoken but not too well spoken, 

   

using our nicest manners, not maintaining eye contact for too long,being clean clean clean but not too well dressed, heaven forfend you be too well-dressed, 

  

Madame you are entirely too picturesque. Begone!  

being absolutely polite and above all deferential, and being told your paperwork has been lost. And showing up on pinpoint-perfect time for interviews.

Oh!  And they want every last detail of your finances too. From you. In person.

   

...because this shit happens fifteen times a day and they're READY for it!!!   

Of course, being a government agency, they can look that shit up online using our Social Security numbers - and this is absolutely true - but that's waaaaaay too much work.

They want you to do that for them, by bringing in paper documentations and filling out yet more forms. Which ends up making more work for them. Which they in turn resent you for the more often you show up. Because government agency.

Luckily I have past experience with this kind of shit.  Still, thoughts and prayers folks.  

  ...because I am way less tolerant than I used to be.  

For Mr. Peenee

 Wow that last post, huh?  What a trip!  You probably think my ass was high.  Nope.  I'm going to get right on that, though.  

Kleek heer to heer da plangent tones ob Babymaaaaaaaaaaan:

babyman "High like a fly" - YouTube

   

OK.  Here's what happened. I had a post in mind, and to me at that time it seemed only moderately scary and like something I could treat lightly.  So I went on a search around the Internet for my ex-husband's picture, found a recent one, and scared the living shit out of myself over the period of a day.

My ex-husband was not a wonderful guy. He did crimes. He did bad crimes.  Thing was, the guy was all charm. He had everybody snowed.  

Plus, he looked like Troye Sivan:

No, I do not exaggerate.    

...and between the charm and the angelic features nobody believed that he could possibly be guilty of anything.  

He was.  

He was guilty of a lot of things in fact.  One of those things was attempted murder. Of me.  Which sucked.

I ended up in the emergency room.  By the time they found me a bed in a womens' shelter, the police had already questioned my ex-husband once; and they were still on his trail when his mommy snuck him out of the country. While he was on a bicycle tour of Europe, then, I was back in Seattle with no money, a newborn baby on my hip, moving through a succession of battered womens shelters until I found a studio apartment that accepted AFDC tenants.  Every now and then over the next year I'd get a visit from the police asking me if I was ab-so-lute-ly certain-sure, really-fo-feely sure, now, that I wasn't just hiding him. *

Why all the police interest?  

You see, he was under suspicion in the Green River murders.* 

Yup.

So when I found a recent picture of him online I was taken aback.  There he was, and he not only didn't look much the worse for wear, he looked like a kindly little old gnome. 

I am, however, stoked as hell that he's 1. Sixty  and 2. Balding.

And that's what I get when I try and do a damn theme month.** 

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* Note:  He wasn't guilty of the Green River Murders.

**The last time the police visited me I told them that if I ever saw my ex-husband again I'd be the one they'd be arresting because I'd stick a pair of scissors through the little bastards throat. And I might have been really classy about it and called them ten stacks of motherfuckers and shouted and thrown shoes, and slammed the door on them and a host of other impolitic things like that. 

Hey, they quit bothering me. 

 I ask you, though. Was I hiding him. 

 

The Somewhat Wild

This picture is here only because it beats the hell out of the only other picture on this post - and I'd rather look at ICP, thanks.  OO by the way, here:  Insane Clown Posse Gathering sued after legless Juggalo crashes golf cart into man (yahoo.com)

Because stupidity this stupid should scare people.

(posted around 3: P.M.

______________________________________

(Original intro text posted around 1: P.M., 10-12-23)

(New intro plus photo posted around 10- 8- 33)

(re-posted around 6:20 P.M., 10-14 - 2023)

I have given myself a bit longer than ordinary to think this post out.  Should I transgress, or should I maintain the privacy of a certain individual?

Fuck 'im.

(posted around 2:30 P.M.)

(posted around 4:30 P.M.)   

This ain't him.

ORIGINAL TEXT

      

 

See, I thought better yet again.  Although his true-ass picture was up at 9:00 A.M. and remained that way until I deleted it and the accompanying text e.g.  5:30 P.M. this day of our Lord 10/14/23. 

Good sense prevails - if not often, yet true.

_________________________________________________________________________

(For those of you who might have seen the original post... I absolutely love that he's balding.)

(6: 5 P.M.   For those of you who want to see the original post - let it be known in the comments!)

(I stopped being able to keep track a few days ago.)

          

 

 

Welcome to October: The Mild

        

1. The Light Eater

I loved the cartoon Johnny Quest when I was young.  Of course this was a 'boys' cartoon. As soon as the theme music began playing my parents would begin urging me to go outside and play and "quit watchin' boys stuff, that ain't fa' you." Oh but let me hasten to correct your asses. It was as far as I was concerned.  

So I had to hide my tears of terror when this goddamn thing crawled across the TV screen:

This thing can go die right now. I hate this thing. No. Ack. I'm hiding. Ew.

I mean, go here and watch:   Scariest JONNY QUEST episode? #jonnyquest #animation #invisiblemonster... | TikTok

It must have been the combination of the ominous backing music and the single eyeball, or it's overall ghostly appearance, but that one episode of Johnny Quest gave me nightmares for years. I just now watched that clip play through and be damned if I didn't get the chills again.  NOT BANDIT!  NOOOOOOO!

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2. It's a jawline, Myrtle, not the Berlin Wall

I adore Kelly Osbourne. I do.  But I do not adore her makeup artist.

No no no no no no no.  No no.  Nothing creeps me out like seeing someone whose face and neck are not the same color.   It is HORRIBLE.

Why does this bother me so?

Remember when I told you that my family were caretakers of a cemetery? Because of that fact, and because my parents were themselves quite old, I've been to a metric shit-ton of funerals in my life, most of them between the ages of 6 - 12. All of them for very elderly people. And....

You fill in the blank.  I'll give you a hint. It's....

  

Now that everyone is famous for fifteen minutes you see this horrible offence on the faces of the living, and if you have a Fahrenheit 451-sized television like we do, it's always a shock. All the pores, all the blemishes, all the bad, bad decisions.  Particularly in 80's TV shows. Go check and see if I'm not right! It's like they hired makeup artists from the days of black and white to save money or something. 

Go here for more atrocities!  Or just to read my favorite title (#25)

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3. The History Chef.  

Mmmmm. Chips and Mayo!

    

History Chef has a very informative show. I've watched it for awhile - on my laptop. 

History Chef works hard for his followers. He has a pleasant voice and good content. And I was happy. Until one day I found him while doing an idle search on my Fahrenheit 451 TV. "Well my goodness! There's his sassy cheffy fanny!" I rejoiced (or words to that effect) and tuned in.

Only to discover that History Chef is a red battlefield of cracked, flaking, oozing eczema. 

I have a John Cleese T-Shirt

In musical response to a recent post by Jon, here's Robbie Neville looking freshly fucked on Top of the Pops:

You think you're the only one who can C'est la Vie honey? I can C'est La Vie with the best of them.   

 

You know what I see?  I see the love child of Marc Bolan and Peter Frampton here.  OOO, or maybe a Peter Burns 'before' picture?

"Oh my God his poor hair", I thought, upon seeing this for the first time in years. "I bet he's bald now."

 

Speaking of hair donors, remember when the young man below vvv was the sole property of Sir Elton? 

If only Mr. Vanelli had remained in this electropop-bounce groove. Let's give Mr. Vanelli another chance, shall we?

...OK in good conscience I should provide a Warning for the following:

....nah. Suffer.   

 If only this poor melody didn't have lyrics.

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OK enough of that.  If you've read this far you deserve a fucking medal a heads up about Things To Come.

 

YOU ARE WARNED     

It being October, and Halloween on it's way, I am declaring Tlacaxipehualiztli here at STEVE.

-OK maybe not that extreme. But possibly just that disturbing. 

I'll start out mild. I'll try and keep it light.

 

But don't count on it bitcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.