Got back into my Facebook. Wasn't terribly difficult obviously. Still not 100% who turned me in for nominal chicanery, but I've taken a few precautions.
I have, however, uninstalled the app from my phone. Facebook in an incredible tool for keeping connections around the world. The same tool can break down closer connections. For me, it's just too much of a distraction. So I have it open when I'm on my computer, but, for now at least, it's not ringing directly to my phone when I'm away from my computer.
This year I hope to make a major shift. Geographically. It's in the works, I hope, and if it happens, I'll have more to write about than daily annoyances of DC.
But in the meantime, perhaps some of those can be amusing...
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Facebook....
It broke. Or rather, I was "outted" as a fake and a fraud... Yes it's true. My name is not, in fact, Becka Moreorless. I guess that little creativity was really causing harm in the world and someone got butthurt. I have a guess who that someone is. Of course it's someone I don't know. That's often how these things go. The comic that often parallels my life posted this this morning:
It's true. I was actually not, as the cartoon so eloquently puts, "a butthole" to anyone yesterday. Alas.
It's true. I was actually not, as the cartoon so eloquently puts, "a butthole" to anyone yesterday. Alas.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
I try not to complain without having some suggestion as to a solution.
I'm not settled on where I stand on gun control.
"Stricter Regulations" get's thrown around a lot.
That's such a vague statement though. Stricter regulations. It's easy to say. What kind of regulations?
Here's one small thought ( the fullness of information has not been released in the most recent incident, this may not be completely relevant, please don't let that stop you from pondering the idea) :
It seems so often that the weapons used in crimes are stolen or borrowed, or otherwise obtained from someone who did legally and sanely purchase them.
When I worked at the Boys and Girls Club, we took the kids to the pool during the summer. The last summer I worked, the pool made us watch a video of a child drowning. I think about that video a lot. He was under water for several minutes before anyone noticed.
What does this have to do with gun control?
I don't want to suggest that we require people to lock their guns up. That could only be implemented with house checks. No one wants that. But I would suggest, that in order to purchase a gun, any gun, any where; that you be exposed to the kinds of crimes committed with borrowed or stolen weapons. You would be given information and suggestions on the best ways to lock up your guns. Stories about the victims, the families, etc. Video of real interviews, and information from instructors that aren't trying to sell you a gun.
If you keep weapons in your home. If you share that information with others. If you don't take precautions to insure that your son's weird friend Jim doesn't sneak in and take them, you are in some way responsible for what that kid does with that weapon. I think people put more effort into locking up their booze than they do their guns.
This won't save everyone, but there are enough cases that it is worth looking into. If you want to keep an item in your house that can so quickly and easily end someone's life, it seems logical that you would want to be responsible about how and where you keep that item.
I'm not settled on where I stand on gun control.
"Stricter Regulations" get's thrown around a lot.
That's such a vague statement though. Stricter regulations. It's easy to say. What kind of regulations?
Here's one small thought ( the fullness of information has not been released in the most recent incident, this may not be completely relevant, please don't let that stop you from pondering the idea) :
It seems so often that the weapons used in crimes are stolen or borrowed, or otherwise obtained from someone who did legally and sanely purchase them.
When I worked at the Boys and Girls Club, we took the kids to the pool during the summer. The last summer I worked, the pool made us watch a video of a child drowning. I think about that video a lot. He was under water for several minutes before anyone noticed.
What does this have to do with gun control?
I don't want to suggest that we require people to lock their guns up. That could only be implemented with house checks. No one wants that. But I would suggest, that in order to purchase a gun, any gun, any where; that you be exposed to the kinds of crimes committed with borrowed or stolen weapons. You would be given information and suggestions on the best ways to lock up your guns. Stories about the victims, the families, etc. Video of real interviews, and information from instructors that aren't trying to sell you a gun.
If you keep weapons in your home. If you share that information with others. If you don't take precautions to insure that your son's weird friend Jim doesn't sneak in and take them, you are in some way responsible for what that kid does with that weapon. I think people put more effort into locking up their booze than they do their guns.
This won't save everyone, but there are enough cases that it is worth looking into. If you want to keep an item in your house that can so quickly and easily end someone's life, it seems logical that you would want to be responsible about how and where you keep that item.
Friday, September 14, 2012
it's friday?
i shaved only one leg today. wait, i take that back. i shaved 3/4 of my legs today. one full leg and one thigh. i wish this came with a biscuit.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Memoires
In conversation tonight I was relating a story to my roommate about getting in trouble for dropping the F bomb. Probably at the age of 4 or so. I realized as I was telling her this story, that this is most likely my first memory. There are a few others up for contention.
One contender, I had a dream once that I was walking down our long driveway at night. There were small signs along our walkway that said, "Witch Poker". (sidebar: people have told me repeatedly that you can't read in your dreams. BS.) The signs weren't ominous. Not that I knew anything about the VFW then, but it'd be like walking up to a VFW with bingo signs. So I went in my house, and there were witches, sitting around tables playing poker. An odd concept for a 3-5 year old.
Another potential memory, that later in life (maybe age 12?) I thought that I probably just read in a book. Which was the day my dad drove away for real. Not for real forever, he only moved just down the street; but the first day he drove away from my house after the seperation. And I watched him go up the driveway from the upstairs window. Or I didn't and a book superimposed the memory.
One time we went to a store, my mom, my stepdad, and I. Or maybe he was just the dude my mom was banging at that time. Anyway, there were these heart shaped rhinestones in a bowl at the cash register. You've seen them, you can buy them in little plastic baggies at Wal-Mart near the buttons. I put some in my pocket. When I got home, my mom found me playing with them and asked where I got them from. I think I said that my dad bought them. But she clearly recognized them from the store. She called my dad. Then she told me that I was going to jail. She said that one time she stole something and her dad told the store owner, and they locked her up in a jail cell in the back of the store over night. This all sounds a bit far fetched now, and maybe over the years it's embellished itself in my memory, but my mom is nuts, so it's plausible that she told me this.
Memories are pouring out now.
One time I took my moms round brush and tried to curl my hair with it. I thought that was how you did it. It got stuck. REALLY stuck. So I loudly threw myself on the floor and told my mom that I fell on the hair brush and that's how it got stuck.
I asked my mom one day, why I had a waterbed. I didn't want one, so why did she give me one? I didn't understand what a waterbed was. Either me or my doll, or both, had wet the bed.
My mom had a picture of herself at about age 13, dressed as a hula girl, on her desk (narcissistic?). It looked just like me. I could never figure out how my mom got a picture of me from the future.
I used to walk around with an old polaroid making "Chk Chk" sounds everywhere.
I desperately wanted to be a cowboy. Then Ms. Kitty. Then a spy.
My dad lived in a duplex near the woods. A neighbor girl older than me told me that a witch lived in the house behind my dad, and that she ate men. I don't think I ever told my dad that, but I was terrified. Also, I remember the little girls mom telling me not to chew with my mouth open. For some reason, I never did again. Or at least worked on it after that.
When I was little, I had a habit of saying "Shucks". Yes, I actually said that. I learned how to read, or sound out words anyway, fairly early. One day my dad took me fishing. There was a bridge going over the river. A concrete bridge. Someone had put some graffiti on it. Nobody needed to tell me what it said. I could read it. I don't know that I knew what it meant. But when my dad brought me home, and my mom wouldn't let me do something I wanted to do, I decided to use my new word. I mean, I think it was pretty smart of me to read and realize it rhymed with my favorite word of annoyance. But my mom didn't think her 3-5 year old daughter, loudly exclaiming, "Fucks!" was very smart at all.
One contender, I had a dream once that I was walking down our long driveway at night. There were small signs along our walkway that said, "Witch Poker". (sidebar: people have told me repeatedly that you can't read in your dreams. BS.) The signs weren't ominous. Not that I knew anything about the VFW then, but it'd be like walking up to a VFW with bingo signs. So I went in my house, and there were witches, sitting around tables playing poker. An odd concept for a 3-5 year old.
Another potential memory, that later in life (maybe age 12?) I thought that I probably just read in a book. Which was the day my dad drove away for real. Not for real forever, he only moved just down the street; but the first day he drove away from my house after the seperation. And I watched him go up the driveway from the upstairs window. Or I didn't and a book superimposed the memory.
One time we went to a store, my mom, my stepdad, and I. Or maybe he was just the dude my mom was banging at that time. Anyway, there were these heart shaped rhinestones in a bowl at the cash register. You've seen them, you can buy them in little plastic baggies at Wal-Mart near the buttons. I put some in my pocket. When I got home, my mom found me playing with them and asked where I got them from. I think I said that my dad bought them. But she clearly recognized them from the store. She called my dad. Then she told me that I was going to jail. She said that one time she stole something and her dad told the store owner, and they locked her up in a jail cell in the back of the store over night. This all sounds a bit far fetched now, and maybe over the years it's embellished itself in my memory, but my mom is nuts, so it's plausible that she told me this.
Memories are pouring out now.
One time I took my moms round brush and tried to curl my hair with it. I thought that was how you did it. It got stuck. REALLY stuck. So I loudly threw myself on the floor and told my mom that I fell on the hair brush and that's how it got stuck.
I asked my mom one day, why I had a waterbed. I didn't want one, so why did she give me one? I didn't understand what a waterbed was. Either me or my doll, or both, had wet the bed.
My mom had a picture of herself at about age 13, dressed as a hula girl, on her desk (narcissistic?). It looked just like me. I could never figure out how my mom got a picture of me from the future.
I used to walk around with an old polaroid making "Chk Chk" sounds everywhere.
I desperately wanted to be a cowboy. Then Ms. Kitty. Then a spy.
My dad lived in a duplex near the woods. A neighbor girl older than me told me that a witch lived in the house behind my dad, and that she ate men. I don't think I ever told my dad that, but I was terrified. Also, I remember the little girls mom telling me not to chew with my mouth open. For some reason, I never did again. Or at least worked on it after that.
When I was little, I had a habit of saying "Shucks". Yes, I actually said that. I learned how to read, or sound out words anyway, fairly early. One day my dad took me fishing. There was a bridge going over the river. A concrete bridge. Someone had put some graffiti on it. Nobody needed to tell me what it said. I could read it. I don't know that I knew what it meant. But when my dad brought me home, and my mom wouldn't let me do something I wanted to do, I decided to use my new word. I mean, I think it was pretty smart of me to read and realize it rhymed with my favorite word of annoyance. But my mom didn't think her 3-5 year old daughter, loudly exclaiming, "Fucks!" was very smart at all.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Do you ever walk outside and smell something, or the sky is just right, or the temperature combined with the sounds around you is just right? And you're instantly transported somewhere far away that you maybe haven't thought of in years? And then you're sick. I guess this is what homesickness feels like. I've never been homesick. I've never really understood it. Now I think I do.
It's such a beautiful day outside, and I'm now thoroughly depressed. I thought maybe it was reverse seasonal affect disorder, but there are times in the dark and cold that I've been transported to my first days arriving in Russia, and it's a similar feeling. Though that one is longing mixed with fear.
I suppose if I didn't have work, I'd go make a new memory. Back to the work.
.
It's such a beautiful day outside, and I'm now thoroughly depressed. I thought maybe it was reverse seasonal affect disorder, but there are times in the dark and cold that I've been transported to my first days arriving in Russia, and it's a similar feeling. Though that one is longing mixed with fear.
I suppose if I didn't have work, I'd go make a new memory. Back to the work.
.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Nothing to see here
Just a wish list. I won't call it a bucket list. Maybe I should call it a Happen List. Because it will...happen.
North Korea.
Antarctica.
Alaska (like Antarctica, but with less death and more recreation, but without penguins...i think).
El Camino de Santiago.
Transiberian Railway.
Gluttonous all-inclusive resort.
**While "Gluttonous" can be "Glutinous"...they are different words.
North Korea.
Antarctica.
Alaska (like Antarctica, but with less death and more recreation, but without penguins...i think).
El Camino de Santiago.
Transiberian Railway.
Gluttonous all-inclusive resort.
**While "Gluttonous" can be "Glutinous"...they are different words.
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