Frenchy... on Gun Control

Please don’t judge me.

Open your heart and mind. Just simply UNDERSTAND another human being.

If you don’t agree with me, that’s acceptable. I’m not trying to change your mind. And you won’t change mine either. AND PEOPLE, THAT’S OK!

 Riz and I feel differently about many things. We don't see eye to eye with politics and we totally disagree on most issues. But what's cool about us is that we have a mutual RESPECT and LOVE for each other that surpasses all of this. All of this HATE. We both wish that everyone could enjoy the absolute fucking AWESOMENESS that we have. We can have a disagreeable conversation with total admiration for what the other person stands for. There is only one reason this works. ONLY ONE.

It’s called EDUCATION. We are both extremely knowledgeable about current political issues. We have spent hours upon hours of researching. We know our shit. We have REASONS to feel the way we do and they are real and legitimate and they aren’t based on campaign lies.

Gun control is back in the news again. The support for tougher laws is waning. I’m pretty sure that you won’t find many people that will argue against universal background checks. Clearly we need more funds for security in schools and to treat mental illnesses that cause people to kill. No one has forgotten those children in Newtown, Mr. President. Don’t you think that it’s slightly fucked up that our president is implying that we have forgotten those precious children because his gun proposals aren’t getting the attention he wants? I’m super offended by his shaming! If I could say one thing to him it would be “Don’t you dare use those kids as a pawn in your gun agenda!”

Did you ever think that maybe it was the "crazy" that killed those children? Not the

"gun"?

Just like a "criminal" robs a store, not a "black, white, or brown guy"?

It takes a sick person to harm or kill someone. Normal, average people own guns for protection, and they kill criminals that enter their home and threaten their families. Some people collect guns as a hobby. Some hunt with them for food. Killers that don’t have guns, guess what people? THEY STILL KILL! They use knifes, chainsaws, rope, AIRPLANES (9-11), poison… must I go on? I keep hearing the same thing over and over about how “fewer children would have died” at Sandy Hook if guns were regulated more. I don’t believe that. Adam Lanza would have held those kids hostage and killed every one of them.  Because a killer is a KILLER. Take away the guns and guess what? Crimes still happen. What about Steubenville? No guns there! Meredith Kercher, the beautiful young woman who was murdered in Italy in which Amanda Knox is accused, she was CUT AND STABBED. Would she be any more dead now if she was killed by a gun?

I want to share a gun quote I saw when doing my research. This will totally get your panties in a bunch. PLEASE, just think about it.

"People tell me I don't need an AR-15. My answer is I don't need one any more than Rosa Parks needed to sit in the front of the bus”

She wanted to sit in the front. She didn’t NEED to. She would still get to her destination no matter where she sat. But it was her right as a human being living in America to sit where ever she damn well pleased. And it’s my right as an American to own a gun.

I’m not racist so get that fucked up thought right out of your head. But do you know our Bill of Rights? I’ve read it over and over recently and you should too. The right to have and bear arms is just as important as freedom of religion. Now let this one soak in for a second….

We didn't take away Muslims right to worship in America because Muslims took down the Twin Towers.  

Read that again. We didn't take away Muslims rights to worship in America because Muslims took down the Twin Towers.

Now, ask yourself this question.

Why then would we ban high capacity clips and assault rifles because a psycho killed children?

Taking away our rights as gun owners is like limiting the time for church services. STOP JUDGING AND READ THESE TWO STATEMENTS BELOW.

The right to have and bear arms… BUT only if it’s not an assault rifle and you only have 10 bullets.

Freedom of religion… BUT only if you aren’t Baptist and you only worship for 20 minutes each Sunday.

See what I did there?

The fact that you could care less about my rights as a gun owner isn’t the point. The point here is that these two statements above are EQUAL IN EXAMPLE. If we start allowing our government to control and change these rights that we were given WHERE WILL THEY STOP?

Speaking of equal, we all are. And that is why gay people should be allowed to get married. Not allowing them to is actually ridiculously against what America stands for. Present times do warrant change. But changing the laws on gay marriage is still staying within the confines of our Constitution and our Civil Rights as Americans. We aren’t TAKING AWAY ANYTHING. We are GIVING. Don’t compare the two things because they are undeniably different.

Stop shit talking the people that don’t agree with your stance on debatable issues. Tell me how your verbal abuse and name calling is any different from the words coming out of the mouths of the people that think that the Steubenville girl “got what she deserved” when she was brutally raped. Seriously. JUST LISTEN. Respect them for standing up for what they believe. Applaud them when they know the true facts that they base their opinions on. Be proud that someone KNEW WHY they voted for their presidential candidate, and didn’t vote based on some totally dumb ass uneducated reason.

My only hope as you leave this blog-debate that I challenged Riz to, is that you respect us for sharing our point of view. I have no clue what her blog will be like but I do know one thing. She is a smart, beautiful woman who knows her shit and I’ll listen to her side any damn day of the week. I am so PROUD of her. She can hug every goddamn tree in America and I’ll follow her around take the fucking pictures to prove it to you!

If you could do me one favor and share BOTH of our blogs about gun control, you will certainly win an award for being a TOTAL BRAVE BAD ASS, and true bad assery is hard to come by these days.

Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts with you. I will return the favor with the utmost respect for your beliefs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rizzo's Gun Debate

Before I get into my discussion about gun laws and why they should be altered to make this country a safer place, I want you all to know that I am in no means a fanatic. I own a gun. It was given to me by my brother for protection, and it is in my top dresser drawer with ammunition should the need arise to shoot someone. Do not think for one instant that I would NOT shoot someone who entered my home illegally and threatened to harm myself, or my family. It is a small caliber (.25 I think) pistol with a 9 round clip. I don’t know enough about it to tell you whether it is a semi-automatic or automatic, but I DO know it does NOT have to be “cocked” before every fire.  That being said, I do NOT carry this gun around on my hip (legally, in the state of Virginia, I can without a permit) and I have never fired it. Not even to see if the aim is off.  I do not believe that guns should be completely outlawed like they are in Britain. I DO think this country has a long way to go as far as gun laws are concerned. Let’s look at the second amendment. It states:          A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.  By well regulated they mean capably trained. Regulated, back then, did not mean to be encumbered by laws or government. SO we will reword this. A well trained militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

 First, I want to talk about why this may or may not have been important to add as an amendment to our constitution. Let’s look at what had recently transpired in our country. We, as a country, had just won our revolution from Britain. One of the most important factors in that war was our militiamen. Private citizens who were armed and formed a militia to fight against the British. Most of these militiamen had fought against the indians, or their fathers, brothers, or uncles had. They were well trained. Also, I am sure that, being a new country with a new constitution (which we know some people did not agree with) there were some people who were afraid of government tyranny. What better way to guard against it than to amend the constitution to say to the government that the people could and would rise up if they were being oppressed.  Now, today, I cannot say that this is a valid argument. Most private citizens are not well trained when it comes to using the tools of war. If there were to be an uprising today, it would take one of our major branches of military to lead the charge because we are just not capable of fighting against them. Our military is equipped with state of the art weapons like unmanned drones, tanks, tactical gear, and the government has nukes for crying out loud. There is no way an army of private citizens could rise up and think that they could stand a chance against our government if our branches of military were on their side. SO, in my opinion, that in itself makes void the argument that private citizens need machine guns with 30 round clips in case they ever needed to rise up against oppression. The argument is, a lot of the time, if the government has it then we should have it too. It is our right to protect ourselves from the tyranny that government can sometimes become. I say – good luck getting the uranium and plutonium to arm yourself with the nuclear devices our government has access to. It is not going to happen, and if it does, you won’t have to worry about fighting in a war because you will be in some prison under the ground somewhere for terrorism.

 Another popular argument is for the hunter. They need their guns so that they can go out and kill deer, squirrels, bears, birds, ad nauseum.  I know quite a few people who hunt. Some for sport, and some because they actually feed their families that way. I would NEVER want to take away their guns. I WOULD want to regulate what guns they are using for hunting. The last time I heard, if you had to use an AK47 to kill a deer, then you are doing it wrong. How did people feed themselves and protect themselves from bears before these guns were manufactured? They are just not necessary. So, the hunter’s argument is gone.  Keep your rifles, your pistols, and your shotguns. Keep your scopes and your 10 or 12 round clips. Give back the assault rifles and machine guns, because you just do not need them.

 There are some people who would say that we are Americans. This country was founded on freedom. It is and should be our right to have any gun we want. For this argument, we are going to look into some of the massacres that have occurred over the past couple of decades, and some of the laws and regulations that go into purchasing a gun. In 1999, in Colorado, two teenage boys walked into their high school armed and killed 13 people, injuring 24. It took about 49 minutes from when they began to when they killed themselves.  In 2007 a Virginia man entered his college campus and killed 32 people, injuring 17. It happened in two separate incidents over a two hour period. In 2012, a man entered a theater in Colorado and opened fire killing 12 people and injuring 58 in a 15 minute time period. In 2012, a young man entered an elementary school where he butchered 26 people (20 of them under 8 years old) in less than five minutes. In more than one of these cases it was later found that the perpetrator had a history of mental illness. They were all Americans living with the same freedoms that we all are afforded. So, if we use this last argument, they all should have been allowed to have those guns. I just cannot get on board with that.

 Let’s take a look at what goes into a mental health check when purchasing a gun. Keep in mind that all of the background and mental health checks can be avoided by buying through a private citizen! (It has been estimated that private sales provide for 40% of gun transactions) First, the buyer fills out a Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) Form 4473 by hand, providing simple yes or no answers to a series of questions about criminal, mental health and substance abuse history. The dealer then queries the National Instant Criminal Background Check System (NICS) database maintained by the FBI via a toll-free telephone number or through the NICS E-Check System online (in a handful of states the dealer contacts the state police who in turn contact NICS). This instant computer check searches the NICS database for any disqualifying records that would prohibit that individual from buying a gun. During the check, the system does not disclose to gun dealers any actual information about these records. Dealers are simply seeing one of three responses from NICS on their computer screen: proceed, denied or delayed. The specific disqualifications related to mental health are quite narrow. Under federal law, an individual is prohibited from buying or possessing firearms if they have been “adjudicated as a mental defective” or “committed to a mental institution.” A person is “adjudicated as a mental defective” if a court — or other entity having legal authority to make adjudications — has made a determination that an individual, as a result of mental illness: 1) Is a danger to himself or to others; 2) Lacks the mental capacity to contract or manage his own affairs; 3) Is found insane by a court in a criminal case, or incompetent to stand trial, or not guilty by reason of lack of mental responsibility pursuant to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. . A person is “committed to a mental institution” if that person has been involuntarily committed to a mental institution by a court or other lawful authority. This expressly excludes voluntary commitment. There is no guarantee, however, that a formal record of adjudication or involuntary commitment will find its way into the NICS database. Often disqualifying mental health records go unreported by the states. In Colorado, for example, only about 1% of people who have disqualifying mental health histories have been reported to NICS.

Another problem is that few Americans suffering from serious mental illness ever come into contact  with the “system” or receive treatment for their condition(s). According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), approximately 10% of children and adolescents suffer from mental illnesses. Yet only 20% of this group have been diagnosed and are receiving services. Looking at adults, approximately 1 in 17 live with a serious mental disorder such as schizophrenia, major depression, or bipolar disorder. Yet less than one third receive mental health services.  

 So you see, unless you have been involuntarily committed, or judged to be mentally unstable by a legal entity, you can purchase a gun! If you are one of the thousands of people without health insurance and you have mental instability, but cannot afford to go to a doctor, your gun rights are safe! The man who committed the shooting in the theater in Colorado actually gave his therapist a notebook detailing how he was going to do it before he did it. He had been diagnosed as schizophrenic He had no business buying, operating, or being allowed in a home with guns! If you are convicted of a felony in this country, no matter if it is a violent one or not, you are not allowed to occupy the same home or vehicle that any gun occupies. It is an automatic 5 years in prison. If you are a felon and you get out of jail or prison and have to move in with your parents who are NOT felons they have to get rid of their guns. However, if you are mentally unstable, you can be around all the guns you like. This needs to change. I also think that people who are on high doses of medications that cause serious side effects, or are used to control mental stability should not be allowed to be around guns. If you are so nervous that you have to take more than a 1 mg bedtime dose of Klonopin, Xanax, or Ativan then you do not need a gun! I know, because I have been there. I have panic attacks. I was prescribed 1 mg of Klonopin 4 times a day to help me deal with my anxiety. I was a zombie! I am not saying that I could not function on a day to day basis. I am not saying that I did not know what was going on around me. I am saying that I should not have been allowed to purchase a gun while on that medication! It alters your decision making abilities. If your medication has a sticker on it that says you can’t drive a car, then you should not be able to buy a gun! There are plenty of people ( myself included) who have minor problems (such as panic attacks) and find other ways of dealing with them, such as meditation or yoga. Once the medication has been stopped, and you are cleared by a physician then perhaps you could own a gun. I also think we need to start holding these mental health doctors liable for their patients whom they do not report as being possibly dangerous. Before you go off about costs and insurance let me tell you that I am a bleeding heart liberal and I believe that everyone in this country should be able to have the same health care benefits our government receives at the same cost they pay for it! I also think that the mental health system in this country needs to be changed. There are more and more people developing anxiety and depression problems because of stress and pressure brought on by their employment (or lack of) and the stigma of seeing a psychiatrist needs to be removed. More insurances should pay for more mental health services.  I could go on and on. The mental health background checks will do no real good until people start receiving the help they need.

 In conclusion, let me say that I do not think guns should be banned. As I stated in the beginning, I own one. I would shoot an intruder without a second thought. I do think that regulations need to be put into place to take the assault rifles and huge clips off the market. I think we should go back to owning normal rifles and handguns. I believe that mental health and its lack thereof plays a huge role in these massacres that keep happening more and more often. I believe that if you want to carry a gun anywhere outside your home that you should have to be licensed, and that you should have to take more than just a couple hour safety class. I believe that if you own a gun, yearly mental health checks should be required. If you own a gun you should have to recertify for that license just like you do to drive. It should be annual. I think that if the two sides could sit down and come to a compromise using common sense that this would not be an issue. I don’t want to take away your freedom, but I do not want to have to live in fear that an unbalanced kid will show up at school one day with a gun. None of the victims ever thought it would happen to them. None of the perpetrators families ever thought they would do what they did. Until it was too late.

*Please remember when you discuss the 2^nd amendment that it was written in the 1790’s. This illustration shows the difference between guns then, and guns today.

Sources:

http://jpfo.org/filegen-n-z/six-about-2nd.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Amendment_to_the_United_States_Constitution

http://peoplepower73.hubpages.com/hub/Gun-Control-and-the-2nd-Amendment

http://www.infographicsonly.com/the-evolution-of-guns/

http://faculty.washington.edu/qtaylor/a_us_history/1700_1800_timeline.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Columbine_High_School_massacre

http://www.cnn.com/2013/03/28/us/connecticut-shooting-documents

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Tech_massacre

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Aurora_shooting

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gun_laws_in_Virginia

http://vacps.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=77:nra-seeks-to-weaken-background-check-system-in-virginia&catid=36:posts

http://www.workthreat.com/wordpress/mental-health-checks-when-purchasing-a-gun/

Frenchy's Foliies... Celebrity Obsession

I have an entire cart full of groceries. The ice cream is melting from the indecisiveness of my youngest son. Does he want strawberries? Apples? Grapes? I grab the strawberries and make a b-line for my very very favorite part of going to the grocery store. The tabloid magazines! The more unbelievable stories on the front cover, the better. I grab the juiciest one and flip through the pages. I tune out my boy whining, the people around me. Who gives a shit if the ice cream melts? I want to know if Jennifer is finally pregnant and if Kim faked her reality show for ratings!!!

Yes, you know who I'm talking about don't you? I'm on a first name basis with these people. They are a part of my everyday life. I look to them to find out what will be "in" this spring. I want need to know who they are dating. I'm happy for them when they get married. I'm sad when they split up.

You may not be aware that there is an actual psychological illness called "Celebrity Worship Syndrome". It really does exist! It's defined as "an obsessive-addictive disorder in which a person becomes overly involved with the details of a celebrity's personal life" (Thank you Wikipedia!) So what on earth makes us so consumed with these people?

 They are beautiful...duh! Celebrities always look fresh, wide-eyed and have remarkably smooth skin. They never look tired or old. This is called Photoshop, my friends! If you have ever seen the "before and after" Photoshop pictures, you know why they look flawless. Every wrinkle is magically erased. The zits and eye bags are zapped away. They whittle away their waists, thighs and upper arms. If only we could do this in real life, damn it!

                                                 It's Britney, bitch! Minus some pounds. Photo from The Chive

Every company on earth is sending these people hair and skin products in the hopes of them mentioning it and garnering a free celebrity endorsement. The top clothing and shoe designers are sending their fashions as well. When Britney wears Uggs new boots while being attacked by the paparazzi at Starbucks...BAM! A multi million dollar advertising campaign in the tabloids for the mere price of what it cost to make one pair of those big fuzzy boots.

Let's not forget how much money these people have too. They can hire nutritionists, trainers, hair stylists, makeup artists, and personal assistants to make sure they look their very best every time they step out of their Bentley.

 The Great Escape... Yep. I'm going there. What better way to forget your troubles than by getting obsessed with someone elses? No woman can honestly say they have not done this at one time or another. Poor Angelina has all the kids while Brad's away. Lindsay is in jail...AGAIN! Their fuck ups and drama is a total distraction from everything going on in the real world. I've caught myself leading such a boring life at times that I call my friends to announce the latest celebrity break-up or pregnancy. How lame is that??

The drama entices... We are all waiting with baited breath for the next chapter in the saga. Each tabloid leaves you with a "to be continued..."  type feeling. What will happen next? Whatever it is, it probably isn't even true. A celebrity publicist is always in the background making sure that a grand 'ol puppet show happens every chance they get. They make sure that the decisions their famous clients make get lots and lots of attention. I can just imagine them saying, "Take your engagement ring off and look like you have been crying" or "Walk down Rodeo Drive with another man while your husband is out of town". I think a lot of that shit is staged. And you know damn well that these "reality" shows are not real, they do retakes of a lot of the scenes because these dumb ass nobodies that became somebodies think they didn't reACT properly. You don't get a redo in real life, honey!

Sometimes I do feel sorry for famous people.  I have a friend who made it into the "spotlight" so to speak. I was with her every step of the way and let me tell you, it was no walk in the park. Her 15 minutes felt like an eternity. Phone call after phone call for interviews. Always having to pretend like she was ridiculously happy. People watching what she was doing. Having to look flawless just in case she needed to be on camera. Offers for services, clothes, and other items for endorsement. So many choices that it would make your head spin! Waking up early and going all day to make sure to get all the events/appointments in. It was exhausting. It wasn't even for that long. I could not even IMAGINE living life at that pace every single day. No way. Living out of a suitcase in hotels and airplanes, no thank you. People fighting to get your picture and being recognized everywhere you go, screw that.

 They can have their fortune and fame. I'll keep my yoga pants, zits, and thunder thighs. Now gimme that hot off the press Star magazine, bitch! And pass the bon bons.

Rizzo's Ramblings...You can love animals and still eat them.

Yesterday on WAVY TV 10 in Norfolk, Virginia there was a news story about PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). This is not a "new" news story, as a matter of fact, this same story has been being broadcast for years. PETA kills animals. PETA, who is most notorious for its campaigns against fur and fast food franchises does not mind euthanizing animals pets brought to it to be put up for adoption. As a matter of fact, in 2012 alone, over 1600 dogs, cats, and other companion animals were put down. 89.4% of what was brought in to them. To date, almost 30,000 animals have been slaughtered by PETA. With a 36 million dollar a year budget, you would think that they would have a no kill policy. That is not the case. Ingrid Newkirk, the president (and founder) of PETA, is more concerned with the tacky, sexual, and sometimes sickening demonstrations that PETA has become known for. “We could become a no-kill shelter immediately. It means we wouldn't do as much work." This was a direct quote from Ms. Newkirk to The Virginian-Pilot. Ms. Newkirk is so much into off the wall displays against "animal cruelty", that in her last will and testament she has left very specific instructions as to what to do with her body. She wants one of her eyes plucked out, mounted, and delivered to the U.S administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency, so that they will always be reminded that PETA is watching them. She wants her flesh to be barbecued to remind people that meat is meat no matter what species it comes from. She wants her skin to be removed and turned into leather products and put on display. This, my friends, is a radical woman. These last wishes would be very noble IF she didn't allow her home base organization to kill rescue animals, most within the first 24 hours of arriving. Please, let me be clear on this. I LOVE animals of all kinds. I believe that some of the living conditions of the animals that we, as a population, use for food are atrocious and should be changed. I am a meat eater. Does that make me callous and uncaring? No. It makes me human. It does not mean that I turn a blind eye to the fact that more and more factory farms are cropping up. These factory farms do not allow the animals enough room to grow, they do not give them a clean living environment which leads to having to give them more antibiotics. These farms have also started using growth hormones so that the "turn over" is quicker, there by making more money. I do not believe this should be the case. I, myself, have helped raised cattle that were going to market to become food for someone's dinner table. My parents had 40 acres of land and about 40 head of cattle. That is an acre per cow. These cattle were allowed to roam as they pleased, they were fed sweet feed and hay in the winter time, and they grazed on clover in the spring and summer. Antibiotics were not administered unless the cow actually needed them, and we would know immediately if they did because we were there every day. I even administered some of the shots myself. Did I, myself, ever eat a cow that I had help raise? No. I don't think I could bring myself to do that. I will also tell you that on market days my mother would be beside herself because she knew where "her babies" were going. She watched every calf on that farm be born. She was invested in their health and well being. She loved them. My mother would go out into the field in the evening and play the truck radio for them. They would all gather around and lie down. To this day, the memory of playing music for her cattle still brings a smile to her face. And she still enjoys a good steak. I have a lot of vegetarian and vegan friends. I think it is excellent. It seems to be a very healthy lifestyle, and if I could learn to like tofu, I might even try it. My point here is, you can love animals and want them to be treated better and still partake in being a carnivore. I think being honest about it would be much better than sending naked celebrities into the street and then secretly murdering those whom you say you are trying to protect. PETA is hypocritical. It is a waste of time and money, and it is ran by crazy fanatics who are in it for the shock value, not the rights of animals. If PETA would stop the crazy antics of trying to protect wharf rats, while killing thousands of dogs and cats and focus on trying to make these factory farms more humane they would garner more support from mainstream people. Although, Ingrid Newkirk, with her radical ideas may not want mainstream support. Perhaps she just likes to cater to the crazies.
Links to information regarding PETA:
Ingrid's will
Yearly PETA kill rate
WAVY TV 10 news story
Pilot online news story December 2012

Rizzo's Ramblings...I'm baaack (I think)

I am sick. I have been sick for days. A horrible, terrible, gross sick that I am not going to go into details about. Blergh. I have also been cruising Facebook, because what else are you supposed to do when you have seen everything on Netflix? Some rather startling news was brought to my attention (per usual, Facebook is where I get ALL my news, even about myself). There was this big huge rape case. One I had not even heard about because I don't watch the "real" news - it is too depressing. I am sure by now most all of you have heard about it. If not, you can read about it here, and here, and here. Those are not nearly all of the links, and you can Google it to find out all your heart desires. There was a huge uproar over the way some of the news agencies treated the judges decision. You see, a lot of people wanted to feel sorry for the two rapists because "their lives were ruined forever." After that, there were many bloggers who offered their opinions on the case, and on the way society was treating the rapists and the victim. There were blogs about what we should be teaching our children about rape. I applaud everyone who stands up for the victim. I applaud everyone who wants to teach their children better. It is not that I do not disagree. I just wonder how much good this all will do. Before you take my head off, please hear me out. Those of us who agree with the whole teach your children to stand up for someone who cannot stand up for themselves or the whole do not abuse the power you hold over someone thing are probably already teaching our children that. We are probably already teaching our children about honesty, integrity, loyalty, compassion, and love for all mankind. WE are probably not the problem here. It is the parents who teach their children that it is about what you have or who you know or where you attend school or how good you are at sports or how popular you are or how badly you can make someone feel in order to make yourself feel better - those parents are the problem. And they aren't reading these blogs. They agree with the people who feel sorry for these star athletes, whose lives have been ruined forever because some loose girl got drunk and couldn't keep her legs shut. They don't give a damn about honesty, integrity, loyalty, compassion, or love for all mankind. We ALL know these people. We ALL know their children. We ALL can probably tick them off one by one going down a list. I propose a different solution. I propose that we begin to teach other parents. I propose that WE, as parents, stand up to these other parents without fear. WE have to lead by example. We have to show our children that it is OK to go against the grain. To be kind to those who have no one else. To stand by and stand up for the one who gets picked on everyday. To take a stand against violence or bullying of any kind. We have to be there for our children and tell them how great they are making this world. We have to quit allowing them to be depressed, quit allowing them to "try to fit in", quit allowing them to harm themselves because they feel like they are worthless. WHY is depression and self harm becoming an epidemic in today's teenage society? I am no expert, but I believe that it is because our children are  under so much pressure trying to fit in and be something they are not, that this is the only way they can relieve that pressure. What better way than to punish themselves? To not allow themselves to be happy, or to hurt themselves. WE AS PARENTS can alleviate that pressure by not trying to fit in ourselves. How many times have you or someone you know been nervous to go to a school function or a ballgame because you didn't have the right clothes, or the right car, or the right connections? How many times have you not stood up for your own child because you just didn't want to make waves. How many times have you molded your personality or figures of speech so that you wouldn't be looked down upon? So that you would have a buddy or two to sit with at the school functions or the ballgames. So that people in your town wouldn't label you or treat you differently. Some of you will say that you are doing this for your children. That if you fit in, your child will have a better chance. I call bullshit. That is selfish and self serving, and you are not doing your child any favors. You are teaching them by example. You are showing them that kow towing to the people with power will help them in some way. I say we teach other parents, and in turn we teach our children by example. I say we, as parents, can stand up for ourselves and our children all at the same time. It might not turn things around in one day, and it might be the hardest thing you have ever done; but wouldn't it be worth it to have a future society who valued people on their integrity, loyalty compassion, and love for all mankind?

Frenchy's Follies... Ahhh ahh chooo!

I have a bad back. I started having problems with it in middle school actually. I turned the wrong way and BAM! I was bed ridden for a week. On and off I had the same problem through my teens and into adulthood. The older I got, the shorter the time in between the next time it would go out. Finally my primary care doctor decided to refer me to an orthopedic surgeon that specializes in the spine.

I had an MRI done and it was determined that I have Degenerative Disc Disease and a bulging disc at level L4/L5. The disc would get inflamed and touch the nerve when I did too much and it caused my back to ache or give out. The doctor recommended that I have surgery to shave down the disc. I refused to do it because I had heard of  way too many people that had back surgery and regretted it for one reason or another.

Boy was that a mistake.

I ended up opting to have epidural steroid injections into my spine instead. And yes, they are just as painful as they sound. Actually they were even worse than having a real epidural because the disk was so inflamed that when they would inject the liquid the pressure was so great that it caused me to spew obscenities from my mouth like a sailor. That poor doctor. I alternated between these shots and trigger point injections and neither seemed to help for very long. I was on and off narcotics and muscles relaxers for several years. Until THAT DAY. The day my life changed forever.

It was a Saturday night. I was getting ready to go to my birthday party that some of my friends had put together for me at a local restaurant. I was so excited! My last birthday party had been ruined by a snow storm the year before so I kinda felt a little gypped and this year we were gonna make up for it. I couldn't wait! I had just gotten dressed and I walked into the bathroom and I felt a tickle in my nose.

I sneezed.

And it changed my life forever.

I fell instantly to my knees. A pain shot down my leg that was so bad I almost projectile vomited. I screamed for my boyfriend. He came running in and picked me up off the floor (no easy task, let me tell you). Thankfully I had some Vicodin left from the last time my back had gone out. I took it and swore no matter what, I'm going to my goddamn birthday party. Nothing is going to fuck this up. So, somehow I managed to get myself ok enough to make it to the party. I had dinner, and then had to leave because I was hurting so bad. I took another pill, got my pj's on and went to bed.

In the middle of the night, a H U G E cramp in my calf and foot woke me up out of a dead sleep, I screamed at the top of my lungs and could not stop wailing and screaming. My foot was all bent up like peoples hands get when they have a stroke. I cannot even put into words how bad this pain was. Doody (my bf) jumped clear out of bed to help me as I'm puking and puking and puking. Somehow he managed to get me down the stairs. I couldn't stop throwing up. In between heaves I begged him to call 9-1-1. He wouldn't do it at first. So I went all Exorcist head spinning crazy and said
 "DO IT" in some kinda satanic voice that I've never before and never again heard come out of my mouth. He knew I meant business. He called and the ambulance was there in minutes.

They get me to the ER and what happened to me is what happens to so many people and this really pisses me off. They drugged me up. Refused to do any tests and said that it was just sciatica and sent me home, not even able to walk. They practically THREW me into the car and sent me on my way.

I did ok that night. Probably because of the huge amounts of morphine they gave me in my IV. But that next morning, I was dying in pain AGAIN! And I noticed that I couldn't move my right foot anymore and it was kinda dragging behind me. My mom picked me up and took me back to the hospital. By the time we got there I was screaming, SCREAMING at the top of my lungs. The pain in my back, leg and foot was absolutely unbearable. I scared the ever-living shit out of everyone in the waiting room. They took me back and I demanded an MRI. "Something is not right", I told the doctor. "I'm not leaving here until you do an MRI". So they did.

That bulging disc in my back had ruptured. It happened from A SNEEZE. That damn sneeze on the night of my party. There was a piece of that disc sitting on the nerve in my back that controls my right leg and foot. This is why I couldn't feel the skin on my leg, and why my foot wasn't working. They had to move fast. This could cripple me.

They contacted my orthopedic surgeon that I had been seeing because I wanted him to do whatever needed to be done. He talked to me and told me that he would have to fuse the two vertebrae above and below the ruptured disc. He took me into surgery and put me back together. The surgeon said that he had never seen such a large piece of disc hit a nerve like that without severing it. I don't remember a whole lot of the hospital stay, but I do remember waking up in recovery and hearing him going around and showing everyone the piece of my disc he took out of the nerve canal. I was in a drug haze the entire 5 days I spent in the hospital. My crazy ass boyfriend took several videos of me talking to the kids (they weren't there), bitching at him to do the laundry, telling him he stunk (I'm pretty sure it was me, I wasn't allowed to shower!). So yeah, thanks Doody for taking that footage and showing me and everyone we know when I looked like shit and my hair wasn't done!

After the surgery I went through rehabilitation, took lots of drugs, did physical therapy, and still, I was in severe pain. And I couldn't feel the side of my leg and the top of my foot. I had a slight limp, and if I overexerted myself my foot would drag slightly. Needless to say, no way this girl was going back to do hair anytime soon. Thank god my employees kept on working and doing their job so I could still get a paycheck and support my family!

After 6 months I still wasn't getting any better. I went to work one day to do an order and one of my stylists introduced me to her client whose husband basically provides stem cell patches that are being used in a new spinal fusion surgery. He actually is in the operating room and at the end of the fusion, before they sew you up, he wraps this cloth around the two vertebrae and that cloth has stem cells on it and the cells turn into BONE!! So basically the bone grows over top of the metal plate they put in to replace the disc. This wonderful client makes a call and gets me into this genius neurosurgeon's office to look at my films to find out what the hell is going on.

Because I have Degenerative Disc Disease,  the doctor explained that the disc below my fusion had worn down so much that the two vertebra's were actually touching. When I would lay down to go to bed and try to get back up to pee or whatever, my back would totally lock up, causing excruciating pain and I couldn't even move. It would take forever for it to ease up enough to finally get out of bed. I became terrified of nighttime knowing that this would happen. I had bouts with insomnia because of that fear. The neurosurgeon told me that he would have to fuse that level as well. So here I go again. Another fusion, less than a year apart! I couldn't even freak out at this point I was numb and depressed. Being unable to play with my kids and do the job that I love so much was tearing me apart. I felt like my life had gotten ripped out from under me.

I had the second fusion about a year ago. Although it has helped stop my back from locking up, I still have pain that would probably kill a horse. They have determined that the nerve damage that has caused atrophy in my leg and numbness in my leg and foot is permanent. It will never get better. I will never be able to do hair for a living again. I cannot stand or sit or even lay down for long periods without excruciating pain. I can't lift anything, and when I drop something, if I squat down I have a hell of a time getting up.

 This is my back. Just call me the Bionic Woman!

I battled depression. I couldn't believe that I could not take care of my clients. Or ride a roller coaster. Even having sex would cause my back to hurt so bad that I would pay for it for days after. I had to turn my thinking around and learn how to tolerate the pain and push it as far back in my mind as I could. I had to look at the bright side and be thankful that I can walk. I can't tell you how many doctors and therapists have looked at my chart and told me how very LUCKY I am to not be crippled. I have learned to appreciate that and everything else wonderful in my life, my man, my beautiful kids. The salon and my peeps there that work so hard for me to be able to provide for my boys. I am so grateful for all of that. Clearly you can see that I fought the depression AND I WON. (I'm proud of myself for that)

I am currently in pain management. They want to put a spinal cord stimulator in my back to help block the pain message to my brain. I had an appointment set up to have it surgically implanted on April 3rd and I cancelled it today. Honestly, I need a break from surgery. They have me on meds that are helping enough to get me through right now. And the thought of a battery pack being implanted under the skin of my butt cheek isn't real appealing to me, quite frankly. I was worrying myself to death over it and I feel relieved to know that I'm not getting it done now. The option to have it is always there and I know it. Just not right now.

I still cannot believe that A SNEEZE fucked my life up like this. But it did.

Bet I know what you will think of next time you feel that tickle in your nose!

*Disclaimer... Clearly I know people have had way worse shit happen to them. This blog is just the story of my life's twists and turns and how they have molded me in to who I am.

Rizzo's Ramblings...procrastination

It occurred to me that the only things I have been blogging about are horrific (to me anyway), and so I thought I would try something different. I am a procrastinator. I procrastinate about procrastinating. The longer I can put something off the better. And it doesn't matter what it is or how great it would be for me. I am, at this moment in time, putting off any kind of physical exercise and quitting smoking. I know that both would be beneficial to my health, as well as to each other. If I quit smoking I would be able to exercise easier, and if I exercised it would make not smoking easier. Yes. All that makes sense. It sounds good. Hell, it looks good on paper. SO, I don't do either one and make up a myriad of excuses as to why. I can come up with some doozies too, let me tell ya! The last time I tried to quit smoking someone in my family died. That was my excuse for a whole year. - I can't quit smoking! You wouldn't want anybody to die again, would you? HA! Utter bullshit. The truth of the matter is I am scared. Change (of any kind) totally fucks me up. I guess its some sort of disorder - you pick I don't care - but I like to have things a certain way and I like them to stay like that. Today, for instance, I upgraded from IPOD to IPHONE. Not that big of a change, but goddamn, it caused me to be a horrific bitch. I had my Ipod set up just the way I wanted. All the notifications and ringtones and apps and bullshit were just where I wanted them to be. I thought I could just come home, hook the ol' Iphone up to my trusty laptop and it would do the work for me. Yeah, that did NOT happen. As soon as I hooked the phone up, my computer wouldn't sync it. Instead, it wanted to install an updated version of the IOS. Now, keep in mind, the damn phone had been activated and already had *some* of my stuff on it. What happened next, literally, caused me to take a pill. THE WHOLE DAMN THING WAS ERASED. I mean it was absofuckinglutley blank. Didn't even have my Apple ID in it any more. SO, I waited 20 minutes for the update to download and install. I assumed that my laptop, in its infinite wisdom  would know to PUT MY SHIT BACK. My laptop must not have realized how much I was depending on it for my sanity, because it didn't do dick! *I* had to start from scratch with the whole welcome to Apple or whatever the hell the very first ever screen is on an Iphone. And I signed in again. Well, I am not a savant, but I am not computer illiterate either and I decided to tell my laptop to just sync with the damn phone. I am good at giving orders. Apparently, I don't speak iCloud. (Are you fucking kidding me? I literally have a cloud over my head all the time like in the cartoons?!?!) It took me 2 HOURS just to get my music and apps on this damn phone. TWO WHOLE GOD DAMN HOURS!!! What. The. Fuck. At that point, I decided to listen to the book I started a few days ago on my audible app. Guess what. The sonofabitch wanted me to sign in to Audible. You guys. If I can sign in and hit a button that says remember me, then that is one less thing I have to keep track of. I didn't know the password. That was not my job. That was my Ipod's job. My Ipod still knows the password. My Ipod still has my place saved in the book I was listening to. This Iphone has got a lot of 'splaining to do. Now, if I can just remember the eye color of my pre school teachers cat so I can answer my secret question, I will be in good shape!!

Frenchy's Follies... First Encounter

Welp. It happened. My first encounter with a Crazy Motherfucker since we started the blog. I knew it wouldn't take long!

I'm gonna venture out of my little hiding hole and tell you guys a little bit more about myself. As you may have read in my first blog here, I am a business owner, and have been for ten years now. WHAT KIND of business I own is what will keep my blog full of crazy, interesting shit. And lots of it.

I own a hair salon.

A really nice, contemporary salon in an upscale area. Now I'm sure you all know that people tell all kinds of crap to their hairstylists, I will not break the "Hairstylist Oath" and tell other peoples dirty little secrets. Unless they are REAL juicy.

Anyways...

I went into work today to check on my peeps. To make sure they have enough color and shampoo and all the other crap they need to do their job. I just so happened to answer the phone and an older lady wanted to get a haircut today with someone who is really good (duh, they all are) and that will be patient with her and focus on "cutting hair and not running their mouth" as she so eloquently put it. Alright, let's stop right there.

I guess this was supposed to be my "sign"  that this lady was batshit crazy. But honestly, people say things like that all the time and we hairstylists view it as a challenge to make that person happy, no matter what. My peeps are really really good at what they do, and usually it works out great and the customer becomes a regular. NOT THIS TIME!

I'm walking around, blah blahing it up with all these customers that I know, doing my "duty" as the owner to entertain them and ever so slightly kiss their ass. I see an older lady with some FUCKED UP HAIR and two duckbill clips holding the sides back. I instantly knew that this is the lady.

                 
This is a duckbill clip. You don't

 wear this shit like a barrette in your hair people!

I had scheduled her with a newbie who is very patient, thorough, talented as shit. And preggo.

The lady sits down. She starts bitching about the directions I gave her to get to the salon. Which were absolutely accurate and I gave them to her twice. She whips out a curling iron from her purse and plugs that thing into the outlet and turns it on. She gives the same boring speech to Preggo as she did me, about no one giving her what she wants and Preggo asks her what exactly that is. This is when the Crazy Motherfucker came out.

She wants her HAIR CUT. She wants it CUT, blown dry, curling ironed and when Preggo is done, she wants her hair to land here (as she points to a place THREE INCHES LONGER than her fucking hair!!!)

MMMk. Preggo is stunned. Doesn't even say anything because I'm sure she is either holding back laughter or thinking to herself You have got to be kidding me!

The lady then asks to see Preggo's scissors. Preggo says no. The lady DEMANDS them while shouting "What's wrong with all of you people? Why can't I ever get anyone to do my hair that understands what I want?" So funny enough, even though we hairstylists practically take a VOW to never let customers touch our tools, Preggo hands her the scissors. The lady wants to show her how she wants her to hold the scissors to cut her hair. Preggo quickly takes them back and the lady gets SUPER pissed off and says, "If you aren't going to let me show you what I want then maybe I should leave" And all those hormones inside of sweet, quiet Preggo forced her to say, "I THINK YOU SHOULD!" So, in a blaze of pure craziness, old lady gets up, grabs her curling iron and heads to the door, all the while bitching and griping about how she doesn't understand why no one can cut her hair right and what is wrong with everyone that cuts hair around here, blah blah blah...

Now, normally I would have stepped in, put on my big girl panties, and taken care of this in my normal ultra professional manner. But I was indisposed and was not able to do a damn thing to intervene. However, it would have ended the same I'm afraid. I would have said to her that it was clear that we weren't going to be able to make her happy, and that I could recommend another salon she could try instead of using us. Then I would have sent her over to my greatest competitor to TOTALLY fuck with them. Mwahahaha.

Just kidding.
Maybe.

And that my peeps, is the first and certainly not the last encounter with a...

Crazy Motherfucker.

Rizzo's Ramblings...Heartbreak.

This is part of a one month supply that we get every month. It is all the trappings necessary to care for an insulin dependent type 1 diabetic on an insulin pump. I would so much love to be able to say that all of this belong to me. However, I cannot. You see this belongs to my 14 year old daughter. She was diagnosed a type 1 diabetic on March 5, 2010. Almost a month after her eleventh birthday. About a week before she had come to me with her little netbook that she had gotten for Christmas open to WEB MD on a page that listed all the symptoms and signs of diabetes.

These symptoms may be the first signs of type 1 diabetes, or may occur when the blood sugar is high:

Being very thirsty

Feeling hungry

Feeling tired or fatigued

Having blurry eyesight

Losing the feeling or feeling tingling in your feet

Losing weight without trying

Urinating more often

For other people, these warning symptoms may be the first signs of type 1 diabetes, or they may happen when the blood sugar is very high (see: diabetic ketoacidosis):

Deep, rapid breathing

Dry skin and mouth

Flushed face

Fruity breath odor

Nausea or vomiting, inability to keep down fluids

Stomach pain

Visit this page here

As she walked up to me she was crying sobbing. As her mother I was immediately concerned. I, of coursed, asked her what was wrong. Mom, I think I have diabetes. I laughed at her. I told her of course she did not have diabetes. I asked her if she had been very hungry or thirsty more than usual. She answered no. I asked her if she could see alright. She answered yes. I asked her if she could feel her feet. She answered yes. I got her calmed down and explained to her that what was probably going on with her body was puberty. She had not yet started her period, I was expecting it to happen at any time. Her face had begun to break out, and all of us women know that acne is a sure sign that puberty is either right around the corner or has just arrived. I told her to quit looking things up on the internet for crying out loud! SHe felt better about it and went on with her life. Fast forward to March 4, 2010. She had softball practice. Not just regular softball practice, she was on two teams. Little league and a travel ball team. She really was that damn good. I took her to practice and got to talking to the other moms about how thin my daughter had gotten. I asked them if they thought she looked taller. I began speculating if someone had said something to her about her weight (she had been a little pudgy but jesus she was a baby, aren't they all?!?) I asked the other moms if they thought it was possible that my daughter had developed an eating disorder. At this point one spoke up and said that her daughter had mentioned that my daughter had been giving her lunch away at school. So we all looked a little closer at her. Man, she was awful pale. White almost. She was also very slow and sluggish and uncoordinated. She definitely didn't have her head in the practice. The coach's wife called her over to have some M&M's ( what kids turns down candy and at this point we were all convinced she was anorexic).  All my daughter wanted was water. When she was handed the bottle of water her hand was shaking so badly that she spilled it down the front of herself before she could get it to her mouth. At that point I called practice. Something was not right. I told my daughter I was taking her home and on the way we were stopping at the grocery store to buy whatever she wanted for dinner. Because she was going to eat dinner. She opted for a peanut butter sandwich and strawberries. I got her home got a few bites of the sandwich in her and a couple strawberries and she decided she was going to bed. I began praying for the flu. About 1 o'clock that morning she woke me up because she had vomited. I started thanking my lucky stars. Never in my life had I been so happy to think one of my children had the flu. The next morning we get up and my daughter says she is hungry. I celebrate again, and give her dry cereal in a baggie with a glass of milk. About fifteen minutes later she comes to me and says Mom I am shaking and I don't know why and I can't stop. I freaked. I loaded her up into the car and did 100 miles an hour to the hospital which is about 20 miles away. On the way to the hospital as I am talking to my daughter I notice that she has begun to slur her words. Once we get to the hospital I notice that she isn't walking correctly. She seems to be dragging her feet. We get in and I tell them her symptoms and that I have no idea what could be wrong and they rush her back to a room. The nurse explains to me that they will begin testing by drawing blood, but if that shows nothing they will have to do a spinal tap. Will I agree to that. I told that woman I didn't care what they had to do but they had better find out what was wrong with my daughter. Her heart rate was over 130 beats per minute and her blood pressure was higher than mine, and I have borderline high blood pressure. They started an IV and drew blood. Within 15 minutes the same nurse comes back in and says they have to stop the IV. I asked why. She said a doctor would be  in to talk to me shortly, but in the mean time they had to get a venous blood gas. I told her to take what they needed. AT this point my daughter was barely conscience. The doctor came in a few minutes later and informed me my daughters blood sugar was over 600. The hospital was not equipped to deal with a pediatric type 1 patient, let alone someone who is newly diagnosed. They called the children's hospital which is an hour away and had her transported to the PICU there. She stayed for a week. It took 5 hours of an insulin drip for my daughter to become fully conscience. She had went into full blown diabetic keto-acidosis or DKA for short. She was literally dying. She had to have 2 IV's one to put medicine in and one to get blood out because (even to this day) she has uncooperative veins and she is a hard stick. Her potassium was dangerously low and it took 4 of the 5 days to flush all the ketones out of her system. Type 1 diabetes is an auto immune disease in which the immune system attacks and destroys the islets (insulin producing cells) in the pancreas. Type 1 diabetes does not just happen over night. Diabetic keto-acidosis does not just happen overnight. If I had taken my daughter serious a week earlier and just taken her to the doctor and said I know it is ridiculous but check just in case my daughter would not have had to go through all of that. I will carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life. Today, three years later, she is healthy ( as healthy as she can be with uncontrolled type 1 diabetes. She is what they call brittle) and happy. Well, as happy as a 14 year old girl who attends middle school can be. We fight this monster daily. She has to check her sugar (which means pricking her finger) seven times a day at least. She has horrendous lows (in the 40's) to the point that she cannot feel her arms or legs and we have to pour as much sugar into her as fast as we can so that she doesn't pass out. She has highs( so high the meter won't read) and all she can do is sleep. One day I want to be able to say type 1 diabetes is a thing of the past. Until then, she and I will fight this one day at a time.

Rizzo's Ramblings...Trauma

So I have another story to tell. There is no telling how often I will blog because I have so many stories. This one is about my dad. In 1999 on July 14 I get a call from my mom. My dad had a heart attack and was in the local hospital. My sister, Jackass, (whom I wrote about here) was living with me at the time. Both of us freaked out and high tailed it to the hospital. When we arrived my dad was sitting up on the gurney telling the nurses he needed a drink and a smoke. We all laughed and knew everything was going to be ok. They did a cardiac cath and not only was there no damage to his heart, but he did not have ANY kind of blockages. They were amazed at the health of his heart. He was prescribed nitro glycerin tablets, told to quit smoking, and take two weeks off work. The doctors believed stress was what caused the heart attack. Now, my dad worked every day his whole life. Double hernia? He worked until they forced the operation on him. When it was time to get the staples removed he bought a fifth of liquor, palmed a few percocet, and removed them himself. Needless to say, he did not make it a week without going back to work. Fast forward to August 20 of the same year. Ten days after his fiftieth birthday. He got up and left for work just like any normal day. Halfway to the job he started having chest pains and realized he had left his nitro at home. He made it back to the house, sat down in his favorite recliner got an aspirin and a nitro under his tongue and fell out in seizures. My dad is six feet three inches tall and weighed about 250 pounds. My mom is five foot nothing. She called nine one one and proceeded to try to do CPR. It took the paramedics ten minutes to get there, and that is about how long my dad had been dead. No oxygen to the brain. The paramedics applied the paddles and got his heart to start beating again. This time when I got the call I was in the shower and it was my cousin who called me. He told me that dad had had another heart attack. I was just about to blow it off when he said "It doesn't look good. You need to hurry up and get here if you want to see him alive." I don't remember getting to the hospital. At this point (August) I had already had to kick Jackass out and so we were not on speaking terms. I am not sure who called her, but someone did. When I got to the hospital my dad was still in one of the trauma rooms in the emergency department. He was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and "posturing". If you don't know what that is, it is involuntary muscle spasms that a person's body goes through after severe brain damage. He couldn't speak, but tears were streaming down his face. I had to leave the room. We sat in the waiting room and waited. And waited some more. No one had any good answers. All that the neurologist would tell us was that he had 72 hours. Either his brain would stop swelling (lack of oxygen causes the brain to swell) or he would die. 72 hours. That is what we were given. So with that we all went home. My mother was so broken she did nothing but cry and hang on to one of my dads work shirts he had worn earlier in the week. She couldn't (wouldn't?) communicate with the doctors, so I was listed as the next of kin. I was to make all the decisions about his care, and I would be the one to receive the death call that all the doctors predicted we would get. In the middle of that night my phone rang. I didn't want to answer it expecting it to be the hospital. It was Jackass. She was tore out of the frame (per usual) and had went to the wrong hospital looking for our dad. She was so convinced that the hospital staff was lying to her about him not being there that she caused a scene and was escorted by security out of the building. As she was walking down their steps she fell and got herself admitted to the same wrong hospital for a bump on the head. As she was telling me all of this I could hear her good for nothing boyfriend yelling in the background. The next thing I knew Jackass was asking me to pick her up off the corner they had dumped her out on. I said no. I couldn't leave the phone. Jackass never made it to the hospital to see my dad. More about her in a bit. For the next 72 hours I practically lived at the hospital. The swelling stopped. He was going to make it. The problem now was they weren't sure if he was going to be in a permanent vegetative state. They kept measuring his brain waves and they were practically non existent  For two more days I endured what I considered bullshit by the hospital staff. I had a couple nurses thrown off his case. The biggie was when I went over the cardiologists head to the hospital administrator of a different hospital to have my dad moved. I was tired of their shit. At this point Jackass called my mom (Jackass and I were half sisters. Shared the same father but had different mothers). Jackass informed my mom that she was going to sue my mom and myself for alienation of affection because she did not get to see dad in the hospital. Still she was convinced a whole hospital lied to her about my dad being a patient just to keep her away from him.  SO now, not only was my mom incoherent as far as my dad but she was angry because of Jackass. You know what she did? She had a few too many drinks and showed up at my house drunk. To cry. On my shoulder. In the midst of all this, I was moving. My new house was not going to be ready for a week and so I had to go stay with my brother (half again. Moms son but not dads) until I could move into my new house because my lease was up on the old one. I had to give my brothers phone number to the hospital so that they could reach me there in case dad needed emergency treatment or took a turn for the worse. At this point it had been 3 weeks. Dad had been put on a feeding tube, was in adult diapers, and had to have what looked like boxing gloves on his hands because he was involuntarily scrubbing his face with his hand and pulling out the feeding tube. They didn't help, so the tube went straight into his stomach instead of up his nose and down into it. The cardiologist told us dad had went into fibrillation and a defibrillator could be implanted in his heart, but what would the point be if he was a vegetable? Why prolong his life he said. So no defibrillator.  The day before I was supposed to move from my brother's into my new house the phone rang. It was the hospital. They asked to speak to me, and I could see the trepidation in my brothers face when he handed me the phone. Then I hear the words "Your father opened his eyes this morning and he knows his name."  At that point I was charged with getting him on disability. That was easier than expected. I just don't think they can deny someone who has already been dead once...You guys. They called him the miracle man. He didn't know how to tie his shoes, or read, or write, and for a very long time he was delusional and had hallucinations. He would go from being coherent and knowing what he was talking about to thinking that someone was out to get him and had planted explosives in the hospital to try to kill him. He had to take about ten different medications several times a day. Finally, his lifetime limit ran out on his health insurance and no rehab center would keep him. SO I helped my mom take him home and made lists of schedules so she could give the right medicine to him at the right time. I helped her move all the guns out of the house because sometimes he fancied himself Wyatt Earp. I have pictures of that day. You can see the vacant look in my dads eyes. You can tell he doesn't know who the hell any of us are. He actually accused us of stealing his furniture as we took it out of the house to make it safer for him to move around in. I am pleased to say that NOW fifteen years later you could not look at or talk to him and know he ever went through any of this. Except for when he tells you he is stupid because he has been dead once. He doesn't remember much of it at all. That is probably a good thing. I remember every horrible second. For years I couldn't talk about it without crying because I never got to. I didn't have time. I had to take care of everyone else. Including my fiance and his three children. Yes. I am crazy. I have been traumatized. My dad died. Now I will have to go through him dying again. God help me when that happens.

Frenchy's Follies... This is me.

Who are these CRAZY MOTHEREFFERS that started this blog?? Let me give you some background about me.

                     37 years young, former fatty, parents divorced when I was 12, which pretty much fucked up my teens. Started working in my field (customer service oriented) when I was 16, married at 24, worked my way up the ladder and opened up my own business (same field) at 26. I had my first baby boy at 29, second boy at 32, separated at 34. Had a huge health ordeal and two crazy ass surgeries at 35 that has made working in the field I love not possible and changed my life forever. So now I just tell people what to do instead of working along side them :) I have an amazing boyfriend Doody, who has two young boys too. Clearly I am surrounded by way too much testosterone, and CM's, the teenage years will be super fucking interesting! I like talking, shopping, botox, hair color, food, cooking and sex. Yes I said sex. Not sure why so many gals don't wanna do it but I sure like it. I mean, I'm in my prime, I need to get it while the gettings good! Plus I feel ok about myself, I've managed to eat healthier and look better than I ever have (I said FORMER fatty) and no I don't exercise. Exercising is the devil. And I hate outside. Unless I'm in Mexico or Hawaii sipping fruity drinks on a white sand beach. I like that kind of outside! I'm a priss but remarkably down to earth. I have friends of all types, dirt poor to rolling in the dough. If you are cool I'll be your friend. I help other people waaaaaaay too much, I get walked on more than a damn sidewalk. I'm trying to put myself first. I'm using this blog as my voice to speak out on what pisses me off or share funnyhaha's with you folks. So sit back, relax and enjoy the ride, Mothereffer's!

Rizzo's Ramblings

OK. SO I guess you are wondering what kind of blog this is going to be. Just how crazy are we talking here? Let me give you an idea....

Rizzo had a sister who was a heroin/narcotic addict. We will call her Jackass. Jackass was your typical drug addict. She did whatever she had to do in order to put drugs first in her life. Keep in mind that this was Rizzo's older sister. Someone she was supposed to look up to and take advice from under normal circumstances. Jackass hit so many bottoms in her life that no one (and I do mean no one) would come to her aid. No one, that is, except for Rizzo. Rizzo was put into some crazy situations. Like dealing with the FBI because of Jackass' prescription fraud. Speaking on numerous occasions to bounty hunters. Being arrested on false charges trumped up by Jackass because she was mad at Rizzo. At some point (after having to kick Jackass out numerous times) Rizzo had had enough. Rizzo cut Jackass off. No more talking on the phone, no more driving to rescue her, just no more. This communication breakdown lasted maybe 6 to 8 months. Then one day Rizzo gets a call from the father that she shares with Jackass. Jackass is in the hospital. Jackass has had a heart attack. Can Rizzo please call the hospital in the far away county Jackass is in to find out what the hell is going on. Rizzo wants to know why Dad or Jackass' kids can't do it. They don't want to have to deal with Jackass in case it is just a trick. Rizzo knows how to handle Jackass and certainly doesn't mind throwing her drug riddled ass out. Rizzo called. Jackass did NOT have a heart attack. JAckass MIGHT HAVE a blockage. Jackass MIGHT HAVE to have a cardiac cath. Jackass did no such thing. This is how Rizzo begins talking to Jackass again. Several times a day Jackass would call and tell Rizzo how wonderful \things were going. Jackass had a job. Jackass was not taking anything anymore. Well, except for her prescribed medications, but she needed those for her nerves and her liver pain. (yeah right) Jackass had a wonderful boyfriend. Then one day Jackass called with some bad news. One of her roommates friends was jealous of Jackass. Because Jackass was beautiful (she was) and smart (that too) and Jackass just generally had it going on. Rizzo knew this to be code for - we are running out of drugs and somehow I have more than everybody else. They now want them and will do anything in their power to get them including threatening my job, home, etc. The roommates friend had called Jackass' employer and informed them that Jackass was on crack. Jackass was fired. Jackass was not getting along with said roommate  Jackass needed a place to go. Rizzo had learned that lesson. Rizzo told Jackass to go back to a shelter, get a new job, and get her own place. Like she had done before. A few days later Jackass called with phone numbers to shelters, women's centers, and halfway houses. Jackass was ready and willing to go. She just needed to find a place that had an opening. It would only take a few days. Rizzo has a clause in her lease that says she cannot move people into her apartment. Rizzo thanked all that was holy for that clause that day. The following Sunday Jackass called and said she was in trouble. Her roommate may try to kill her. Her roommate had been doing some illegal things and Jackass had called and reported her. Jackass gave Rizzo the roommates birth date and social security number over the phone while Rizzo grocery shopped. Rizzo told Jackass she didn't have a pen. Rizzo blew Jackass off because Jackass was high. That night Rizzo's husband Gets a call. His father is not going to make it. Jackass calls a few hours later to give her condolences. Jackass is upset. She knew Rizzo's father in law very well. Jackass continued to call all day (Monday) until eight thirty that night. By eight thirty it was obvious Jackass had been self medicating. Rizzo consoled Jackass over the death and got off the phone exhausted. Tuesday morning Rizzo gets a call from Jackass' oldest daughter. Jackass is dead. She was found face down in her roommates kitchen floor. Homicide is suspected. Rizzo must handle all the funeral arrangements while she is at the funeral of her father in law. Literally. No one gave any input. Jackass did not have burial or life insurance. Rizzo and Jackass' father had to pay for the funeral out of pocket from the inheritance he had just received from his father's death. Rizzo decided on cremation for its cost effectiveness. Rizzo got the cold shoulder from ALL Jackass' daughters for that one. But they did not bother to say anything when the decisions were being made. They even helped to pick out the urns! It took 6 months for Rizzo to get an autopsy report and death certificate from the state medical examiner. Jackass overdosed. It was deemed accidental. Jackass now sits atop Rizzo's bookcase in an urn.

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The Beginning

So, here is how it all started. I get a call from my BEST cousin in the world. She needs to ask me if I know someone who is trying to add her on Facebook. She has a lot of mutual family friends with him. Do I know who in the sam hill it is? Unfortunately, I do not. We have not talked in ages it seems, and we begin to discuss the craziness of our lives as we know them. Those stories, my friends, are for future posts. "Frenchy" as my beautiful cousin will now here to forth be called, came up with the idea of blogging. Not only could we communicate with each other more often about what we really needed to talk about, but we could share it with the world to aid in the healing of our souls. No. Really we thought it would be funny. There is some truth in the healing of the soul words, though. Sometimes you just have to get things out. You cannot let them live inside and fester. So she came up with the blog name because that is who we are and what we deal with. We definitely could not write under our real names, so we decided on pseudonyms. We considered various names. Thelma and Louise was too cliche. Bonnie and Clyde would have been cool if one of us were a man. Lucy and Ethel was definitely considered. In the end, we decided "Frenchy" and "Rizzo" from the Pink Ladies on Grease would be great since they came the closest to our personalities. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am "Rizzo". 

I am sure there will be much more to come from the both of us. Until then, have a good night and check out our Facebook page, The Crazy Mothereffers