Peace and Justice

Useless piece of crap gets indicted for two murders

On a night that I should be rejoicing, I find myself with anger. Anger that Lisa Pate and likely Mickey Shunick died at the hands of another. How many more?

I should be celebrating that this useless piece of crap male has been indicted for the murder of these two young women.

I'm not.

I find myself unable to wish that he burn in hell. Unable to rejoice at someone receiving a death penalty. Yet, I don't want life in prison for him.

None of these "options" seem to be right.

None of these "options" will bring back these two women or any of the thousands of women in this country who were murdered.

It would be fair, I think, to douse him with jet fuel, light him on fire, and extinguish the fire just before the useless piece of crap croaks so that he really suffers inflict on him the same amount of fear and pain he put his victims through.

To be fair would be to make him suffer the same pain and anguish he inflicted on the families and friends of his victims.

But then I would be assuming someone like that is actually human.

RIP
Lisa Pate
Charlotte Murray Pace
Gina Wilson
Pam Kinamore
Randi Merrier
Geralyn Desoto
Carrie Lynn Yoder
Trineisha Dene Colomb

FIND MICKEY NOW!

Midnight Munchies with my buddy, Ambien

Well, crap. Here I am awake at 2:00 in the morning typing like sissy fingers on the iPad. This typing screen is a crock of shit. Anyway, I've taken my usual nightly load of Ambien and one Lorazapam to get me kick started in that thing called sleep, slumber, whatever. I've noticed lately, and I call it the power of suggestion, that I'm now developing Munchies after my nightly cocktail. I have only become aware of it after another "survivor" told me she got hungry every time she popped an Ambien. Out of bed and swerving through the house like Bill Murray driving a golf cart in a foreign country with a dozen or so occupants, I come crashing into the kitchen filling up a glass of dark chocolate baking chips and a glass full of lemon-limeade. With a straw of course because I just brushed my teeth. So, I've been all caught up in the Shunick case, practically glued to the laptop, cellphone, and that glorified iPhone, also known as an iPad. I'm not invested in the case. I don't think i know her family and friends. I do suspect that I have worked for people who know her family from kids attending the same schools and a few people I know in the horse show/riding who's kids rode with her. I know where her family lives, because I know half a dozen people who either live in the same neighborhood or within walking distance. But I have a stronge interest in the case. I lived in Lafayette for all of my life. I only left from there about 4 or 5 years ago. But I was there during the Derrick Todd Lee murders. It seemed a bit chaotic, not knowing if he were black or white. Profilers generally label serial killers as white males. But DTL was not white. We weren't sure (or at the very least, I WASN'T SURE,) who or what to be aware of. I could associate myself with something of these women whom he victimized so brutally. But the one who most left a hole in my heart was Trineisha Dene Colomb. A young woman taken right from the grave of her mother who had not long passed away. This brutal beast, for a lack of better words, added insult to injury to her father, Sterling Colomb. Wounded by the lost of his wife and now only to have his daugher taken by this SOB. My heart is with Mr. Sterling tonight. May he be in peace. My hope is for closure for the Shunick family.

A Special Note to My Husband

The Breast Burka

I couldn't help but rejoice at this article, yet at the same time feel her pain.  Having gone through a mastectomy and a failed reconstruction, I know that feeling of trying to wear certain clothes.  Even a simple sports bra digs into me.  Swimsuits have been a challenge.

http://www.abcactionnews.com/dpp/news/national/female-cancer-survivor-jodi-jaecks-can-swim-topless-in-seattle-public-pool

How true it is that had she walked into the public pool as a man, no one would have questioned her.

Why should she, or anyone else in her situation, have to hide herself?

We live in a society where breasts are everywhere.  Cleavage.  Women hardly cover themselves up in public.  Even in the house of God there are young and middle age women baring as much skin as they can legally get away with.

Why on earth should this woman be required to cover up?

Worriers in Pink

Anxiety and depression seem to go hand in hand these days.  They're like two hyper active little girls holding hands running through a field of weeds.  Taking turns pulling the other down.

I had been doing pretty well lately.  At least with the anxiety.  That all fell apart yesterday afternoon after scrolling through my Facebook news feed.  Curiosity got me.  A high school friend posted well wishes on one of her friends photo.  I recognized the brace she had on and knew it had to be cancer related.  And, as usual, one click led to another and I learned that this lady had been previously diagnosed with breast cancer and that it had metastasized into her spine.

But it didn't all fall apart until a few hours later as I sat in church with my family.  All the burdens of life just rushed at me.  Sunday afternoon.  Father's Day.

I haven't seen my dad in maybe almost 20 years.  "No, not now. Not in church.  Don't start crying now after 20 years of not seeing him.  Just think, pizza.  Yeah, that's it.  Pizza, with extra cheese and lots of green olives."

And then, of course, I couldn't think of my dad without thinking of my mother who disowned me more than 2 years ago and told me that my cancer was God's punishment.  No, not anger.  Guilt, sadness, anxiety, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father".  Crap.

And then the anxiety and the worry lead me to even more anxiety and worry.  Will all of this greif cause me another cancer?  Will the worry of another cancer drive me right into another?

I think of Ford's Warriors in Pink, a local foundation called Warriors 4 Warriors, and all kinds of other things about being a warrior because I've "survived" breast cancer.  I'm not a warrior.

I am a worrier.

A worrier in pink hell.

Welcome to My Garden

So, you say you've been eye-balling that cute little Lilly Pulitzer dress?  The one that mocks you every time you walk into the department store?  You know, the one that screams out, boobies!?

Oh, you haven't?  Um, me neither.

But anyway, who says you have to sacrifice the clothes you like just because you have one breast?  I didn't.  It wasn't the lack of a breast that stopped me from buying it.  Even though the temptation remains to go back and whip out the charge card, I just don't think I can do it.  Not for $188.  Add on top of that another $88 for the shrug or whatever that piece of knit fabric is called.  It's tempting.  If for nothing else but for the shock value of it.  It's just too bad I didn't come across it before the Komen Survivor's Tea last month.

If I weren't so damn lazy I'd make foobs with flowers.  Not out of a flower-printed fabric, but a foob that would work like that styrofoam base florists use in arrangements.  And I'd make some nice soft fabric flowers that could be arranged properly in the empty cup.  No, make that the empty flower pot sitting on my chest.

Pink

Pink ribbons may annoy the crap out of me, but what annoys me more are neighbors who expect yards to look like perfection. Those retired old farts with a ton of time on their hands. Free time to ride around reporting their neighbors whose yards just arent pretty. Makes me wonder how they feel about imperfect people with missing limbs and missing breasts. I hate the association of pink with breast cancer. It's a fun color. So, I think I will cheer up the cranky neighbors with a splash or two of pink. Pink lawn furniture. Pink flamingo (just one, maybe two). Heck, I may even cover the trampoline in pink. Pink garage? Hhhmmmmm. I wonder if I can paint the pond wall pink. Cancer. I really love the way it brings out the asshole in me.:p