Open Sesame

I am so over this lockdown quarantine bullshit, and am ready for the US to open again. Since I’m in Las Vegas, I’m going to direct this toward our worthless governor for whom I certainly did not vote (and who I think should be recalled, but let’s save that for another post, shall we?!)

That said, President Trump has given guidelines as to when states should open, and many like Texas, Florida, and Utah have already started. Note that these are states with republican governors. Businesses are starting to open, outdoor recreation areas are open, people are getting out and getting sun and exercise and haircuts and other things that humans do because of this overblown, over-hyped FLU BUG (yes, COVID-19 is not even as serious as the flu.)

But there are also those draconian tyrannical commie POS governors who have strengthened mandates while expecting their constituents to kowtow at their smelly corrupt feet.

Now, the CDC in its (lack of) infinite wisdom, has added a slew of additional symptoms to the fever, cough, and trouble breathing “trademarks” of COVID-19. Let’s examine them. Headache, sore throat, chills, muscle pain, repeated shaking, new loss of smell/taste, sneezing, diarrhea, bunions, insomnia, and acne. Okay, okay, I added the last five, but seriously, folks. Oh look, let’s add more FLU symptoms to the fucking FLU. A pulled neck muscle?! Muscle pain and headaches. Uh oh, now you have COVID-19. Bullshit!! What about those with chronic migraines? Headaches, voila! What about allergies (from which I suffer)? Sneezing. Oh no!

My point is that this ongoing lockdown is ridiculous and completely unnecessary just like the sheep who continue to wear their little masks and gloves. First of all, as I already informed you all, masks don’t do shit. Especially when people wear them wrong and take them on and off with dirty hands. Good grief. And, didya know that heat KILLS the virus. It’s 100 fucking degrees here in Sin City already. Hey, the virus is dead. Stop wearing your stupid masks outside or in your 140-degree car.

Monitored entry into stores, requiring masks, tables between the public and the chickenshit tellers, and one-way signs on the floors are also laughably ludicrous.

Another point on the masks: some businesses require patrons to wear them. Hey, guess what? That’s unconstitutional. I have never worn a mask, nor will I, and if a business requires it, then I’ll go elsewhere.

These restrictions (ahem, pay attention Governor Sisolak) are so unconstitutional that Attorney General Barr has directed prosecutors to prosecute violators. Governors who overstep their boundaries and act like they are God are going to get theirs, and I hope sooner than later because I need a fucking haircut and color already.

Gentle, My Ass

Given that my tag line on this site is “Shit That Irritates Me,” I figured I’d tell you about my recent experience taking a laxative for the first time. I will try to be as minimally TMI as possible, but, seriously folks, I’m talking about poop. Everyone poops. Everyone.

Anyway, thanks to what WebMD and I thought was a minor stomach bug, I was having difficulties leaving a worthwhile deposit in the little girls’ room. So much so, that I was in some serious pain: somewhere between childbirth and stepping on a Lego. In this case, what’s a girl to do? Go shopping, duh! Off to the drug store!

Since I have a rather sensitive tummy, I didn’t want any high-powered, industrial, Drano-esque assistance with my “issue.” A pink (of course) box caught my eye. Dulcolax Pink Laxative for Sensitive Stomachs that boasted “gentle overnight relief.” Perfect. What could go wrong?

Famous last words.

Needless to say, it did, in fact, work. But gentle? Not in a million years.

Within about 30 minutes it felt like my innards were desperately trying to escape the confines of my abdominal cavity as an inmate would escape a prison by using a rock hammer and plastic spork. The pain was pretty unbearable, almost to the point that I was praying over the porcelain altar for my horrible monthly menstrual cramps because they are far less painful despite my homicidal urges during that time.

Gentle, my ass. Literally.

Compounding the problem was the constant and loud inhuman groaning noises emanating from my poor belly which satiated my desire to watch a horror movie that evening.

And then there was the poop, if you could call it that. My end result (pun intended) consisted of volcanic magma of a disturbing color that burned to a crisp anything (and I do mean anything) in its destructive path.

I think I’ll just up my fiber intake from now on. Hello flax seed, broccoli, and black beans.

The end. Haha.

Of Fries and Men

It’s a sad but true fact that many of us eat fast food even though the vast majority of it is unhealthy and relatively gross. Given the current “plandemic” shut down and subsequent stay home orders, many of us are itching to get out of the house and do something, anything besides sit at home cooking food and binge watching the Food Network. (Hey, I don’t criticize your obsession with The Walking Dead, Bates Motel, reruns of NFL Super Bowls past, or CSPAN.)

Where was I? Oh yeah, boredom and food; two things that go together like peanut butter and jelly, Penn and Teller, and donuts and diabetes. Anyway, it’s nice to get out once in a while and have a meal that you (or anyone to whom you’re related) didn’t cook. Given that virtually everything is closed except for takeout, we oftentimes succumb to the promise of “two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun” and the intoxicating smell of fresh McDonalds fries which you’re likely never going to want to eat after reading this.

Anyway, the point of this blog post is to illustrate an incident through which my boyfriend (who I will call Vincent* because I really like that name) recently went. Granted, the following is hearsay (but, of course, in true Irate Blogger fashion, embellished for humorous detail.) After finding a McDonalds that was actually open past 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday night in Las Vegas, Vinnie entered the drive-thru only to be met with their new limited menu during these tough coronavirus bullshit mass hysteria times.

When he reached the window, he was greeted by a manager (and I use that term loosely) who obviously LOVES his job who was wearing a mask and standing behind a bulletproof sneeze guard so the evil coronavirus that is floating around in the air waiting to pounce on everyone doesn’t infect and kill him like the brainwashed left would have you believe.

Anyway, apparently this clueless manager inadvertently handed Vincent’s order to the car in front of his. As any normal person would do, this person opened the bag, presumably looked, and then handed it back to the manager. When Vincent reached the window, this Einstein tried to hand Vincent the same bag. Are you fucking kidding me?! This moron is adorned in full hazmat PPE yet wants to give potentially contaminated food to a customer.

Needless to say, Vincent blew a gasket (he tends to do that a lot) and told the manager, “I’m not fucking taking this shit!” He had his order remade (if you could call it that) because the fries were cold, uncooked, and soggy, not unlike a … never mind, I’m not going there.)

Also needless to say, I will never be frequenting a McDonalds again. Now I need to find new fries.

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

Defining “Essential”

Throughout this whole coronavirus mass hysteria isolation “thing,” I’ve been going a little stir crazy (okay, a lot crazy) sitting at home. So much so, in fact, that my mind starting wandering (never a good thing) toward tidbits I wouldn’t have ordinarily thought.

One of them is what, exactly, constitutes an essential and/or non-essential business.

Here are my thoughts.

First of all, my tanning salon is an essential business. I haven’t been this white since I lived in snow country. Not only does sporting a nice bronze tan make me feel (and, undoubtedly, look) healthier, but the blast of rays boosts my Vitamin D levels and reduces my depression. Despite living in Las Vegas, I don’t have the privacy to tan outdoors in the manner to which I am accustomed while in a private bed, not to mention it’s already getting ridiculously hot and I don’t want to spend hours in the sun when a quick 12-minute session is all I need. Yes, I know I know it’s bad for me, but done responsibly with appropriate pre- and post-tan skincare, the potential dangers are mitigated. I’ve been tanning for YEARS and don’t look like some wrinkled, middle-aged, leather sofa. So there.

Secondly, even though there are DIY hair coloring options, I can’t trim my own hair. I’ve tried in the past and ended up resembling my fourth-grade school photo with a choppy, uneven, mom-used-craft-scissors ‘do. So, while I am able to cover my graying roots and maintain my lovely brunette hue, I desperately need a trim. The same goes for my boyfriend whose head is getting puffy from all the hair he desperately needs cut but won’t let me near with scissors. Hey, I can trim other people’s hair, just not my own. Chicken.

Next, why in the hell are city, state, and national parks, beaches, and other outdoor public recreation venues closed? Amidst the ad nauseum spate of bullshit social distancing “guidelines,” nobody is going to catch the virus outside. It’s not floating around waiting to invade (which is why I laugh hysterically at those sheep who insist on wearing masks and gloves while outside.) Good grief, we all need some fresh air and sunshine. Oh, and human contact with non-relatives would be nice.

By the way, I expect the National Parks Service to extend my annual parks pass for which I paid a pretty penny for a few months to compensate my loss.

Finally, of course, gun stores are essential because Second Amendment. ‘Nuff said.

As for non-essential businesses? Governors’ offices and Congress.

Blood is Thicker than Gasoline

But gasoline can start a fire.

If there’s one thing that a staged mass crisis does is emphasize how much most of us can’t stand too much family time. Another is that it is so true that we can’t choose our relatives.

My family is ridiculously dysfunctional (like that old platitude: we put the FUN in dysfunctional.) This person doesn’t talk to that one. This one is mad at that one. Blah blah blah ad nauseum. Of course, I admit, there are some of my family members with whom I don’t speak largely because they are nosy, intrusive, judgmental, self-righteous assholes.

Friends are, indeed, one’s true family. I have friends I’ve known for decades with some going back to high school and even earlier. People who have been there for me (and vice versa) during difficult times who don’t judge but are there to listen and offer advice (when asked, of course, unlike family members who seem to always know what you should do and don’t hesitate to lecture every chance they get.)

But why is it that friends are oftentimes so much better (for want of a better word) than family? First of all, you can choose your friends, and if you don’t like them or you have a falling out then you can say your goodbyes and be on your way without the extra baggage of a massive guilt trip.

Family members, however, tend to take one another for granted. They are oftentimes rude, self-centered, discourteous, entitled, and have little loyalty to one another. ‘Tis sad.

Maybe you are one of the lucky ones with a very close family in which everyone gets along and there are never harsh words, undue criticism, abuse, tears, or alcoholism. If so, congratulations and best of luck with your fairy tale existence.

I’m willing to wager, however, that most of us have at least one or 12 toxic family members

A toxic person is a toxic person regardless of their ancestry, and simply because you share a bloodline does not necessarily mean that you need to let that poison invade your own bloodstream. Think of this toxicity as an allergen of sorts. Repeated exposure to an allergen oftentimes forces one’s immune system to react to this foreign body. Voila, an allergy is born. So, if you find yourself breaking out in hives every time your Uncle Felix comes near or when your Grandma Edna tells you that you’re too skinny or your hair is the wrong color or your clothes are not flattering or she doesn’t like your spouse or that you live in the wrong city or that you could get a better job or what-the-fuck-ever, then that person is toxic and you are likely allergic.

Unless you want to purchase stock in Benadryl, just stay away. Far, far away.

Back to Kindergarten

In the next part of my annoyed as hell with this whole COVID-19 mass hysteria bullshit, let me tell you about yesterday. You can read about the relative uselessness of gloves and masks in my last post here.

I first tried to go to the post office, but there was a huge line of mask-wearing sheep waiting outside in a nice single-file line with everyone standing at least six feet apart (outside, mind you.) An obviously unhappy-with-her-job drill sergeant poised herself at the front of the line to ensure that only one person at a time was permitted inside and admonished and refused entry to anyone attempting to do business without a mask. Needless to say, since I am an adult with common sense and knowledge, I left.

Then, I stopped at my local grocery store and saw staff placing signs on the floor with one-way arrows at the end of each aisle. When I brazenly walked the wrong way down the soup aisle, I was informed that today they would let my insubordination slide, but from tomorrow on, I had to observe all traffic laws. I asked, “Or what?” and a pimply-faced kid told me those were “the rules,” along with the painstakingly measured feet signs on the floor, to enforce social distancing.

Adding insult to injury, plexiglass shields, plastic-covered credit card readers, and large folding tables have been added to further enforce the ever-increasing paranoia.

What is this? Kinderfuckinggarten? Apparently, we must all be treated like children who, first of all, have no concept of measurement, and, second of all, cannot be trusted to utilize even a modicum of common sense to not ram our carts into oncoming traffic if, God forbid, we are going the “wrong way” down an aisle. If they start mandating masks, I will be shopping elsewhere. Or online.

Paging Dr. Paranoid

I’m getting sick and tired of this COVID-19 “plandemic” and the utter naivete of the masses. If you want to succumb to the fear mongering regarding this virus and wear a mask and gloves and look like some wannabe surgeon, then go ahead. Just know that they really don’t do anything except make those of us with common sense and good hygiene who pay no heed to the lamestream media and its bullshit laugh.

Even better are those who wear their masks and gloves while driving alone in their vehicles because who knows what evil virus made its way into their car and is sitting there waiting to invade their uncovered nose and mouth (or burrow into their unprotected hands) and make them sick. Or how about those who wear them outside because we all know that the atmosphere is chock full of deadly viruses that live indefinitely and are floating around looking for healthy folks to infect.

Give me a break.

According to Popular Science, masks are not the panacea of protection against viruses since the major transmission route is hand-to-face. Touch your face after you touch something a sick person has touched creates a greater likelihood that you might get sick.

Ergo, hand-washing has, and always will be, the gold standard for preventing disease.

Further, the paper masks the majority of sheep are wearing are disposable. They should not be reused, nor should someone touch his/her mask while it is on his/her face because it defeats the whole purpose. Additionally, cloth masks (or other cloth face coverings like bandanas, scarves, socks, bras, pantyhose, hijabs, etc.) can actually harbor bacteria and viruses due to the moist, warm environment around your mouth.

Forbes echos the sentiment that masks are not necessary for those who don’t have the virus. In fact, they can actually increase your chance of getting sick, especially if you wear them incorrectly and keep touching them to adjust. Thus, the medical consensus is that you should only wear a mask out in public if you are sick yourself to protect others.

The same goes for latex gloves. Wearing gloves does nothing to protect you from getting sick. In fact, they, too, can increase your chance of catching something if you touch a surface and then touch your face (ooh de ja vu!) To make gloves even remotely worthwhile, you’d need to change or wash/disinfect them as frequently as you do your hands.

So what’s the point? I’ll tell you. Wash your hands and don’t touch your face. Simple.