Helen Reddy would be so disappointed.

I am woman hear me roar. In numbers to great to ignore... wait a damn minute. Where are my numbers? Where is the furious ROAR of women who are fed up with this shit? Lately it seems like all I have heard from women is some weak ass mewling.

A prime example of someone who seems to have lost their roar is Rhianna. It is a damn shame too, because I really would have pegged her as a chick who can let out a hell of a roar. Instead she is signing duets with Chris Brown and the rumor mill is all a flutter with an anticipated romantic reunion. My heart goes out to Rhianna as it does to anyone that has been the victim of domestic abuse. My heart breaks at the thought of her getting back together with the person who did this to her:        

My heart gets filled with furious rage when I think of the example that it sets for the young girls who look up to her. Rhianna missed a great opportunity to let out a ROAR and say this happened to me, but it will not define me. I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT. I will not be a victim and I will not go back. Instead she chose to release what is undeniably a slap in the face of everyone who rallied around her post attack. IT ISN'T even a good song. Seriously, if you are looking for a song that makes you less intelligent every time you listen to it, this is it. I for one don't wanna hear about how someone who not to long ago got in a couple of good licks now wants to bite you.

Sadly, Rhianna is not the only women who should be ashamed because they haven't let out a ROAR and told the world that woman should not, can not, and will not stand for being treated this way. After the Grammys twitter blew up with woman professing not only would they tolerate being abused, they would welcome it. Hey as long as he is hot and famous, whats a couple of bruises, some stitches, and possible death. SIGN ME UP. If you wanna vomit about the lack of respect these crazy woman have for themselves and all for woman who suffer from abuse you can read some of the tweets here. A sad statement of what woman believe is okay.

I have to wonder if the misguided little twitter birds would have felt so brazen about their desire to be beaten if Rhianna cut ties instead of signing about licking the cake off his dumb ass.

Another example of a woman who needed to ROAR her ass off but instead just whined about shit is, Anastasia Steele, the female protagonist in 50 Shades of Grey, . This book started off as Twilight fan fiction. As if Bella Swans weak ass wasn't enough EL James based a character on her! Seriously sister, you are setting back the female sexual revolution here. This "mommy porn" features a woman who her turns over her reproductive health, decision making skills, and life choices to a control freak, sexual dominant. She isn't sure she wants to be dominated - but gosh darnit, after a whole week and a half of knowing him she just loves him so damn much that she can't bare the thought of living without him, even if a relationship with him means that she get spanked when she disagrees with him and has to walk around at parties with silver balls shoved up her vag. And another damn thing Ms. James, if I want some porn I will go find some. I don't need it watered down and featuring a whiny bitch who you constantly have to tell me is smart and strong. Apparently lady, you and I have very different ideas of what is smart and strong.

My local example of a woman who has misplaced their roar is my sister. I know you have one girl, I have heard you use it. Where did it go? My sister is a beautiful, educated woman. Not the kind of beautiful that you call someone even when they are fugly because they are a good person, she is actually hot. It blows my mind how TERRIBLE her taste in men is. The choices that she makes when it comes to men are sitcom worthy. You could dedicate an entire half an hour a week to her misadventures in dating. Her current little problem (and I mean little in EVERY way) has hung around way to long. She needs to ROAR at him until he crawls back into the whole from whence he came. The problem is that she only squeaks at him. She tells him to go away, not to text her anymore, that this time will be the LAST time that she hooks up with him, and it never sticks; one drunken text from him and she rushes over to do him like the New York times crossword puzzle. Then the next day she feels guilty and promises not to do it again. Every time she ignores the voice that says "this is a bad idea" she fuels his Napoleon complex. She strokes that ego that is already 100 times bigger than his infant sized member and ensures that he falsely believes that "he gots game". I would like to roar for her. Sometimes I want to roar at her. At the end of the day I know that she has to roar herself and she has to mean it. I hope it happens soon, I want her to set a kick ass, roaring, take no shit, example for our niece.

There are many more examples of woman who have lost their roars, or choose not to use them. Now is the time to ROAR. Our rights, healthy and safety are being threatened everyday. For the currently roarless woman let's promise to ROAR a little louder until get their ROARS on board. Hurry up ladies - before our voices get sore.

Pill poppin' puppies.

Our basset hound has a pill problem. There I have said it, and admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. Since he is incapable of admitting he has a problem I will go ahead and admit it for him. We can hide pills ANYWHERE in the house and he will find them.

The first time that we realized that Sydney was taking a walk on the wild side he got a hold of a bottle of Prozac and downed the whole thing. We didn't know that Syd had a problem so the pills were just sitting on the table. After a trip to the vet, some activated Charcoal, and a $300 bill we assumed that Syd was in recovery. Oh, were we wrong.

Relapse one occurred the night that I returned from a business trip. I dropped my carry-on in the living room and went to bed. In the morning I realized that our little addict had managed to unzip my carry-on bag and fish out the zip lock that contained the meds. Sometime during the night asshat had horked down a whole bottle of ibuprofen.  We took the pill poppin' daddy back to the vet. This time the vet helpfully inquired if we were being careful about keeping the medicine out of Syd's reach. I very heroically resisted the urge to yell at him " No you rusty-witted crotch pastry - I am hoping that I can enable my dogs drug habit just enough that I buy you a brand new speedboat." More induced doggie vomiting, another few hundred dollars.

The next relapse was a real doozy. Hopefully this was rock bottom. Friedrich dropped a few tablets of his lithium onto the damp counter-top. Knowing that there was an addict in the house he went to great lengths to bury the tempting little nuggets in the very bottom of the trash can. Sadly, when an addict is looking for a fix they will go to great lengths to score (including digging soggy pills out of the bottom of the trash can). By the time Friedrich realized what had happened Syd had already vomited on both couches, his bed, Friedrich's pillow, the rug, and all over his ears. Let me tell you, there ain't nothing quite as sad as a hound dog with vomit soaked ears. Friedrich decided that the best course of action was to give the dog a bath. Syd is a notorious hater of baths, so Friedrich also decided that stripping down to his skivvies and joining him in the tub was the best way to simultaneously get him clean and provide comfort. On the way to the tub he called and told me to call the vet and head on home. When I got home they were both in the tub and Friedrich was crying. Strike my previous comment about nothing sadder than a hound dog with vomitty ears. A teenage boy cuddling his dog, who has vomit soaked ears, in a bathtub, while openly weeping, is more sad. By the time we got to the vet Sydney was in sad shape. I was afraid that he had pilfered his last pill. The vet met us with judgement in his eyes and whisked Syd away. We went home to wait for word from the vet and I set about trying to convince Friedrich that he hadn't effectively murdered the family dog. The first call we got from the vet wasn't pleasant; they were having no luck treating our pill head dog. They needed us to call in a consult from an animal poison specialist in Minnesota. Friedrich set to weeping again and I called Minnesota to give them access to my credit card and started making a mental list of all the possessions that I could hock to pay this bill. Friedrich was making a list of things that he could hock to pay for a doggy funeral.

Two days later Syd turned the corner and found a new lease on a hopefully drug free life. I heard a rumor that my vet bought a brand new Donzi 45ZX speedboat the day we picked him up. Coincidence? I think not.

Gee thanks kid.

Today Sigmund and I were watching an old episode of Gunsmoke. Sigmund has decided that he likes old TV.

The episode we were watching originally aired in 1967. As we were watching Sigmund turns to me with his angelic little face and says "did you watch this show when you were twelve years old?" I won't even begin to guess why he picked twelve it is a completely arbitrary number. It is not his current age, he is only 10. I have decided not to put to much thought into it because the inner working of a ten year olds mind are not a place that make sense to me, I have accepted that long ago. I very kindly informed the littlest crazy that I did not watch Gunsmoke when I was twelve that in fact this particular episode aired more than a decade before I graced the earth with my wit and humor. He paused for a moment and said "Huh, This show must be really old - because you are old and it is more than ten years older." He then scampered off to pursue an activity other than breaking his mothers heart.

Gee thanks for starting the day off right.

This reminds me of another time when one of the junior crazy brigade cut me to the quick with a careless comment about the elderly. Mary and I were discussing our favorite intellectual topic, celebrity gossip, when Ms. Alyssa Milano came up. Mary commented on how she was amazed that Ms. Milano was still alive or thought she had any hope of a career - being that she was so old. I reminded Mary that Alyssa is only a few years older than me. I believe that my gentle reminder wen't something like this "Jesus Christ - Alyssa Milano and I are practically the same age. ARE YOU CALLING ME OLD TOO. Maybe I should just retire and head off to the old folks home and let you guys just have run of this place. Trust me five minutes after I leave it would be like Lord of the Flies up in this bitch."  

Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch. I don't think that mid thirties is old at all. Most days I feel young and spry. However apparently the junior crazy squad is already sizing me up for a wheel chair and some depends.

Everyone I know is nuts.

Everyone I know is nuts. I am certain of this fact. I feel like some of them may read this and say "she must be talking about everyone else, I am perfectly sane." Trust me, if you are reading this and thinking that you are the only normal one. You aren't - you are nuts too. Probably more so than the rest of them. Even the animals I know are nuts. I am surrounded on a daily basis by people and animals who are crazy. It is a charmed life. Some of the "nuts" deal with actual medical issues, some are just your run of the mill crazies. I love them all. I think you will too. The fact of the matter is that I am probably the most nuts of all. After all, I am the common "nutty" denominator 

A tad unseasonable perhaps, but the time is always right for a festive breakdown!