madranchwife

Wednesday morning, here at several thousand feet, on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere.  But not to worry.  Spring is technically a couple of weeks away yet.  So anything could happen, right?

It snowed about 4 or 5 inches on Tuesday night leaving it quite gorgeous the next morning.  A crystal clear, bright blue sky.  Everything below covered in white.  Really something.  It did warm up and melt a bit.  Such is the spring here.  But every last snowflake is much appreciated and even if it’s in the snow phase for a mere few hours, it will be put to good use!

A mountain chickadee (maybe a black-capped…I’ve not quite decided yet) likes to sit on the icicle lights.   Too cute and this morning I was prepared for him.  Sort of.  It’s not the best shot, but there you go.  I don’t have any initials after my name touting photog credentials.  So much to do, so little time.  That career will have to wait I’m afraid.

I neglected to capture images of the coyote tracks.  Our resident coyote was at the fence there some time in the wee small hours of the morning.  He (I’m assuming, shouldn’t do that I know) and Buck have a sort of contest going on to see who can make the most yellow snow.  Results not in yet as to the winner.  I only wish they wouldn’t have picked the front lawn to wage their battle.

We’re playing hooky again tomorrow.  Just need to see how our ski legs are doing.  I know, I know.  Disneyland last week.  Skiing this week.  Yes, we do school too.  Sometimes.  🙂

So much to do, so little time.  I pick fun.  What say you?

Aquarium of the Pacific at Long Beach (see the sunglasses, sunshine, etc, etc, etc)

    California Adventureland

My young Padawan in training.  May the Force be with us all!!!

(Yes, I made her eat apples and carrots too.)

(OK, mom, that is ENOUGH with the camera.  I’m done smiling.  Period.)

Waiting for the Matterhorn!!  (With fake snow.)

Mommy’s favorite character…OLAF!!!  (With more fake snow and tons of sunshine.)

And now:

Snow, snow, and more snow.  No sun in sight.  So definitely no sunglasses.  And no, Olaf is not here.  The depressing part.  But that’s what you get when you take a vacation to Disneyland in the middle of a Wyoming winter.  Reality sets in upon the return home.  Such is life.

So we’ll be grateful for the days of sun and fun and Disney characters everywhere.  Now back to skiing and sledding and shoveling (well, daddy does the shoveling, we do the fun stuff.  Poor daddy.)

I’m compiling a list, so I may have to revisit this post as the list seems to keep growing.  Fancy that.

Things not to do so you don’t get shot by a psycho, wacko person carrying a gun:

1.  Don’t text in a movie theater.  Ever.  Even if it’s BEFORE the movie starts with the lights still on and people still finding their seats.

2.  Don’t walk down a street carrying a package of Skittles and a Gatorade.  (At least I think it was a Gatorade.  I’m sure about the Skittles though, cause I thought to myself “Oh thank goodness, I don’t ever eat Skittles.”)

3.  Don’t sit in your vehicle at the gas station with the music from the radio on too loud.  NOTE:  “too loud” is relative as what may be “too loud” for you may not be “too loud” for others, so I just am not sure how to quantify this one.

4.  Don’t answer the door holding a Wii remote in your hand. Especially if the person at the door is a policewoman there to serve your papa with an arrest warrant.  Cause, you know, a Wii remote looks so much like a…wait for it…G-U-N.

5.  Don’t be black.  I mean African-American.  And really, this should probably just be implied, right?

***So.  Also, too.  Don’t wear a hoody.  Don’t listen to whatever music was deemed too loud by the psycho white man in Florida who says he felt threatened and needed to shoot up the SUV parked next to him.  Don’t have a papa, I guess, who is being served with an arrest warrant.

I don’t know the race of the man shot dead because he was texting his daughter/daughter’s babysitter before the movie started, but what do you want to bet he was not white?

And all of this begs the question:  Now do you see why I’m concerned about the dude in black at the Starbucks in Cheyenne?  Who is now sitting inside as it’s wintertime and too cold for him to sit out front announcing his scary-ass presence to any and all stopping in for a cup of java.  And, get this, he’s wearing his shades!  Inside.  On cloudy, winter, blizzard days.  Dude, this dude just ain’t right.  And you can bet your bottom bippy, or your bottom dollar as Annie belts out, I ain’t lookin’ anywhere close to him as I walk on by.  I look everywhere but at him.  He scares the living daylights out of me.

Course, he must not scare me enough to stay away from coffee nirvana.

Maybe I should just stick to posts about animal visitors and fluffy white stuff and so on and so forth.  Cause the rest of the stuff is such a downer.

Vaya con dios mi amigos.  It’s pretty much all we got left.

We spied this one through the front window, just standing there for the longest time.  We couldn’t figure out what he was doing.  (I am making the hugest of huge assumptions here in stating the moose was a “he.”  Because quite honestly, I’m as good at sexing wild cervids from a long distance as I am at sexing hummingbirds.  Not to mention any and all other winged creatures.  And no, that should not be “sexting.”  I don’t sext very well either.  I’m just sayin’.)

Anyhoo, this guy, or gal if we really want to be all PC and such, seemed to be having the most difficult of times deciding which way to go.  Walk on down the drive?  Or turn and hightail it out of here?  After about 15 minutes of standing right over the cattle guard, which thankfully, at this time of year, is so full of packed down ice and snow that it’s not dangerous to legs, the young moose decided to head on up the hill.  Which was a bummer as we were so hoping to get a closer look.

It was a beautiful sight anyway.

(The pictures are all out of order and it’s late and I don’t feel like trying to figure out how to fix it.  But in all honesty, he did stand there and turn around a few times, so I guess the order is all relative.  First he was looking one way, then another, and so on.  You get the idea.)

The National Science Foundation completed a poll (2200 respondents, which, mind you is a microcosm of a microcosm of our world, so I’ll give you that, but seriously even 220 respondents with these replies should be worthy of worry) and found that 1 out of 4 Americans didn’t know the earth revolved around the sun.

I’m not kidding.

That’s just a wee bit concerning.   Downright frightening actually.

I mean really.  Didn’t we decide this, oh say back in the 1700’s or so?  I’d have to get out the history book to pin it down to the exact date that CW agreed the earth was not really the center of the Universe.  But I’m fairly certain Copernicus lived a while ago.  And I’m fairly certain this issue was laid to rest shortly thereafter.    (CW is short for conventional wisdom.  I didn’t know this for the longest time and kept wondering who the heck “CW” was.)

And kudos to me for using one of our vocabulary words of the week–microcosm.  We’re learning Greek and Latin word roots and are on the section relating to “More or Less.”   Micro being the less I would assume.

And in the realm of children paying back to the adult all the grief the adult paid to their parent when said adult was a child, I have now created such a monster that I really don’t know what to do.  The dear darling diva of a daughter that inhabits this abode was read to by her parents from the moment she entered the family as a wee one.  Actually, in all honesty, she was read to in utero.  When I was pregnant, I had a friend with a daughter that was the most adorable, precocious, brilliant, magnificent child I’d ever encountered.  I asked her what she’d done for Cora to turn out so incredibly incredible.  She told me she listened to a lot of Mozart.  Me being me, I thought that sounded like a smart thing to do, so I tried to listen to classical music.  Only problem was that I didn’t (still don’t) care for classical music.  I’m more of a jazz girl.  Frank Sinatra.  I would have been a Frank groupie if I would have been lucky enough to have been born a couple of generations earlier.  Be still my heart.  So, I figured that jazz and Frank might do the trick.  And books.  Lots of books.

So what the heck am I babbling on about this time?  Well, all of those books from the very beginning of this child’s life must have somehow wired some pretty funky neurons.  Her favorite toys in those first months when she’d discovered toys were little board books, just perfect for tiny hands.  And we spent hours, truly hours, reading together.   When we got in the car (which was all the time given where we live) I packed bags of books.  She’d go through them one by one, dropping them over the side of her carseat onto the floor.  It was so annoying having to pick up all those books.  But I just kept on.  One of her favorite things to do was go to the back room, sit down by the bookshelf and one by one, pull every book off, look at it and put it to the side.  Again, I had to pick up all those books.  Her other favorite thing was to drag a pile of those books over to Timmy’s bed (my beloved Springer Spaniel who was her BFF until he died in March 2010), sit there next to him and read him every last one.  She’d show him the pictures and tell him the story, just like we’d read earlier.  Course, she would also dress him up in her dress-up clothes and put stickers all over him to decorate him.  That dog would let her do anything and always lay there like the perfect gentleman.  (Timmy, love, wherever you are and whatever you are doing at this moment, know that I am indebted to you and forever grateful for your kind guardianship.)

Anyway, books, books, books were the theme of our life.  And today, we cannot leave the library, any library, without huge (HUGE) bags full of books.

And, to get right to the point of my story, the monster that I’ve created is this.  A bookworm.  She has to have a book in hand at every second.  I have to repeat myself three, four, umpteen times when I ask a question.  I cannot get her to put the books down.

I know this is not a bad thing.  I know this is a brilliant thing.  But dang if it isn’t annoying when I’m trying to get her to tell me if she wants peas or mixed vegetables for dinner.

I know it’s only a matter of time before I walk back to her room one night and find her hiding in the closet with the lamp inside, reading a book, way into the “wee small hours of the morning.”  (One of Frank’s greatest by the way.)

And that right there is the payback.  So mom, if you’re out there, know that all the grief I caused you by getting distracted by a book when you told me to clean my room, by not answering you the first time you called or asked me a question because my nose was in a book, by being bloody exhausted the next day after staying up reading in the closet when I should have been sleeping is coming back around.  Know that I now understand.  And I’m sorry.

But also, thank you mom for instilling in me a profound love of and reverence for books so that I can now pass on that adoration to the darling diva.

Tonight, while I was making dinner, she drug her pink “reading chair” (Christmas gift from all the grandparents) to the kitchen, added a footstool, a blanket, a pillow, her water bottle, the latest “How to Train Your Dragon” chapter book from the library trip today and said to me “This is the life!”

Yes, darlin’, this is the life!  And I thank you for sharing it with me.

(And  yes, she knows the earth revolves around the sun.  Books, I’m telling you what.  They’re invaluable.)

So I’m in the middle of reading an article/story about…wait for it…the hopeless romantic, Richard Nixon.

I know.

It is totally rocking my world.  Maybe that’s not quite the correct phrase.  Let me try again.

It is completely upsetting my equilibrium.  How’s that?   The ossicles in my inner ear are beginning to hurt from the sheer mind-blowing ascertations that Richard Milhaus Nixon was a hopeless romantic and wrote reams of letters to his wife in flowery, Romeo-esque prose.  Seriously.  I feel like I’ve just completed a 1260 on the snowboard slopestyle run in Sochi followed by a triple lutz,  quad combination on the ice.

Methinks I’ve spent a mite too much time perusing the 2014 Olympics coverage.  Which, by the way, is quite frustrating on the computer.  Maybe it’s just me.  More than likely it’s just me, but damn this is difficult trying to find out information about what’s happening over there in not-so-like-Siberia Russia.

Climate change baby, climate change.

And if you’ve got an issue admitting that climate change is a thing, I suggest you take a look at Georgia.  Dude, they’ve got some serious winter going on down there.  Ya know?  And here, here where it’s supposed to be bitter cold (Three years ago at this time it was a couple of weeks of 40 below zero weather–I kid you not–we got stuck in the driveway one night–wow, that was a story.  Maybe for another day though.)–anyway, here where it’s supposed to be all cold and ice and winter and mountains and skiing and, well, you get the picture, the forecast for the next couple of days?  Rain.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Rain.  As in “raindrops keep fallin’ on my head…..just like the time the man was too big for his bed…do do do do doooo….”

Wow.  This whole Richard Milhaus Nixon revelation has seriously fried the circuits in my brain.  The neurons are absolutely haywire.  The synapses must be crossing.  This cannot be good.  Don’t cross the streams baby.  Don’t cross the streams.

Course, on the other hand, it’s almost like I drank a bottle of wine and am happily “singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain.  What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.”

So thank you Richard Milhaus Nixon.  You’ve put a smile on my face and a spring in my step.  Though that spring could really be the results of attempting the triple salchow, triple lutz combination on the ice outside the garage earlier this morning.   (No, don’t worry about me.  I’m fine.  Really.  It was just a tiny, little, eensy, weensy, teeny, itty, bitty fall.  What with all the spring thaw going on around here, the solid snowpack has now become a dangerous combination of slush on top of ice.  Not good, not good.)

I’m going to go finish reading the story about the lighter, more friendly side of President Nixon.  It promises to be a totally enlightening read, that just might restore my faith in mankind.  Might, I say.  Just might.

The dear darling diva I live with informed me yesterday, after the game was over, “I’m a Broncos fan.”

I bit my tongue until I was certain blood was running out of the corners of my mouth.  Then I took a deep breath, counted to 328 and said, ever so sweetly, “Now, just why is that sweetheart?”

I think she could tell that I was traumatized by her statement.  But she’s going through a bit of a rebellious stage these days.  And now that I’ve mentioned that, don’t you think seven (7) is a mite bit young for rebellion???  I mean really.  I have been mentally preparing myself for the teenage years, knowing what girls can be like and all.  But 7??  That just seems harsh.  Where did my sweet, agreeable, go-along-with-anything-mommy-says little girl go?  Most days all I hear around here is this:  “People are free to have their own opinions mom.”  Which, to be fair, are exactly the words I have been saying when we discuss why someone would want to have a Republican point of view.  And, in all fairness to me, I attempt to say this in the least snide, most non-biased, absolutely most tactful and definitely most mature tone of voice I can muster.  (This is snark and satire, pure and simple, if your snark-o-meter is not turned on.  I am playing at being tongue-in-cheek.  And that’s no reference to the blonde bimbo at Faux News who made the statement to children everywhere that “Santa is just white.  He just is.”  Jesus Mary and Joseph I digress.)  As I was saying writing, of course I don’t mock Republican viewpoints when we discuss life, politics, the state of the world.  I am very, very careful so as not to raise her with the bias that I have.  I figure she’s got enough issues caused by me already to land her in therapy when she’s 25, she doesn’t need to hear my voice with bias in her head.  Just needed to make this all clear.

Anyway, I’m sincerely hoping this is a fad.  A phase.  A “want-to-be-like-Grammy and Aunt Becca-moment” that will ultimately pass as quickly as it came on.  Because Lord love a duck, I don’t think I could stomach living with a Broncos fan on the premises.

Though, as I mentioned at the start, it could have been worse.  She could have said “I’m a Republican.”

That would have sent me over the edge I will admit.  So thank the Universe for small favors, eh?

I know, I know.  Who would have thought?  Especially all of those crazy Denver Broncos fans who thought that absolutely, without a doubt, God was a die-hard Orange-and-Blue wearing deity, most probably placing a few bets on the good ol’ Mile High Players (she would have the inside track after all, right?).

But, alas, it seems the truth has come out.  God is a Seahawks dudette.  Maybe it’s the rainy climate?

Courtesy of the Daily Mail:
 
Whether it’s with a good luck dance, whispering a curse or prayers
sent directly to God, half of American football fans believe
supernatural forces are at play right alongside their favorite
quarterback. 

A study from the Public Religion Research Institute found that a full
third of all football fans pray directly to God to help out their
favorite teams. 

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2544076/Who-God-rooting-Super-Bowl-Half-American-fans-think-supernatural-forces-decide-wins-football-games.html

So with all those people praying to God for the outcome of the game, and over 50% believing with all of their being that a power greater than ourselves has a hand in deciding the outcome of a child’s game, I am left with my earlier assumption.  God must be a Seattle Seahawks fan.

Who knew?

I so would have pegged her as more of a Vikings fan…or better yet…a Chicago Bears fan!!  Go Bears!!

(My thoughts are with the grieving Denver Broncos fans in my circle of family and friends.  I am sorry.  And that is actually meant to be sincere.  I know, I know.  You all know how gleeful I must have been to hear the score of 29 to 0.  But honestly, I was stunned.  And I kept my mouth shut.  I promise.  It’s not ever nice to rub salt in someone’s wounds.  So…truly…I’m sorry for your pain.  But…now you know.  God is a Seahawks fan.  And maybe some rain dances or whatnot next year?  Or go with the sure thing…now that we know the Deity’s inclinations, switch allegiances and become a Seahawks cheerleader!!)

It seems that several children were publicly shamed in a Utah (Uinta County school district to be exact) school lunchroom because there was an outstanding bill for their school lunches.

The children, AFTER they had been through the line and were standing there with full lunch trays, were told they had outstanding bills and then, with the entire lunchroom watching, had their trays of food taken away and DUMPED into the trash.  THROWN AWAY.  Perfectly good food.  Tossed in the garbage.  The children, after this horrific experience, in front of God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, Gamesh, the Great Spirit and everyone, were then given some fruit and milk.  Because, as I read, this is what is given to those students who do not have money for a hot lunch.

If you read further into the story, it seems that the parents of these children were notified on Monday of the outstanding bills.  By telephone.  Not sure if messages were left.  Heck, some people don’t have old-fashioned answering machines anymore.  Some people actually work during the day, so aren’t home to answer a phone call.  How many messages do you get during the day because you’re away from your phone?  Anyhoo, on Tuesday, because the accounts weren’t paid in full (presumably within 24 hours….let’s say the phone calls went out on Monday morning and by Tuesday morning there weren’t any payments), the nincompoop, the ASININE, idiotic person in charge of whatever there is to be in charge of there in Utah, Uinta County School District, decided that the best course of action was to shame the children, who don’t really have the responsibility for paying the bills, in front of all of their peers.  Growing up is hard enough as it is.  Now there are adults out there who want to bully the children as well.  What on earth were they thinking????

Oh.  Yeah.  They weren’t thinking.   Not one itty, bitty, teensy, weensy bit.  And then to THROW AWAY the lunch trays full of perfectly good food just to prove a point?  What are these people?  Two year olds who get mad and take their ball and stomp away?

I’m pretty sure that wasting food in that manner is not cool in ANY part of this world.  How many starving children are there, not just all over the world, but in this damn country as well???  (And no, don’t get all flippin’ rightwing, batshit crazy on me because I said “damn country.”  I ain’t no Jeremiah Wright, and I ain’t bashin’ on this country.  And he wasn’t either…you needed to read the entire transcript of his words to understand what he was trying to say.  So don’t go there.)  I’m pissed off that people can bully children and think that’s an answer to some transgression that they think has been committed.

We have gotten to the Rise of Christianity in our history studies, about to embark on the fall of Rome.  So I have spent the better part of several days enlightening the brilliant mind of the dear darling diva of a 7 year old that I live with about the trials and tribulations of the great people that have gone before us.  Jesus Christ being one of them.  He was a great man with a great message who lived a long time ago.  He was persecuted for his beliefs.  Just like Socrates was.  Jesus was put on a cross.  Socrates was made to drink hemlock.  Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot.  So was Abraham Lincoln.  So was John Fitzgerald Kennedy for that matter.  And his brother too.  Buddha didn’t fare so well (in fact the Dalai Lama isn’t welcome in some places still to this day).   Confucius didn’t make a lot of friends.  And so on and so on and so on, down through the ages.  Hell, how many people want Barack Obama dead?  Really.  Think about that one for a while.

I have not wanted to discuss so many of these things with my daughter who is one of the most cerebral beings I have ever met.  I do not know how her mind catalogs these things, what images she sees when she puts her head down on the pillow at the end of the day.  I want her to be a child.  To have a childhood filled with wonderment, dreams, happy thoughts, wishes and rainbows on rainy days.  I don’t want her to have to face reality.  There is plenty of time for that later.  When she enters the adult world.  For now I just want her to revel in being a kid.  I want her to meet each day with the excitement of wondering what fun is going to happen today?  I want her to trust that her world will be safe, her world will be protected, the Arctic ice will not melt completely away and the polar bears will not be gone by 2050.  I want her to not be haunted by nightmares of bad people doing bad things.  I don’t want her to see the horrible, evil sides of people.  There was a moratorium on the news around here when the massacre occurred at Sandy Hook, as well as the movie theater in Aurora.  I want her to grow up thinking the world is OK.  And venturing out into it is OK.  Just like I did.  We rode our bikes to school, waving goodbye to our mother who remained standing on the porch.  We made our way down to the first crossing guard, then along the park to the second crossing guard and finally to the bike racks where Mr. Tjardes, the school principal, was standing outside greeting the students.  Our world was safe.  School was the safest.  Never, never, would students have been humiliated in the way they were in Utah earlier this week.  We were protected.

What has happened to our world?  And, I ask you, do you really think this is what those wise men had in mind when they spoke of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you?  Confucius had a version of the “Golden Rule.”  Socrates emphasized being kind.  Muhammad.  Buddha.  I could go on.  There have been many, many wise ones imparting lessons of right living, of loving kindness and compassion.  And what are our children learning today?  Bullying.  Public shaming.  Hate, for those who are different from oneself.  Intolerance.  But I digress.

Wow.  Things that make me truly nutso, crazy, off-my-rocker insane…just plain mad.  And as it is now the wee hours of the morning and the rest of the inhabitants of this house are sound asleep, I cannot go concoct the perfect triple shot, 1/2 caffe, dark chocolate mocha with whip as it would wake them all from their perfect slumber.  So, I will have to find something else to bring down the elevated blood pressure.  Ahhh…maybe sleep too.  What a novel idea.

I’m off to slumberland, hoping for sweet dreams.

Well, technically, if one must get all technical and such, I mis”wrote” not mis”spoke.”

In my previous post, I mentioned Dr. King and his legacy and what I am attempting to pass on to my daughter and my shortcomings in the past of appreciating him.  In rereading it, it seems as if I might be suggesting I held prior racist, bigoted beliefs and attitudes.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I do not believe that I, at any time, harbored bigoted, racist views regarding anyone.  (Though, to be sure, sometimes I do get a little miffed at the white peoples’ treatment of all races they thought ‘inferior’ to themselves.  One blatant example being the native peoples populating this country LONG before any white dudes arrived on the shores.  But, that is another story for another day.)

Rather, my past thoughts were due to ignorance of events that shaped our country, ignorance of exactly why they were important, ignorance of exactly why the people were important.  And that ignorance is what I am trying to atone for now.  I am hoping that by making sure Gracelyn is NOT ignorant of the facts, the history of this country, the people who framed the discussions, the movements, then perhaps in some small way I can make up for my appalling lack of sensitivity and absolute ignorance of the way of things.

There, is that as clear as mud?

Which brings me to the second topic at hand tonight, which I simply could not leave unaddressed as it was so completely asinine (I adore that word, simply adore it, so I use it whenever I can and luckily it seems there are just so many situations screaming to be addressed as asinine that I get to use it over and over and over again.  Yeah me!)

Seriously.  I just don’t get this.  Mike Huckabee had to weigh in on women’s reproductive rights I think.  I’m not sure exactly.  I mean, I honestly don’t know what he was trying to say or what point he was trying to make.  It really was that dumb.  At least in my humble opinion.

This is what the esteemed Mr. Huckabee said:
“Our party stands for the recognition of the equality of women and the
capacity of women. That’s not a war on them; it’s a war for them. And
if the Democrats want to insult the women of America by making them
believe that they are helpless without Uncle Sugar coming in and
providing them a prescription each month for birth control because they
cannot control their libido or their reproductive system without the
help of the government, then so be it, let’s that that discussion all
across America, because women are far more than Democrats have made them
to be.”

I think perhaps he’s trying to make some odd point about the “War on Women” that Democrats insist is being waged by Republicans and Republicans insist is all just a leftist, liberal, pinko, commie talking point (or something like that).

But after reading it again, I do think maybe he’s trying to address the supposed (by Republicans) “War on Women.”  (Personally, I do believe that Republicans have crafted some pretty sad legislation, or tried to advance pretty pathetic legislation, that would seem on the surface to not be very favorable to women.  And then we have the Todd Akins of the Republican party, of which there seem to be SOOOOOO many just like him, insisting that a woman can’t get pregnant from being raped because her body has a way of “shutting all of that down.”  Jesus, Mary and Joseph the insanity sometimes gives me a rip-roaring headache.  But, as usual, I digress.)

Back to Mr. Huckabee.  I don’t necessarily find fault with his premise.  I think he’s insisting that Democratic women are nincompoops because they cannot do anything by themselves or have a lucid thought by themselves without good ol’ Uncle Sam swooping in and thinking and doing for them.  I think that’s where he’s going with that.  I guess I do find fault with that premise after all.  I don’t appreciate being thought of as so completely stupid that I can’t think for myself.  Nincompoop I am not, thank you very much.

The thing that gets me all hot and bothered (and NOT my libido being all hot and bothered Mr. Huckabee…my genuine, 100%, born and bred Irish temper all flared up red-poker-like) is the reference to said libido.  Not mine specifically per se, but all women’s libidos in general.  And that the only reason women in this world would ever want to use birth control of any way, shape or form would be because they couldn’t control their libidos.  Every month.  And because they can’t control those pesky little libido thingys then they need to go take some birth control.

This is where my head starts to hurt.

Cause I’m fairly certain that the hormones in birth control pills don’t “control women’s libidos.”  I mean, at least in the medical school I attended (albeit a veterinary medical school, which to my dear young daughter means I’m not a “real” doctor, just a lowly veterinarian…don’t get me started…), birth control pills are used for a myriad of situations (regulating the menstrual cycle being the most common, but I’m just sayin’, and yes, the animal world is the happy beneficiary of many types of birth control methods, but good grief I digress here).  But not once do I remember “controlling the libido” being one of the indications for use.  Call me crazy.

So his argument is, if this is some sort of argument, really quite, well, asinine.  (No other word sums it up as well.  Sorry.)

I’m trying to follow it logically and I’m coming up a few cards short of the full deck here.  Nothing is adding up.  I think it might have something to do with the fact that the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare for all the haters) covers birth control.  And that’s a hard pill for the ridiculously, religiously, rigid Right to swallow.  (Major guffaw there.  No pun intended.) So maybe that’s where he was headed.  Cause sex is just not ok I guess.

Unless.  Unless.  Unless you’re an old white guy who needs to buy some Viagra to make your little wife happy?  Cause you know what?  Viagra is covered by insurance.  Yessirreebob.  So we can make men’s libidos all hot and bothered and happy go lucky.

But you don’t hear anyone screaming about the gubmint having their grubby hands involved in the men’s libido control, now do we?

I’m just sayin’.