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I Hate to Even Post This March 10, 2010

Posted by A. Robinson in Crazy Magnet.
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Today I was squirreling around the internet searching for birthrates out of wedlock.  The first link that came up led me to the Stormfront.org forums (I’m not going to link to it because, seriously, the site doesn’t need any more hits).

The source article was fine; it was just embedded a link to a New York Times article–40% of all American children are now born out of wedlock, according to this source.  But as I read through the replies, I was increasingly horrified.  One commenter blamed the increase on “race-mixing whores.”  I figured this guy would get lit into, but as I kept reading, there were all sorts of racist comments.  People were blaming the increase on Hispanics and African-Americans, citing their dependency on the white man’s tax dollar.  I couldn’t believe it, until I realized that I was on a white nationalist message board.

Oh. My. God.  I knew some crazy stuff happened out there on the internet, but SERIOUSLY?  A whole forum dedicated to WHITE SUPREMACY AND RACISM?  No lie, the boards were broken up topically and globally. Turns out, if you’re a racist neo-nazi in Switzerland, there are some folks who really want to hang out and chat with you.  The really disgusting thing was that there were, literally, tens of thousands of posts.  It wasn’t like this was Alabama John Doe’s backyard project.  It’s popular, and that’s terrifying.  Crazy people by themselves are bad enough, but crazy people en masse are dangerous.  Very, very dangerous.

I’m Lovin’: Birth Control is Sinful in the Christian Marriages and also Robbing God of Priesthood Children!!! December 21, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in BookLust, Lovin'.
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Need a pick-me-up?  I swear to God, the reviews of this book made me laugh so hard I cried.  Also, bless my soul, you can look inside!  Trust me, IT IS ALL CAPS FABULOUS* BECAUSE JESUS THE HOLYGHOSTCHRISTCHILD TOLD ME>>>: ALSO I’M NEVER ROBBING GODTHESAVIOREMMANUELL OF CHILLIN’ FOR HIS PRIESTHOOD THANK YOU FOR CHANGING MY** LIFE!

Daddy Drama November 13, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Life.
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I try not to post sob stories on this blog.  I mean, you don’t click on posts to join a pity party for one, after all.  But there’s been some ongoing drama associated with my father lately, and it’s so crazy I can’t not share it.  My family is a collection of nutcases, I guess.

Anyway, this all started in August when my dad called me out of the blue.  I hadn’t talked to him since April, which really isn’t unusual for us.  My grandfather has been in poor health the past couple of years, so I immediately answered the phone hoping that it wasn’t “the call,” you know…the “your-grandfather-is-dead” call.  Turns out, not so much.  Dad let me know that not only had he been dating some lady he met on the internet for three months, he’d proposed to her.

I’m sure the people around me heard tires screeching in my brain.

You heard me correctly.  The man with two failed marriages and children from two different women affianced a woman after three months of dating.  This is the same man who told John he couldn’t marry me after we’d been together for two and a half years.  Anyway, I told him that I hoped he was planning a long engagement, because no one can know anyone well enough to marry them in three months.  What I should have said was, “Seriously?  Are you TRYING to pay alimony?”  I didn’t.

I’d pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until three weeks ago when my dad sent me an email telling me he’d like John and I to fly to El Paso for his November 21st wedding.  I couldn’t believe the short notice.  Not only is it inconsiderate, but the decision itself is unintelligent.  But whatever.  The man is grown and can do whatever he pleases, for all I care, as long as he keeps me out of it.  So I tell him that we can’t afford the $1,000 tickets to fly to El Paso on such late notice and push come to shove, he offered to pay.  Since I haven’t seen my “El Paso family” in almost two years, I thought I’d take him up on the offer.

Since then, John’s been struggling to get time off of work to go.  In the ad business the end of the year is the busiest, so he finally nailed down the time a few days ago.  With all that’s been going on with school, I finally got around to booking the tickets yesterday.  Before I paid I called dad to confirm the travel dates, which he was okay with.  I booked the flights, and that was the end of it.

Or not.  So my dad emails me this morning to tell me that the wedding has been moved to the 28th, and that I needed to change my travel reservations accordingly.  Good lord.  Now I have to call him and tell him that we can’t make it, then go through the hassle of contacting airlines and such when I have other things in my life–i.e. school, family, a marriage–to focus on.

I really  don’t know why I’m posting this other than to share with you the insanity that is my relationship with my dad.  Everything works out this way; nothing ever goes smoothly with him, even when I do all of the arrangements myself.  This is reason number 839,045 that I try and keep my distance from dad.  Life just doesn’t work right when it’s cluttered with so much drama.

From The Great Beyond October 27, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Bus Songs, Crazy Magnet, Life, Lovin'.
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Hey everyone!  Remember me?  You know, that Mexican girl you talk to sometimes?  Yeah, I’m not dead…yet.  Just totally, completely swamped.  It’s been non-stop work for me lately, so much so that I haven’t been able to type up a single little blog post.  Intolerable, I know.

Anyway, in the interval, why don’t you check out my new favorite website: People of Walmart. I, of course, live in the Walmart (not Wal-Mart, they’ve changed their branding!) capital of the world, which means I pretty much swing by a Supercenter every other day.  I mean, the convenience!  The affordability!  The PEOPLE.

Of course, you’ve read about one of my encounters with a Walmart employee whether you realize it or not.  But really, I can vouch for the People of Walmart website single handedly.  I mean, seriously.  I cannot begin to tell you how many nutjobs I’ve seen trolling the aisles of the Middle Class Retail Mecca of the World.  For example, one night John and I went to Walmart around 2:00 am, I can’t remember why, probably for unmentionable naughty things Cheez-its.  We noticed a man walking around the store with a giant 42″ flat screen plasma television in a cart; we mainly noticed because the man was rocking the longest mullet I have ever in my life seen.  Throw in the dirty camo pants, and he definitely looks like he doesn’t have indoor plumbing, let alone the wall space for such a honker of a boob-tube.  Anyway, the guy happens to be lapping the store, and as we make our way to the front we watch him try to walk out the front door with the television, even though John and I both know he hasn’t paid for it.  He presents the greeter with a reciept, which is promptly denied.  He then gets angry and walks back to the electronic department like he’s going to put the television back, only to try to exit through ANOTHER Walmart entrance/exit, despite the fact that it’s closed.  John and I hang out to watch this guy, who tries to exit the store not once, but three different times.

I mean seriously.  Why try and steal such a huge television?  Why get greedy?  Steal some small expensive things, like cell phones, curtains, etc. and sell those in order to get the cash to buy the television.  Tisk tisk.

Anyway, enjoy the website.  I sure do.

I’m Lovin’: Stranger than Eviction August 2, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Crazy Magnet, Lovin'.
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My sister Caitlin pointed out something great about this note:  I love that he clearly wrote, ‘Gabe, your are evicted!’ went back inside and thought, ‘WAIT! There’s something I need to add!’ got halfway back outside and then thought, ‘No, not in black!  This one needs to catch the eye!’

This is a kid-friendly example of a Gary correspondence

I was all in the middle of telling you about my campus cop story when John and I happened to stumble across this website.  (Warning: if you’re not comfortable with profanity, don’t click the link).  If you think my stories from the Red Bus are crazy, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.  The blog details Gabe Dunn’s one month subletting experience from a criminally insane landlord named Gary.  Not only is the material hilarious, but Gabe’s insights are funny, too (even though I don’t think Gabe has the grammatical high-ground to stand on that he thinks he does).

The best part?  The saga is ongoing.  Gabe’s latest post was yesterday.

My Experience With The Homeless Man May 13, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Crazy Magnet.
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Ugly truth: I’ve never been fond of the homeless.  Trust me, logically, I have a lot of sympathy for them.  Many of the people who are homeless are suffering from mental instability that they either a) cannot afford treatment for or b) don’t even realize they have.  It breaks my heart to read statistics about homeless veterans, and I really am compassionate to their plight.

The thing is, they still freak me out.  I have yet to have any really decent experiences with the homeless.  This might have everything to do with my crazy-magnet: I probably only attract the super-unstable homeless people.  If I hadn’t been so harrassed by crazies, perhaps I’d be less panicky about dealing with them.  Instead, my heart races, I get a little light headed, I pray fervently, and try to get away from them just as quickly as possible.

Last week I had my most recent run-in with a crazy homeless person.  It was a nice evening, so John and I had gone for a walk.  We’d started about 45 minutes before sunset, so we weren’t able to go very far.  We had just turned around to head back to our house when a man approached us from across the street.  He looked fine enough; he was carrying a backpack and a Starbucks coffee.  He looked tan, like maybe he had a day laborer position or something, so initially I didn’t think much of him.  He stopped us and asked us where the Fayetteville Athletic Club was.  We pointed him in the right direction and he started off.

Not ten steps later, he turned around and looked at us and asked us if we were Christians.

I could have thrown up right then.  It has been my experience that when someone asks you that question, no good really comes of it.  They either spend an hour trying to fight you down off of your beliefs or they try and wheedle you out of money, etc.  This guy looked more like the latter than the former, so I grabbed John’s hand a little tighter to try and get him to answer the question and keep walking.

He doesn’t, of course, and this homeless man launches into this huge story about how he walked into a church earlier that day and the congregation did nothing but take him to Chick-Fil-A for a meal.  Then he goes on and on about how he was really Christian and then fell on hard times because, get this–both his mother and sister are institutionalized for mental disorders.  Right then I was ready to get the heck out of there.

So by this point, John and I have gotten to our “turn off” to go back to our apartment, and he’s been talking to us for 30 minutes.  Since he’s been FOLLOWING us so far, I’m afraid to turn down our street in case he follows us there, too.  I really, really cannot emphasize how creepy this guy is.  He obviously knows his Bible, but he’s so pushy…he keeps sort of preaching on how Christians should take each other into their homes to care for one another.  So, of course, he eventually asks if he can take a shower at our house.  I shout “no” so loudly that it startles both John and the homeless man (who has refused to give us his name, because he’s rejected his other name in favor of a new name that Jesus will give him.  Ooookay).  Instead, John gives the homeless guy his watch to get him to a) wait for us and b) as a guarantee that we will come back for him.

We hustle back to our apartment to grab the Vibe.  John has already called our pastor and is asking for advice, and I’m of the opinion that we don’t need to go back for him.  Against my better judgement, I fix the guy a sandwich and we pile in the Vibe.  I opt for the back seat just in case this guy starts acting funny or something (I grabbed the hunting knife out of my truck just in case).  I’m not sure what I would have done if the guy had pulled a gun or something, but I’m relatively sure it wouldn’t have been legal or pretty.

Anyway, as we head towards the Athletic Center this guy starts getting more and more aggravated.  He starts talking about how Christianity is a prison and asking us, pointedly and angrily, why we won’t let him go to our house to take a shower.  He’s starting to get more and more agitated at this point, which is making me more and more nervous.  I have a death grip on the handle of the knife, certain I’m going to have to stab a man before this thing is all over.

John pulls into the parking lot of the gym as quickly as possible.  The guy gets out, leaving his stuff in the car, complaining about how he doesn’t think they’ll let him in.  John grabs it and hands it to him, just as I was about to get out of the car and toss it out in the parking lot.  Thank goodness–the guy just took his stuff (along with John’s watch) and left.  I’ve never been so relieved in my whole life.  I’m still a little scared of running into this guy somewhere on the street and having him harass me again.  I know it’s unfounded, but still.

I’m just not fond of the homeless.

Told You So March 19, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Life.
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One will inevitably apply to me every Sunday

One will inevitably apply to me every Sunday

Here’s a secret that was posted this Sunday.  Whoops!  Looks like I’ve been caught.

Subtly Terrifying January 27, 2009

Posted by A. Robinson in Bus Songs.
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I rode the bus home on Friday; as I surveyed the bus looking for my seat, I realized that the bus was primed for crazy-talk.  There were groups of oddballs congregated at different spots.  I happened to catch a whiff of a politically geared conversation up towards the front.  Sounded like it could turn violent at any moment, so I plopped myself down within hearing range, but far enough away to avoid any flying debris.

The couple participating in the discussion were probably in their 50s.  I couldn’t see much of the gentleman; he was staring pretty intently at his old school clamshell cell phone, texting slower than anyone I’ve ever seen in my whole life.  He had a large red beard–which I assumed would be fairly unkempt if I was looking at him face to face–and a baseball cap.  His companion was in her 50s.  She was of average build and height, and her greying hair was cut in a bob.  Her mustachioed, oval face was slightly oddly shaped, probably because she seemed to be missing many of her top teeth.

About 15 minutes into the trip, as I’d hoped ,the conversation exploded.  All of a sudden, the woman begins to raise her voice. 

Lady:  “That’s irrational.  That is just totally and completely irrational!” 

She’s using big words, which is a plus.  She’s also yelling at the top of her lungs, which negates any SAT points she might have earned. 

Lady:  (continues)  “Obama did not take a pay cut because he’s black!  It has nothing to do with the color of his skin!  Hell, lots of people voted for him, too.  My whole family voted for him; we didn’t care that he was black.  He’s not getting paid less because he’s black, for God’s sake!”

It’s important to pause for a second and point out that this woman was arguing on the premise that Obama did, in fact, take a cut to his salary.  Now, to the best of my research, it’s my understanding that Obama put a freeze on raises for his White House aids.  The articles I’ve read haven’t said anything about the freeze or a deduction being applied to his own paycheck.  Not criticizing–heck, if I’d just been sworn in as the President of the United States, I wouldn’t assign myself a pay reduction, either.  Oh, but she couldn’t just leave it there.  

Lady:  “Besides, he’ll be dead in six months anyway.”  

And with that, she turns around, folds her arms, and starts pouting.  I, on the other hand, am sitting in my seat, staring, unabashedly slack-jawed.  She didn’t qualify that with “I hope that’s not true” or “God forbid.”  Her matter-of-fact delivery sent a chill up my spine.  

Look, it’s no secret that I didn’t vote for the man.  As a matter of fact, this election had me between a rock and a hard place.  I didn’t like either candidate (oh, Hillary!), to be honest.  However, even though I didn’t choose Obama myself, that doesn’t make him any less my President.  I do believe that he is–and will–do the best job for the nation that he can.  His election is historical, I admit.  I mean, I wish that race had not been a factor in the election for the sole reason that ignoring his genetic make-up would have been the real indicator that America is truly post-racial.  However, his presence in the White House is a huge step towards reaching that goal.  For him to be killed in office…no sane person wants to see that. 

So here’s sending a prayer up for you, President Obama.  May you have a safe and healthy 4 years in office.  


P.S:  This conversation is the most accurate I’ve ever recounted; I definitely recorded it verbatim onto my iPod Touch.  It’s a brilliant deception, really.  “Oh, you think I’m listening to music?  Haha, I’m actually blogging about you!  Take that!”  Tee hee.