trig palin's Open Salon Blog

How to satisfy a woman with two and a half inches

Fri, 30 Jul 2010 19:07:25 -0400

I am one of those "writers" who believe that you must have a catchy title to get the attention of readers. Blogs with titles like "My Mom refused to change my diaper, so I got a rash" or "Dad beat me senseless every Saturday" are not that catchy. Actually, I might click on the second one if Tink was the author.

In short (get it, SHORT!) this blog is not exactly about how to satisfy a woman (since I have no clue), although the "HOW TO" is explained at the bottom of this page. If you just can't wait, scroll to the bottom.. laugh, cry, curse me, rate, flag, spit, vomit... WHATEVER!

Today's subject kittens, is enemas! Not really, but speaking of, when I was a kid hunting with my Dad (who did in fact beat me senseless on a Saturday once upon a time) and his pal Ray, news came across the AM radio of the Illinois enema bandit. This guy would break into young womens' apartments and rob them at gun point, but not before first administering an enema. The geezers got a lot of mileage out of that one I can tell you!

And then when I was in my twenties and broke as Buddha, I signed up for a medical study that paid a grand for a 5 day stay. Back then a grand was a grand... these days it's more like fifty bucks. Anyway, after I had the physical, which included a rather ugly doctor man with a rubber glove and lube and me holding my ankles, I was told that the study involved the subjects (like ME) receiving 4 enemas a day.

I decided I was ok with broke.

Actually, this blog is about candles as sexual surrogates.

No, that's not it either.

It's about rampant f.u.c.k.m.u.p.p.e.t.r.y, pronounced FUCKMUPPETRY, on OS. Nope. Grew sick of that one a while back too.

Foreclosure! That's it!!! BAC is auctioning our house on August 24th (back story). I was all weepy when I got the letter, but now I'm over it. Eli is ok too. We will do whatever we have to. Life goes on. Wasn't like we actually ever owned this house any damn way. It was all an illusion! Fuck the economy. Fuck the gubbermint. Fuck fuckmuppetry (Kyle D. wrote on that subject yesterday). Fuck big oil, the AMA, big pharma, and especially the banksters (AND all their lobbyists and partners in Congress). None of them hold the keys to happiness. That can only be found in the NOW, which is where I intend to live (wherever my carcass may rest at night).

Now we come to the part where I plagiarize.

Good night and have a better tomorrow (recognize that parting line?).

Oh, yeah, the joke is stolen too... Sigh.

The answer to the title's implied question?

You give them a credit card...

Thanks Trig!

Yours forever, or 'til the card runs dry!

Images from here...

dream on trig, reality is for the birds

Sat, 24 Jul 2010 17:07:46 -0400

Each morning at sunrise I hear the song of a bird outside my window. My best interpretation of the voice-sound is... bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, emphasis on the last syllable -- always in threes.

Faintest hint of light from the East filters through my sheer black-grey 'curtain.'

Everyday this happens.

I awaken briefly, but having no particular reason to hurry out of the comfort of bed, I drift back into semi dreams. The bouncy bird and others too become background music as pleasant images play across my halfconscious mindscape. I try to milk these moments for all they are worth, knowing that soon I will be fully awake, reality being my only reward.

Oh how I wish then I could join the ranks of those winged ones who make their livings from the Earth and sing songs of joy to celebrate each new sunrise.

I imagine them speaking to each other: Jamaican accented English..

"No worries mon! Many worms and insects we will eat today. The babies are flying on their own now and we have taught them well. Hahahaha! The sun rises again mon!!!"

Reality rather sucks these days.

If only I could sleep and dream forever.

I too can fly... in my dreams at least, sometimes. It's more like gliding really, usually not far separated from Earth. Air surfing; knees bent, hands out to each side for balance. I launch myself from the top of a long stairwell and touch down lightly at the bottom, never having scathed a step. Launch again and cruise effortlessy through immense landscapes or cityscapes for hours on end, watchful observer of all things. No thoughts, just pure awareness.

Reality is for the birds... they can keep it.

Time for my nap..

The Year Was Eternity

Thu, 22 Jul 2010 10:07:03 -0400

May 17, 1969 - Karen's journal

Tuck in bed, pluck from danger, push and pull, prod and mold, wash and scold four precious angels, forty fingers, forty toes. Comb the hair, feed the mouths, leaden chores, gasp for breath. Don't sit now, not now, not now. Clean the shoes, kiss the wounds, pat their cheeks, guard them well. My God I hurt, oh God I hurt. Wipe the sniffles, break the fever, wash three loads of clothes while they're fast asleep. When all is dark and hushed make the nightly rounds. They breathe, they breathe. Pause a moment, bow your head. Feel the strength, don't cry now, love is strong, oh so strong.

May 3o, 1969

ALONE

As the desert wind howls

relentlessly across the dunes

with moans and sighs

of long forgotten times

so comes the desolation

sweeping memory aside

relentless, emptying soul

forsaken of all that once was.

A vast swirling tide of despair

clings, chokes, smothers,

pulls the mind apart

with absolute nothingness

wails with voice that haunts

to the depths of the bottomless pit.

There are no heights here

only myself alone

June 12, 1969 Good Shepherd Hospital

Dictated 9:15pm Kansas City, Ks

Emergency Room History and Physical

The patient is a twenty-nine year old white female admitted this afternoon through the ER. Her children found her lying unconcscious. A son called a neighbor who notified her husband and the ambulance. The medics state she was breathing on their arrival but her respirations were slow, shallow and irregular. Oxygen per mask was administered. She was non-responsive to verbal stimuli but responded to a sternal rub. She was transported with red lights and siren, the cause of her collapse unknown.

She awoke in the ER, combative and shouting, "Show me a baby and I'll be okay." Four point restraints were applied for her protection and Thorazine 50 mg IM administered. She went to sleep. The patient's husband could give no reason for her collapse. An IV of D5W was started CBC, Chemistry Profile and drug and alcohol screen were drawn, all normal. She was admitted under the care of her family physician for evaluation.

Alfred Goldstein, MD

June 13, 1969

History and Physical

..... She said "I am the Devil" but a few minutes later said "I have a mission for God." She knew her name, the names of her children, and the month is June, but said the year was "eternity."

The above is excerpted from our Mother's book "Of God and Women" published at Authonomy.com. I post this here at opensalon with her permission. I was the son that called the neighbor...

Trig Palin

Our Momma wrote a book!!! An excerpt

Mon, 19 Jul 2010 19:07:47 -0400

Our mother has written a book! More accurately, it's a collection of letters mostly between her and her sister, our Aunt Judy the Reverend Doctor who used to be an atheist and apparently a beatnik! Also there are letters from our Grandmother... one in particular being the story of her young life in West Virginia and subsequent marriage to our grandfather (who died before I was born), then their move to Okmulgee Oklahoma, etc.. Additionally, short letters to and from us kids.Then later, entries from Mom's personal journal. One of those I will share with you here (and as you can't copy and paste I will have to type it out verbatim). Her writing is fabulous, as is that of Aunt Judy. The story the letters tell is fascinating.

I have spent much time reading the past couple of days. Can't seem to stop. I am actually dreading what is to come however. Right now I'm at October 1968. In 1969 Mom had a pschizophrenic breakdown and spent the whole summer hospitalized. As I read now, I see her world as she saw it. Four of us kids, her and Dad, assorted pets... all in a two bedroom crackerbox, and not enough money to live. The grocery budget was $20 per week, but the letters go much deeper than the day to day money struggles.

From her intro... Then, in 1968 cracks appear in the sisters patched world. Judy encounters Jesus and Satan in a theophany which leaves her shattered, in spite of it's overwhelming sense of love. Karen also encounters Jesus and Satan, but in a vastly different realm, and descends into pure, all consuming evil.

Which one is insane? Or are they both? Or not?....

You can read the whole thing here. It's at authonomy.com which is a web site of HarperCollins publishing. If you like, you can join and leave comments, much like OS.

October 12, 1968 - Karen's Journal

Awoke today with a desperate need for a fresh perspective of October - took the klunker for a country drive and came across a tiny neglected cemetery high on a wooded knoll.

A gray, crumbling tombstone half concealed by weeds caught my eye and I knelt in front of it. The rough stone was warm from the sun as I traced the nearly illegible name with my fingertips. All I could decipher was "Kat", no age or year. Kathryn? Katrina? I pondered the life of this pioneer prairie person. I knew it was a younger female (a projection of myself?) and was inexplicably overwhelmed by compassion for her.

I spoke aloud, "Kat, was your life tolerable in this harsh land, or unbearable?" Unexpectedly she answered. Her message drifted down from dry leaves rustling in the breeze, danced lightly on birdsong, wafted up from the sweetly acrid fragrance of decaying foliage, her thoughts inseparable from nature, poised at one of her most ravishing peaks.

"Good or bad, it was my life and it was a gift from God. Never forget to be grateful. To squander your life on negative thoughts and self absorption is to scorn the gift." As I tried to comprehend this peculiar manifestation I stood up to survey the countryside, mesmerized by the intensely rich colors of the luminous day. The transitory nature of the moment in juxtaposition with Kat's message, heightened my sense of awed reverence.

Then I felt the presence, saw with a spiritual vision, all my ancestors in an ever-widening circle around me, back to the darkest depths of time. Farmers, carpenters, craftsmen, adventurers, midwives, men and women of God, homemakers, military men, doctors, soldiers. Scots-Irish-English, German-Dutch, American Indian. Hundreds of thousands of them, wise, good-natured souls, mercifully released from fleshy chains of anger and sorrow, and painfully unanswered questions. In unison, they spoke the same spirit language as Kat. "Every single human life is sacred, whether it's remembered or not by those they leave behind in this vale of tears."

For a moment - or longer? - I floated in an unfamiliar plane, overflowing with a warm and glowing love that provided answers as well as questions. Permeating all was a dynamic peace, which I knew to be the antithesis of stagnant "happiness" delivered by status or material things. It did not occur to me to ask how I'd arrived. I only knew all boundaries of time and matter had been obliterated, and that I was at an apogee of truth.

Then I was seated in the midst of giant brown seeds at the center of a black eyed Susan, and had an acute awareness it was growing near Kat's headstone. Astonished, I gleefully stepped onto a satin yellow petal, slid down it, and dropped softly onto shoulder high green grass. Instantly then, I found myself staring at a clump of yellow from my earthly height, organic matter once more. I didn't know whether to laugh or weep with joy.

I sat under a massive oak tree, leaned against it's solid strength, and tried to absorb and synthesize Kat and flowers and autumn and ancestors and the meaning of life. I considered how October was a symbol of my inability to find a comfortable balance between joy and sorrow. Embraced by the comforting trunk and roots of the oak, I let the blessing of the still present peace, the unquestionable mercy and grace of God, wash over, through, and around me. My gratitude that it was no longer beyond my reach was boundless, indeed profound.

But reality (or what we perceive as reality as we walk this Earth) began it's intrusive, relentless probing. With a sorrowful effort my spirit abandoned the peaceful valley of green pastures and still waters. I silently prayed for strength to go on living the life allotted to me in the here and now, reverently placed a bouquet of red and golden leaves in front of Kat's headstone beside the yellow flowers and drove home in wonderment.

I was feeling good... so I stuffed a jalapeno in my ass

Sun, 18 Jul 2010 20:07:24 -0400

Background theme....... if you hate this music please remove me from your fav list. A lesson in the lyrics people. Listen closely.

Something I learned early in life... If things are going well, it's time to start looking over your shoulder. No doubt something bad is creeping on ya. Of course, then, while you're walking and turn around to look for the creeping weasel of doom, you step into a crevice and twist your ankle. It's the way that GOD keeps us in 'balance.' Too much good stuff is not actually good because if we didn't know strife and misery we wouldn't appreciate her gifts!

Today I was feeling really well. So, before the bitch in the sky could throw me a curve ball I took pre-emptive action. I bit the end off a large jalapeno pepper, and after recovering from the mouthal pain, stuffed the remainder up my ass. I can tell you, it burns. Oh yes! This is my way of keeping the balance of the universe at bay.

That, and suffering leads to creativity. I haven't been feeling so creative lately. Turns out the jap in my ass is just what I needed for blogging. I reccomend everyone try it. Beats cutting off your ear... just sayin'. Oh, the pain is exquisite!

Just fucking around here folks. I have some good news. No, not about the house. I called BoA. They are intransigent (must go to look up intransigent... no matter what it means, the word stays because I like it).

Nope, the good news is that if my son survives the night he will have sat in the baby holder thing in the corner, rolled over, projectile pooped, crawled, pooped some more, and eventually walked this thing we call the 'Earth' for seventeen year cycles.

I'll never forget when she said "I'm pregnant." Of course my reaction was "who you been fuckin'?" I was scared, like a baby rabbit strayed from his Momma, in the path of an oncoming Hummer. My question was justified I felt though, as we had been together for three years doing the horizontal tango 7 times a day, eight days a week.

Ah, a miracle then?

Turns out, he looks kinda like me. And acts like me. And is a musician.. and a free thinker. He loves all things scatalogical. Hates all politicians. Detests fuckmuppetry... My boy!