A WILD RIDE AT THE FAIR

One of the highlights of summer as a child was when the fair would come to town. I thought it was wonderful when I was old enough to go in a group of friends without adult supervision. Of course this meant that shenanigans were going to take place. Since my father was a firefighter my family always got free passes into the fair, but from the time I started going without adult supervision it was a rite of passage to go under the fence to get into the fair. Kids will be kids and Mildred will definitely be Mildred. That's just the way it is and always will be.

The Bangor State Fair I'm sure wasn't any different than any other state fair of that era or so I thought. There were were rides, games, food and tucked at the back of the fair were the plethora of side shows. The rides made me hurl because I have motion sickness so unless I was coerced heavily and shamed into it by my friends to go on them I avoided the rides like they were the Bubonic plague. For me, it was the side shows that always fascinated me. The weirder the better I liked them! The barkers stood outside tempting people to come inside to see the oddities or to see the half naked dancing women. Of course, there was always a line of men waiting to see those luscious dancing women. We never thought they were very luscious, but what did we know? That didn't interest us! We always just sashayed by as if we were the real hot stuff and then we'd giggle like only little girls could do.

I'd been away for a few years at drug rehab, but when I was 18 I returned home for a visit. That was when I got an eye opening experience regarding the Bangor State Fair. My brother, Brian and his significant other, Rose asked me if I wanted to join them at the fair one evening. I had been feeling rather low and needed to get out so I decided to go with them. Other than maybe running into someone I hadn't seen in years, I couldn't think of anything that could be new about the fair, but since I didn't have anything else to do I accepted their invitation. So off we went to the fair... It all seemed too familiar. The smells. The lights. The sounds. Even the faces of the people I didn't know. We walked around and I have to admit I was disappointed I didn't run into anyone I knew...not one person!

Then we came to the sideshows. The men were outside doing their usual spiel, but then one caught our attention. He was hollering something about his show being for brave men and liberated women. He looked at my brother and said that he'd let Rose and me in for free if Brian paid for his own admission. Before we knew it we were inside the huge tent standing before a stage along with maybe 30 or so other people. As I slowly looked around, I discovered Rose and I were the only women in there. As the music started, a scantily dressed dancer came out on stage and with in less than a minute she was completely naked. My mouth dropped open! Can she do that? Is that legal?

I was at the Bangor State Fair I told myself as I looked around the dimly lit tent to make sure there wasn't anyone there I knew. I thought the police were going to come busting in at any second. As the dancer made her way around the stage she crouched down into a crab walk and started offering the people along the perimeter of the stage the opportunity to sample her wares (perform oral sex on her). When she got to my brother, she said, "You want some, honey?"

My brother responded as if someone has asked him if he wanted a donut. He told her that he already had some of his own and tilted his head towards Rose. She then made her way towards me and I had this OMG look on my face that gave her my answer as I just put my hand up as sign that I was okay without  "a taste." She just smiled at me and gave me a wink as she made her way around the stage. I'll never forget this older man on the other side on the stage who grabbed ahold of the cheeks of her ass and pulled her to him as he dove into her like he was at a pie eating contest. You could hear him slurping away over the music until "security" broke it up. By that time the song ended and we filed out of the tent. All I kept thinking was now everyone I grew up with will be lined up outside waiting to see me... I wanted to kick my brother because he thought it was hilarious that Rose and I had no idea what happened inside those sideshow tents. Call me naïve, but I guess I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined anything like that actually happened in Bangor Maine. Note to oneself: paybacks are hell!

I heard that the police shut that stuff down finally. I guess they weren't being paid off enough or something. Anyway, all I kept thinking about was all the times as a kid when I used to walk by those sideshows. I wonder if that sort of thing was going on then and the song that was playing that night as she "danced" is burnt into my memory for all time... Now, no matter where I am if I happen to hear that song I think of that "wild ride” at the Bangor State Fair.

I can picture every move that a man could make
Getting lost in her lovin' is your first mistake
Sundown you better take care
If I find you been creepin' 'round my back stairs
Sometimes I think it's a sin
When I feel like I'm winnin' when I'm losin' again

RONNIE

Before anyone gets their underwear in a big wad, I haven't drunk the Kool-Aid! Yes, Ronnie was named
after Ronald Reagan. Ronnie was purchased on the day of President Reagan's death. My step-father and my daughter decided to buy a black Lab puppy and were having trouble agreeing on a name for him so I suggested the name Ronnie. My step-father was a staunch Republican so the name Ronnie was a given. Ronnie passed away yesterday after living a very long and happy life. Please keep my daughter and her family in your thoughts. Ronnie was a part of her family for many, many years and will be missed by all. He was a beautiful black Lab and although as he grew old, he slowed down and like an old person he grew fragile, slow and stubborn, but he always remained that beautiful black Lab puppy that they brought home many years ago in all our hearts. Rest in peace, Ronnie and go be with Grandpa now.

To Those Who Have Proudly Served

Happy 

The Definition of Confusion (Thank You, Mother)

Reposted from 3/15/2010 edited:

When my children were still quite young and in school, they used to visit their grandparents on school holidays. I would drive halfway to Pensacola to meet my mother and place my children in her care. The first few days always felt like utter bliss and then the house gradually became a mausoleum. By the time I would pick up my children, I was more than ready to have them come home again. I welcomed that deafening chaos and unruly banter that came with three children.

My mother was always rather rigid while I was growing up and had a very democratic way of handling punishment. If the guilty party didn't confess the first time when my brothers and I were asked who did something, we all suffered the consequences. As I grew older and eventually became a parent myself, the woman who raised me seemed to change. She got soft in her old age! Had I broken her spirit? Possibly! But each time my children would rave on about the fun-loving person who they perceived their grandmother to be, I knew it wasn't the same person who raised me. My mother was proof that aliens do exist! They has abducted my mother and left in her place a female Captain Kangaroo or would it date me too much if I said Shari Lewis and Lambchop? Ask anyone from my old neighborhood! They knew my mother was a force to be reckoned with. Her voice alone could raise the dead. 

Each time my children would go for a visit, it took weeks before I could straighten them out. My mother waited on them hand and foot and made them do NOTHING but fun things while they visited her. When they came home sassy and quite lazy, I would want to pull my hair out. One time while driving home, my children seemed quite mesmerized by a joke book one of them had gotten while in Pensacola. One of their visiting rituals was for her to take them (her angelic grandchildren) to Hawsey's, a used bookstore and let them each purchase a large paper bag full of books to read. All three of my children loved to read so going to Hawsey's was always a fun thing to do.

Since they were quiet on our trip home and this was an oddity for them, I tried to engage them in conversation only to be told they were busy reading jokes. That explained the occasional chuckle I heard from the backseat. I asked them to read me aloud some of the jokes. My youngest child, Matthew spoke up and said he would read one. Although he was only 7 at the time, his reading skills were quite advanced for someone his age. As Matthew read, I almost drove off the road.

Whats' the definition of "confusion"?

Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market!

WTF? Now, with glee they started reading more jokes from the book as fast as they could until I could gather my thoughts and ask them where they got the book. In unison they told me...HAWSEY'S! And of course I asked if  their grandmother let them buy that book? Well, I was told she never screened the books that they bought, so the book titled Truly Tasteless Jokes was easily purchased by my son, Daniel (age 9).

Then they all went on to start reciting the dirty little ditties my mother had taught them. It was then I knew she had truly lost her mind or maybe the rules that apply to being a parent were different from those that apply to being a grandparent. It definitely was a gotcha moment lovingly given to me by my mother. To this day, my mother just smiles innocently when this story is told. What I want to know is why she never taught my brothers and me these ditties when we were kids or why my grandmother never taught them to us? Geez! I feel cheated! 

An example of one of the my mother's ditties:

A flock of birds

Chocked full of turds

Flew over my father's castle

They stretched their necks

And shit a peck

Then closed up their assholes.

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful I don't live in a castle near a fish market.

Tara

It was Christmas Eve 2008 when Tara came to live with us. Whitey (my last surviving Himalayan cat) had just about grieved himself to death after Chewy, his brother passed away in May. He needed a friend, but I wasn't ready for another cat. Chewy was my baby. I loved him dearly and it crushed me when he died. He had cancer and I had to have him put to sleep. I guess that's the polite terminology for euthanizing your pet, but there's nothing polite about death.

Like a fool I used to go out doing last minute Christmas stuff and I had my son, Matthew with me. When we were headed home, I turned into the Escambia County Animal Shelter and he looked at me and asked me the obvious. Whitey had given us very specific instructions to follow: NO FEMALE CATS and NO BLACK CATS. The reason for this was that his very own mother hated him. Yes, his mother wasn't very nice (she used to bite him and the bites would et infected) and my mother had a black cat named Bob who got ahold of Whitey once and tore his neck open...so NO BLACK CATS and NO FEMALES CATS.

In we went to the Animal Shelter and they had a great selection of kittens and cats, but none of them seemed too playful or had very much personality except one and it kept sticking its paw out through the cage EVERY time we walked by. Hey, pick me! You guys, pick me! It talked and talked and talked and carried on until we came over and read its card and talked to it. So we ended up bringing that cat home for Whitey...it took him about a week to get used to HER. Yes, it was a FEMALE! And yes it was BLACK! He taught her all his bad habits and told her she didn't have to be a lap cat, but about a month before my mother's cat died she started sleeping on my mother's bed as if she knew my mother would need that when Pat was gone. Basically, she's become my mother's cat over the last few years and I think that's a good thing for both of them.

Today Tara is having surgery. She has a mass on her lower left side. The vet says that in cats that it's usually cancer, but they won't know for sure until the pathology report comes back. I know she's just a cat, but if you can please keep Tara in your thoughts I'd really appreciate it. She's a good kitty and we'd like to have her back home and healthy. Fenway, Libby and B.A. are cogs (cat/dogs) and Tara is a member of their pack. They patiently await her return...

Addendum: Thursday November 7, 2019 7:24am: This was written as a draft and was supposed to be posted on Thursday and not on Wednesday. It was my screw up for posting it early. Tara is getting operated today. I'll be dropping her off at the vet in less than hour.

Addendum: Thursday November 7, 2019 3:36pm: Tara is home and doing well. She was sent home with pain meds to take if she needs them. The vet at Megan's Landing Veterinary Clinic said the mass was easily removed. It appeared to be in a sac and had not metastasized to any other surrounding area. We'll know more when the pathology report comes back. I'd like to thank everyone for their support. It means so much to me.

Last Update: Sunday December 11, 2022 8:55am: The mass was cancer, but to date it never returned. Tara is now 14 years old and still a member of the dog pack. 

WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEART OF MILDRED?

When I first made this discovery I was like the Tasmanian Devil I was so mad.  It's hard to keep your cool when you want to lash out and do something to a person, but you know there's nothing you can do and it's so frustrating you want to pull your own hair out.  So, you sit there fuming for awhile saying some very colorful language and then you slowly calm down because there's no point in staying angry. [grumble, grumble, grumble....and finally a huge sigh]

When the troll first appeared on my blog I was mildly irritated. At first, I hoped the person would simply go away, but that didn't happen. Obviously, trolls want to be annoying and only go away when blocked or impeached! The subject matter the troll selected to discuss in the comment section of my blog was what I referred to as a "British cum dumpster."  I won't mention the cum dumpster's whole name and I will get into that reason for that shortly, but when I googled that person I found out she was some 1980's porn star. Her first name is Pauline.

Like many people out here I had my settings on my blog set so anyone could leave a comment, but when this troll wouldn't go away, I changed my comment settings so only people with a Google account would be able to comment on my blog. All this change did was eliminate people from leaving anonymous comments. So far, this first step up in security eliminated the troll. So far so good!

Every now and then I check the "Traffic Sources" to my blog. When I did this a few days ago, this is when the Tasmanian Devil came spinning like a top out of control. The first URL I didn't recognize (it had the name monica29 in it), and it had like 175 hits on it coming to my blog. The second and third URL's I did recognize and had fewer hits than the first. I clicked on the first URL to find out what it was and was absolutely stunned when the page opened to a porn site. Nothing about the URL indicated it would be a porn site or I wouldn't have clicked on it. There I sit looking at a site called Chatubate (spelled wrong for obvious reasons).

After having a huge WTF??? moment I figured out why my blog was tied to this porn site. You see, when the dear troll kept referencing this British cum dumpster by name in each comment he left on my blog, it left a "footprint" for the search engine robots to index. I don't know how often they make their rounds throughout the internet, but what I should have done which I didn't do initially was delete all the trolls comments. I did however go back yesterday and delete everything he wrote. Hopefully, this will correct the problem in the future. For now, Mildred Ratched Memoirs is linked to Chatubate (again spelled the wrong way) because the British cum dumpster was mentioned by that darling troll. I wonder if his name was Donald! hmmmm! Wouldn't that be a hoot?

If this idiot has gone to any of your blogs, you might want to check your traffic sources, too under your stats and see if your blog is linked to any sites you don't recognize. I told Martha that I was going to write a blog post pitching a holy old fit about this troll and what he did, but why bother? He's just a little internet maggot that isn't worth the time and effort and besides I don't think I know enough bad language to describe him adequately.