The Season of the Morons. What's the sense in celebrating the supposed birthday of some dead, prehistoric Jew?

Bah fucking humbug. Once again, the season of stupidity has descended upon asshole America. And so, another stupid, meaningless Thanksgiving has come and gone. The " Season of the morons" as, I often call the Holiday Season has descended upon America once again. Put mildly, I completely lost interest in the celebrating Thanksgiving, "Christ-mas"[Yule-a Pagan holiday that was moved four days ahead on Common Era Calendar], and Easter soon as I was told there was no real Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, or what have you. My best memories of family gatherings? My family and I were at my Aunt Rita and Uncle Sal's for Thanksgiving in North Baldwin. I was 8 years old, the emotionally disturbed child with severe ADHD. As always, like my father constantly told me, I never knew how to act normal when around company. Anyway, as my extended Catholic family prepared to say " Grace"-my Aunt and Uncle being rather pious, I, the misfit " Las fachim-a-mamma" as Dad always called me, reached across the table to for cranberry sauce. Being that I always hated turkey and stinky-ass fish and didn't eat meat of any kind between age 3-13, all I ate was pasta and some vegetables. Anyway, as usual, Dad got all upset, reminding Mom once again that I was a " bastard" and " garblaminca" [ piece of garbage in Italian-American] and yes, an " animal" as he endearingly called me all the time.    


Anyway, so the time came to say " Grace", at which time I folded my hands and loudly exclaimed " WHY DO WE HAVE TO THANK GOD FOR THE FOOD? GOD DOESN'T PROVIDE IT, MOM BUYS IT WITH MONEY AT THE SUPERMARKET!" You may say I was already quite the little Atheist at age eight. Anyway, as usual, Dad sported that John Boehner style look of scorn, complaining to Mom about how " The miserable, ingrate bastard does everything [ it] could to embarrass the family, Evelyn. What the hell's that lousy Jew therapist, Dr. Rosenthal, doing for the miserable moron I don't know?" Being more Christian than a lot of Christians and Catholics usually are, my Aunt Rita and Sal did not say anything; Mom tried to keep the peace.

That said, plus the realization that the fucking Easter Bunny and Santa Claus no longer existed, there was nothing meaningful for me about the three, All-American "stupidity holidays". My sister, Linda Hayduk, said I had asperger's and that was the reason I never " showed any compassion or empathy toward others". This, she did after I was committed to Yale-New Haven Psychiatric Hospital in 2010-11 during the idiot season. Naturally, she was looking for an excuse as to why I " changed genders" in the first place; Asperger's and XXY chromosome disorders showing similar symptoms, I learned from a genderqueer woman I knew in the NMSU Psychology degree program. truthfully, I never was one to "walk fifteen miles out of my way" to buy gifts for others, nor could I see the sense in sending " Christmas Cards" to every fucking relative and friend on the list. Having lived with Mom most of my fucked up life, annually, I'd watch her get all stressed out as she felt imposed to write out and mail everyone on her long list a goddamn Christmas Card.

" What the hell are we celebrating?" I'd often say to her. " The birth of some long dead Jew many people believed was the supposed 'Son' of God? The way I see it, Mom, the whole goddamn holiday season makes absolutely no sense. Why get all stressed out worrying about giving gifts and all just to commemorate the supposed birthday of some long dead Jew?" It never made sense to me. I could see the sense in giving someone a birthday present if one could afford it, but to celebrate the supposed " birthday" of some long deceased ancient Jewish man who walked the Earth? WTF?
Back in 2013 when my Rapid Re-housing HUD Grant expired, rather than go look for some stupid rent-a-slave job at Walmart or McDogshite like my sister suggested, I moved the fuck out of that little rental cottage and into student housing. Need I say my sister gave me a heavy duty lecture about how I do not know how to be grateful and humble; both of which is a load of Christ-centered horseshite and makes me want to vomit when I even heard the words. Believe me, having wasted several years of my fucked up life going to 12-step groups but never being able to " get down my my knees and pray" to some higher power, I developed a disdain for everything having to do with being a " spiritual" person.

The three words that always disgusted me were humility, grace, gratitude. That and love. I could not, and still cannot [ nor want to ever learn how to] be humble, grateful for my house, job, or whatever. That and the whole " love your neighbor as yourself" thing makes absolutely NO SENSE to me. Stupidity to the max. And so, I had to listen to my often critical sister tell me " YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF GRATITUDE. You should be humble and thankful for the 13 months that agency helped you with your rent, for a roof over your head." I think I said something like "Thanks, president Barack Obama for the mostly free rent. The welfare aint' givin me nothing for food stamps nor rental assistance in this piece of crap country the Republicans destroyed."

That all said, truly, I find this whole Holiday Season to be the season of stupidity. The whole idea of giving back to your loved ones and friends registers a " 10" on my shite meter. Even if I were employed I'd do what I could to get the hell out of gong to some dumb Holiday party because, were I to go, I'd more than likely be the asshole who gets drunk and dances on the table with that lamp shade upon my head. That or go screw the boss in the broom closet, or maybe eat her snatch if the boss were a woman; and yes, be out of a job by morning.

And so, let the Season of the Idiots begin. Like every other year, I shall choose to tune in, turn on, and drop out. Stupidity. That and meaninglessness, the thought of wasting my time celebrating what was rumored to be the birthday of some ancient Jew named Jesus. BAH HUMBUG. On this I must agree with Friedrich Nietzsche in his book The Antichrist when he called Christianity the religion of pity, of the downtrodden. The last book Nietzsche wrote before he lost his sanity. Not that I agree with everything Nietzsche said. However, I find it far more relevant to humanity than any of the horseshit foretold in the Bible. Most of the New Testament having been written by PAUL. A half-Roman/ half-Jew who WAS NOT EVEN BORN when the Romans crucified Jesus on the huge wooden cross with the thieves and other criminals; his punishment: terrorism [ and probably mental illness].

One thing Friedrich Nietzsche was right about is this. The Christian religion goes against everything natural to humankind; it is highly self-debasing, the egocentric person being how humans are really supposed to be. Selfish. Not that there's anything wrong with helping others, there isn't anything wrong with it should one wish to do so. After all, for many people, caring about another human being or other animal is normal. That is, if there is such a thing as being " normal". The point about Christianity is this. When Nietzsche labelled it the most self-debasing religion on Earth, he meant that Christianity goes against everything that's human. Like every other beast of the field, humans are inherently SELFISH. That said, one need realize the real reason for being generous; to get something in return.

For example, one falls " in love" with their chosen mate because of what's in it for THEMSELVES. Not for the other person in the relationship or marriage. Should one waste their money buying gifts for another, one need remember this. That the reason for doing so is because they expect the same from the other person. Nobody even knows for sure if there even was a Jesus; secular Bible scholars have said that his name was Yeshua, not " Jesus Christ". According to Dominic Crossan, Elaine Pagels and others, " Christ" was a name given to him by Paul. Yes, PAUL. The guilt-filled asshole born roughly 19 years after they killed Jesus, who in turn became " Saint Paul". The Roman Christian appointed "expert" as to what Jesus supposed "ministry" was all about.

I agree with Friedrich Nietzsche. Christianity is the most unnatural, self-debasing religion in the world. Many in the United, but definitely divided, Asshole of America believe that Islam is the world's wickedest religion. However, Christians have started more wars and killed more humans than any other religious group known to humankind. It's interesting that Nietzsche had a soft spot for Buddhism, seeing it as making far more sense than the whole living in " sin" concept associated with Christianity. That and the fact that most Buddhists see Buddhism as more of a philosophy than a religion.

As for whether or not Jesus actually existed, that and, if he did, who he was in an historical context? Well no one really knows for sure; for those who claim they do, those secular Bible scholars, they claim he may have been married to Mary of Magdala and, more than likely, she bore his children. Atheists debate the possibility of Jesus existence. That said, WHAT IS THE REAL REASON FOR THE SEASON? I think I'll stick with that wise Jew named Mel Brooks on this one.

A Hollywood filmmaker, director, and producer, Mel Brooks was best known for his 1973 blockbuster hit Blazing Saddles. His second blockbuster movie being the 1984-85 hit Spaceballs:The movie, in it he-in the starring role, can be quoted telling his intern, a nice young " Drewish prince" [ spoof on Judaism], the following: "MERCHANDISING! MY DEAR BOY! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MERCHANDISING!" Perhaps Mel Brooks knew more about the so-called " Reason for the Season" than anyone else.

Which brings me to the conclusion here as to what the meaningless to me, senseless, Holiday Season is REALLY ABOUT. " MERCHANDISING! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MERCHANDISING!" [ Brooks]

I was an " Adam Lanza" but , in Newtown High School's Class of 1981, one was able to smoke their anger away in pot

A former student of Newtown High, Sandy Hook, CT, as the " gorrilla" I was unfortunately raised as, I was often " lost" like Lanza, dropping out after junior year and going on homebound education for special ed students. This after my family had a long, drawn out fight with the assholes at the Newtown Board of Education. That said, why am I not surprised as to how clueless the school's psychologists and guidance counselors are at NHS?

"Lanza continued onto 10th grade and integrated more with other students. Records reflected an ongoing underestimation of his actual disabilities. A community psychiatrist diagnosed him with Asperger’s Syndrome, but Yale Child Study Center clinicians did not conclude that he definitely had the disorder. He did however have severe anxiety and extensive needs, according to the Yale diagnosis."

An excerpt from my Facebook page, as the third anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings soon comes, once again, I question the motives of 20 year old Adam Lanza. Why did he do it? The official report [ Newtown Patch] from the State of Connecticut. 

****************************************************************************************************************************

Gun Access

The report’s section on firearms and mental illness is less than two pages long. It notes that Adam Lanza had access to firearms as he grew-up. His father said in police interviews he didn't know his wife had been buying her own guns and assumed they were rented for shooting activities.

He eventually learned Adam Lanza had access to guns when he took him to a shooting range and he showed up with two long guns.

The authors go on to cite a 2010 study in the American Journal of Law and Economics that showed gun-related homicides in Australia dropped 59 percent between 1995 and 2006 and firearm-suicide dropped 65 percent following meaningful gun control regulations that outlawed possession of assault weapons following a mass shooting.

“Access to assault weapons with high capacity magazines did play a major role in this and other mass shootings in recent history. Our emphasis on AL’s (Adam Lanza) developmental trajectory and issues of mental illness should not be understood to mean that these issues were considered more important than access to these weapons or that we do not consider such access to be a critical public health issue.”

If your child has emotional problems, why not buy him a gun? Learning how to 

properly shoot at targets, rabbits, and other varmint can only help the dear 

boy. 

Right? Remember what Congressman Steve Pearce and the other Elephants 

say....guns save lives. 

Yes, the ass fucking hole of a Congress-MAN we have here in piece of shit, buck 

fuck ugly Southern New Mexico. Earlier this year, Pearce spent $20,000 of 

taxpayer's money on a round trip flight to Egypt. Why Egypt? Well the son of a 

bitch and his son/s own a company specializing in pulleys used on oil pump 

jacks. those funny looking things one will see as they drive through Western 

Texas and Eastern New Mexico, as well as CO, KS, and other western Mountain 

States. 

***********************************************************

“A Recipe for Mass Murder”

The report authors concede they can't definitively answer the question that has been on many people’s minds since Dec. 14, 2012: Why?

“There is no way to adequately explain why AL [Adam Lanza] was obsessed with mass shootings and how or why he came to act on this obsession. In the end, only he, and he alone, bears responsibility for this monstrous act,” the report went on to say.

Bull-fucking-shite! 

Lanza wanted to prove the correlation between chimpanzees raised as humans in captivity, and human children who also are, that when pressured to act civilized, both chimp and human child will eventually seek vengeance toward those who tried to civilize him or her. That's what he told some guy on an online radio station in Seattle,WA dedicated toward anarchistic values.

This was true. I listened to the radio call in show's transcripts and heard Lanza say this. About a year at the most before the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut, a chimpanzee raised as a human child by a Stamford, CT woman lost his mind, at which time he snapped, went berserk, attacking the woman " mother" who raised him as a human. According to the somewhat screwed up brain of Adam Lanza, chimpanzees and human children react to being " civilized" in similar ways. Lanza stated that many of today's children are placed on psychiatric medication as young as six years old, even younger. Busy couples in America often have to both go to work in order to survive, the cost of a suburban, or semi-rural suburban [ Newtown] house on two acres costing upwards of $499,000. Yet the biological clock keeps ticking in these working mother's bodies; that and the immediate and extended families keep asking " When are you going to have children?" 

CHILDREN? YOU HAVEN'T THE TIME TO RAISE THEM PROPERLY, YOU FUCKING CUNT. However, unlike many of the Mexican-Americans here in Las Crucifixion, NM, US, you DO have the money to raise them correctly. SCHEDULED CHILDREN ON CONCERTA Concerta being one of the newest psych meds used for ADHD. That pathetic TV commercial showing the seemingly happy, upper-middle class parents with their now-perfect child. A child who, like his/her asshole fucking parents, can " do it all" and multitask, play TEAM sports, concentrate in school, and keep the goddamn teacher's happy. Nobody ever mentions that 1. the teenager/ child is probably bored shitless with school and what he/she is learning. 2. Like me when I was at Newtown High, the teenager simply cannot understand why, WHY, his parents feel that sports and other stupid shit is so important to his/her well-being. 

https://fbexternal-a.akamaihd.net/safe_image.php?d=AQDjp55FVTHbY98_&w=487&h=362&url=http%3A%2F%2Fcdn.patch.com%2Fusers%2F22817504%2Fstock%2Fraw%2F2014115474f96632126.png 

This is a recent scene from Newtown Patch during and/or after a snowstorm. Looks like Castle Hill Rd. or Castle Meadow, Head O' Meadow Rds. in Newtown, CT. Yes, Newtown is a pretty place, still very much a small town despite the fact that it no longer retains those smaller town values, especially when we're referring to that laid back, small town way of life. Like many places in America and Canada where there are GOOD JOBS available for COLLEGE EDUCATED PEOPLE, places within a 10 to 50 mile commute of major business cities/suburban office parks, the cost of living has gone sky high and yes, life has become hectic. Las Cruces, New Mexico, I hate to say, is NOT one of these places; El Paso, TX is and Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico is becoming one. Here in Cruces, " dogshit jobs" are the norm; McGarbage, Burger Slave, Scabmart, the latter [ Walmart] we have three of- all of them 24-hour supercenters. While Newtown, Connecticut is known for educated people living in nice houses, Las Crucifixion is essentially a dust bowl boomtown set among the Chihuahuan Desert. The median income being around $32,000 annually, for the most part, Las Crucifixion is a working class barrio with many Mexicans living among the stupidest goddamn white-bread redneck pieces of shite to be found anywhere outside Texas, Kansas, and the Bible-belt South. That and retirees who come for the sunshine in winter. Brad Paisley will be performing at New Mexico State University's Pan-Am Center; Las Crucifixion and El Paso are surrounded by US Military bases, White Sands Missile Range and Fort Bliss being among them. "Military" generally correlating with " ignorant  militant redneck asshole" and Republican-Christian church-attending stupidity, should Brad Paisley [ or any fucking Country-Western musician] selling out be of any surprise? Add in the retirees, many of whom are either retired military or regular church-goers, and you shall understand that.......STUPID IS AS STUPID VOTES. 

Back to Adam Lanza. Newtown High School's guidance dept. also sent me to that same childhood psychiatric clinic at Yale-New Haven Hospital's behavioral center. I had the special education guidance counselor assigned to Newtown High's students with handicaps and learning disabilities, Donna Fox. Seeing that, at the time I showed little interest in continuing on to higher education. College, after all, was a place where "preppies" and jockstraps went; along with some of the goody two shoes Christian townies active in the many student and town charities/ clubs. Despite being told that I was smart, and yes, a "gifted" child, like Lanza, I was an emotionally disturbed wreck filled with hatred toward many of my peers at NHS. Like Lanza, I was often bullied by the jockstraps and preps. 

And so, the clueless guidance counselor I had, Mrs. Fox as she was called back in the late 70s and early 80s, sent me to that fucking Yale clinic to see Dr. Warren Bower, MD. A childhood psychiatrist and clueless asshole [ report in my former blog, the Diary of Cheryl Lynne], all the stupid bitch could determine was this. That I was " grossly immature for my (chronological) age" and that I would " never be able to have successful relationships or friendships" because I was " too egocentric". In other words I acted NATURAL. Allowing my animal instincts to overrule all the superfluous ( ?) bullshit I was taught by my well-meaning parents, and yes, that goddamn piece of shit Cath-o-holic Church.      

       

Finals Week over. The last days in Las Crucifixion [ Cruces] New Mexico......then it's off to that New York State........of Mind-part III

Nothing against those African-Americans [ wish I could say the same for inbred redneck white trash] because, here in sports-saturated America where Little League daddies and lacrosse mommies raise their scheduled children to be competent little jockstraps, for many this is the only way one can pay for college, those not born into affluent families and raised in either Newtown or Greenwich, Connecticut. 

Anyway, back to me, myself, and I. The only three people I seem to be able to count on in life. And so, having the surgery and what Dr. Gilliam said apparently gave me the excuse I needed to stay in student housing beyond the move-out deadline; or did it? Stopping into NMSU Housing to talk with my friend, Jen M, a woman who goes beyond her job description to help the student, in particular those who are non-traditional students and live in what is called " Family Housing", or South Campus Housing which is where Cervantes Village is located, I learned that one must email the assistant director of housing, Ms. Aragon. Here's where things got rather difficult as you shall see. 

 Subject: Medical emergency- need to extend stay in student housing until May 25. Can provide documentation and/or phone contacts of doctors

 

Dear Ms. Aragon, 

 

I am writing to you to request an extended stay in my current student housing unit, H-19 at 200 Cervantes Vlg. After discovering a painful lump under my left arm on Monday 4/29, I went to the urgent care on Walton Blvd. who in turn informed me that I need go straight to the emergency room; Memorial Medical Center being the hospital they recommended. Upon being seen by the ER doctor on call, after draining the wound which was rather large, the hospital admitted me, at which time he referred me to see the surgeon the very next day. I had the surgery on Thursday May 1st and was discharged last Saturday; the surgeon's orders calling for a visiting nurse and required daily bathing/change of dressing twice daily. This for a period of three weeks from Sat. 5/3/14, during which time I need follow the home health care nurse's directions and report for check ups with Dr. Gilliam- General Surgeon.

 

I am enclosing the contact numbers for all doctors. 

 

Lance Whitehair, Resident MD at Memorial Medical Center​. Office: 575-521-XXXX Fax: 575-521-XXXX. 

 

Dr. Gilliam-Surgeon at General Surgery Associates, Office: 575-556-XXXX Fax: 575-556-XXXX 

 

Cheryl Oropal

Her reply? 

Hello Cheryl,

 

I will discuss your request with my supervisor. Are you planning on attending in the fall?

 

 

Candace Aragon

Associate Director

Housing & Campus Life

New Mexico State University

My reply was this. 

Hi, 

Thanks for looking into that for me, hope that the doctor's phone contacts will help, Dr. Gilliam-Surgeon would be the best to talk with as he gave the orders for my visiting nurse and about keeping the area clean and showering at least once daily[ he preferred twice, but....]. That and to lift stuff with that dressing I'm wearing As for attending NMSU-Dona Ana in the fall, I am planning to transfer to the State University of New York's Potsdam College. Originally I was accepted for spring 2014 semester at SUNY Potsdam but had deferred until fall 2014, figuring that moving in mid-winter would have been rough at best.

The truth, as I already deferred going to SUNY Potsdam until the fall of 2014 from spring semester, or January. To which the next reply would really tell me that one cannot be nice to an ARROGANT, SNIPPY " PROFESSIONAL" BITCH. Understanding of my situation? HELL NO!!!! Even though I never used, nor registered with Campus Health because students at fucking Dona Ana Mexicana Community College have to pay extra for all medical services and I have an off campus provider who also does my HRT, plus Medicare and Medicaid HMO which pays for it; I had to go to Campus Health to get their opinion before this fucking pill-box, Ms. Aragon, would approve of an extended stay. WHAT A PAIN IN THE GODDAMN ASS!!! 

And so, how do you spell " Bitch" in Ebonics? B-E-Y-O-T-C-H. 

   Hello Cheryl,

 

We don’t contact doctors and we don’t accept documentation from doctors. Every case is person by person. I will be in contact.

 

Thank you,

 

 

Candace Aragon

Associate Director

Housing & Campus Life

New Mexico State University

Definitely the by the book snippy professional with an axe to grind and then some. The finale? So far anyway..........

Hello Cheryl,

 

You will need to take your medical documentation to the Health Center and have them review the documentation and have them email me. Without this information you will not be allowed an extended stay.

 

Thank you,

 

 

Candace Aragon

Associate Director

Housing & Campus Life

New Mexico State University

And so, that I did and it almost cost me the $35 fee to see the doctor at Campus Health; however they ended up waiving the fee, but only approved my extended stay until Monday May 12, the day that they learned I shall see the surgeon, Dr. Gilliam. Calling his office, General Surgery Associates the same day from housing where I later stopped to drop off the extended stay request I got at Campus Health, despite Ms. Aragon [ should be " Ms. Arrogant"] wanting the doctor to email her, I was told that Dr. Gilliam does not send emails. He could Fax something over, however, after my check up stating as to how many days more he needs me to follow the shower and bandage change regimen. 

Which will, more likely than not, be for the next two weeks until either Saturday May 24 or Sunday the 25th; leaving me plenty of time to pack the fucking car slowly. Once that's done, I shall stay long enough for those " Up to 67 days early" to arrive, the earliest I can renew the car registration being Sunday May 25. A Day when New Mexico MVD will be closed for the long Memorial Day Weekend, and so Tuesday the 27th shall be the day. 

And then I am off, sometime that week and probably by May 30th. Off to a state where I have been before and was born, New York-the Empire State, but a part of that state I maybe passed through back when I was still " It".  In 1992 when I was still living with both parents in Orlando, Florida and took off to visit a friend I knew who moved back to his hometown of Buffalo, NY, after which time I drove the back highways across beautiful New York State and, as I remember, was on US Route 11 and passed through Potsdam, New York on my way toward Malone and SR-22. Sleeping on a back road amidst the Adirondack Mountains I still remember passing by the Ausable River Gorge. 

New Mexico may be the so-called " Land of Enchantment" and does have some interesting geographical features to it, Angel Fire Mountain in the north and Sitting Bull Falls National Recreation Area near Carlsbad being two of those, and yes, Carlsbad Caverns National Park with its miles of underground caverns and bats flying out of the belfry [ cave] every summer evening. However, for the most part it is just a desert, the only exceptions being in the mountainous regions of the state. 

By comparison, New York State is a green, lush paradise filled with gorges, waterfalls everywhere. By comparison, its mountains are not quite as high and the landscape not as wide open; cows do not graze free-range in New York like they do here in the West. New York's winters are much colder than anything Las Cruces will ever see; for that reason alone, people are moving into Las Cruces in droves. Unaware that there's only so much water in a region that gets, on average, just 10.5 inches of precipitation annually, on the East Mesa houses are popping up like zits upon the average teenager's face; each home built closer than anything Baldwin, New York on Long Island has ever seen. Las Cruces, New Mexico. Another Orlando, Florida with even fewer trees, much lower humidity but hotter in summer. A planned city with plenty of retail and fast food shitboxes for all the modern day idiots to shop and eat burgers at, we even have a Chuck E. Cheese replica called Peter Piper Pizza making the most terrible pizza to be found anywhere! A place where all the yuppie and Mexicana mommies and daddies can take their little fucking ninos' to play " safely" in " Such a dangerous world for children to play unsupervised in", or so says Fox News. 

And so I shall be off. Sunshine never brightened my fucking life and sunshine-loving fitness-freak people simply make me even more depressed. That was true in Orlando and still is here in Las Crucifixion, another mostly conservative boomtown that still lacks a decent abortion clinic; yet contains two " Abortion alternative organizations" ready to shove a gooey dose of " Liquid Jesus" up your vagina should you be a pregnant woman. All of which shall be accompanied by an extra heavy dose of Biblical fairy tales, of course. Fairy tales which come in both SPANISH and ENGLISH.   

Finals Week over. The last days in Las Crucifixion [ Cruces] New Mexico......then it's off to that New York State........of Mind-part II

The doctor at the Urgent Care clinic on Walton saw me and told me to go straight to the hospital, asking me if I knew where the hospital was. Explaining to her that I've passed by both hospitals in Las Cruces but didn't really know which was best, she told me " Memorial Health Center. It's on South Telshor at University". That said, immediately I drove myself down to Memorial Health and checked into the emergency room. The first ER doctor having drained that awfully painful boil,which literally smelled up the entire room with a stench similar to septic tank effluent leaching through the lawn behind someone's house, he called for a second opinion from the next doctor who just came on call. Dr. Wilson. A younger doctor sporting a well-trimmed beard with a hippie-type look who seconded his opinion that the surgeon, Dr. Gilliam, needed to take a look and decide if surgery was needed. 

I was then admitted into the Intensive Care Unit for observation; the next day I was seen by Dr. Gilliam-General Surgeon who told me that surgery was the best route to take in my case. I had severe cellulitis. Something which plagued my mother several times since she was in her mid-50s and we lived in Newtown, CT. Back when Mom worked at Fairfield Hills State Hospital as a bookkeeper and she first broke out with boils similar to what I had all over her legs and arms. Anyway, so I underwent the surgery and was later discharged from Memorial Health Center. Told by the surgeon, Dr. Gilliam, that, for the next three weeks, I needed to shower and change the dressing at least once, if not twice daily. 

Then I explained my expected predicament. That I lived in campus housing and they expected us students not going to summer classes to move out on May 11, 2014; the day after Finals Week commenced. That I was going to end up homeless and living in my Ford Escape SUV and/or tent and would have to, once again, go several days without showering; because I am on Social Security Disability and cannot afford to pay rent. Something the student loans have been paying for here at school; loans which I may eventually default upon should those future novels never really sell. Which is, by the way, what has happened so far to my friend back in Connecticut, James K. Buchanan: Publisher of The Lonely Hill; The Woolridge Tale, and his latest book titled The Ghost of Scheherazade. [ He's working on either some short stories or a fourth book as we speak.] 

And so, that he could not help me with. However, explaining that I really didn't have any close friends to help me with changing my bandages every day and that I could never depend on my fucking 19 year old suitemate with whom I shared a bathroom since last semester when she actually moved in from Garcia Hall [ dorms]. A woman who obviously hated my fucking guts but didn't have the fucking cujones' to say it. And so, I was told that I could get Memorial Home Health Care. This after first being told that that might not have been an option being that I had transportation, but later being told that Medicare, which I have, would cover it fully. They would send home health care aids for as  long as Dr. Gilliam requested; however, I would need to have someplace to live during those three weeks. [ Two weeks remaining from today, Saturday May 10. A day better known on the NMSU Campus as " Move-out day".] 

By the way, this fucking scumbag university [ including its sorry ass " branch" called Dona Ana Community College], one that U.S. News and World Reports Magazine recently called a " Top Tier University", does not even give students a few days to regroup after Finals Week commences!!!! But should that not be expected from a school that, annually, pisses away $4,200,000 of ACADEMIC FUNDING on their stupid sports programs, the failing American Football team in particular? Football, after all, is great for luring " diversity" to campuses throughout the United States; meaning that it encourages "minorities" to apply for athletics scholarships, along with redneck white trash conceived when its human mother had sex with its uncle in the trailer park or barn. After all, what would NMSU do without " diversity", meaning a bunch of African-American [and Caucasian] male Neanderthals whose testicles and penises probably exceed the actual sizes of their brains? Hey, it provides "family-friendly" entertainment for both redneck rancher and Mexican-American immigrant alike.         

Finals Week over. The last days in Las Crucifixion [ Cruces] New Mexico......then it's off to that New York State........of Mind

School having officially ended yesterday[ May 9, 2014] at New Mexico State University and its Dona Ana Community College Branch [ where I was for the past five semesters], technically I am supposed to be Homeless and Hopeless in the [ So-called] Land of Opportunity called America. The registered ISBN title for what will be, now, my third novel from those 19 notebook-sized journals; plus childhood and teenage memories growing up [ but never really maturing in the traditional sense-Erikson's Psychosocial Theories] in Baldwin, New York and Newtown, Connecticut. A few weeks ago, I assumed that I'd be living in the car once again. Staying here in Las Cruces, New Mexico until the end of May/early June when I can get the Ford Escape XLT registration renewed. Avoiding the hassles of trying to register it in New York where I don't even have an address yet, but will soon be starting school at the State University of New York's Potsdam College come late August. 

Yeah you heard that right. I'll soon be going from a climate where I've seen fewer than 25 rainy days in the since settling into my former rental cottage at 2215-1/2 South Solano Drive in late October 2011; to one where it rains frequently throughout the warmer season, and yes, snows rather often in winter. Four-foot long icicles hanging from the many rooftops throughout rural Potsdam Village in New York's North State from Thanksgiving through late March or early April, it's the stuff those Santa Claus cartoons on TV feature every Holiday Season in America. Offering the children a pleasant alternative to the bitter bullshit and metaphorical lies associated with that other fantasy character Christians call "Jesus Christ". Santa, after all, makes the otherwise lame holiday called "Christ-mas" [ the Pagan Holiday, Yule, which the Christo-Catholics stole and later moved three days ahead on the Gregorian Calendar from Dec. 21st to the 25th] palatable to children who really couldn't care less about " sin" and if some ancient Jewish menace to Rome supposedly died for the " sins" they shall commit throughout their long lives. 

I will miss a few of the friends I have made at NMSU. [ none at Dona Ana, however. A fucking career-oriented community college populated mostly by awfully conservative Mexican-Americans and New Mexico rednecks hailing from both beef ranch and pecan field alike.] In particular, Tori C. Kathryn P, Chris L, and a few others. Many of who will be graduating in about a year or two from NMSU. Something that I was getting closer to at NMSU-Dona Ana Branch with 48 credits; upon enrollment, they accepted 29 credits from all my other attempts at college over the past thirty fucked up years of my life as " It" Oropal-the pathetic loser in life.

And so a new town and new place. Las Cruces never having become a place that even felt close to anything I could call " home" within two weeks after moving into that fucking cottage owned by my former landlord, Roz. A Catholic school teacher who had three daughters and lived in their new house on La Purisima in Las Cruces fancy-schmancy-ish East Mesa and was only keeping the old property for her oldest daughter to eventually live in. Then again, that seems to be something I've often said, and felt about every other place I have lived; Baldwin, Long Island, NY; Newtown, CT; Orlando, FL; Southbury, CT; and every place I briefly settled down in over the two years I spent homeless and traveling across this socially-challenged, economically-unjust fuck-hole called the United States of America. I cannot say that I have ever felt a part of any outside entity. My expression I use for town, city, or other domicile, seeing them all from the perspective of being " On the outside looking in". A line from a song by Longmeadow, Massachusetts' Band Stain'D, by the way. 

After all, stemming from what I learned about life as the misfit child and teenager in both Baldwin, NY and [ especially] Newtown, CT, I came to this generalization about everyplace in America. You're either one of the chosen many; or you're one of the alienated few. I've always seen being the " Team player" as just a crock of bullshit, probably because I've always been blackballed by every group of "team players" in every place I've ever been. In this place, I must admit my attitude stems from getting hollered at several times a week on S. Solano Dr. where I first lived at in that small cottage. That and an LGBT community that was somewhat accepting of me at first, but later shunned me, for the most part because I didn't have that " Las Cruces Attitude". 

I haven't any problem admitting that I am hardly the optimistic type, unlike many I've met here in this pathetic desert dust bowl full of sunshine and bullshit. In fact I see many optimistic people as fucking phonies and always have, particularly those who say we need to " love our opponents" and not categorize people by their religion, beliefs, financial class, etc. Having went to high school at Newtown High in Sandy Hook, Connecticut from September of 1977 through June of 1980 [ when I unofficially "dropped out" and went on homebound schooling because I was never going to pass physical education], I soon learned that everyone had their place. Everyone fit into their own clique, whether you were one of the jockstraps and preppy-jock cheerleader perfume cunts who were " Kings" and "Queens" of the school; or you were one of the " Burnouts" or " Stoners" whose primary motivation for attending school was to smoke pot and stay stoned all day long. Not giving a shit whether you graduated or did not. 

Nevertheless, this attitude has stayed with me throughout my so-called "adulthood". A time when most Generation Y's have since moved on to jobbie-land and career-dale and had children of their own. I've never been one to volunteer for anything unless the cause was of benefit to me in some way. I'm not one of those pathetic " Christian" phonies who only serve others because some outdated, fairy tale " guidebook for living" called the Bible tells them they must do so to satisfy the requirements of what some long dead " Man-God" creature told them to do. Nor am I one of these " Community types" who feel a need to give back to whatever piece of shit they reside in. Not that I did not try to be one of them; I did for ten fucking years every fucking Sunday morning when I went to Mattituck Unitarian-Universalist Society in Woodbury, CT. Surrounded by so-called " liberals" who, while being friendly toward me in general, often gossipped behind my back. Saying how I should have been on psychiatric medication and how I never knew how to " Act appropriately". Fuck them. More on this in my former blog, The Diary of Cheryl Lynne Oropal. 

Anyway, how does this relate to Las Cruces. A place which actually has a Facebook page titled Whatever Forever Las Cruces dedicated to all the excitement that goes on here in Las Cruces, New Mexico. What will I miss? The many rainless days full of sunshine, roughly 350 days' worth, annually, that supposedly make Dona Ana County, NM the " Outdoor recreation paradise". A place which, for me, has essentially choked my right lung with dust parasites and caused COPD,  or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. Turning me from once-active hiker who loved the outdoors back in Connecticut throughout all four seasons; to a lazy and fat person for whom this " Outdoor recreation paradise" has been everything but a paradise. I fail to see the beauty in an arroyo, or " Dry brook" as I call them and still have yet to see what that actual spring looks like at the end of Dripping Springs Trail in the Bureau of Land Management area looks like; locals claim it actually flows during the summer Monsoon, or thunderstorm season. I haven't seen a babbling brook since first arriving in New Mexico and spending some quality time as a homeless bitch and deserter of a Brooklyn homeless shelter back in New York City, crossing the Gila River while hiking in the Gila National Forest [ 140 miles away from lame Las Cruces]. In fact I've gained nearly 60 pounds, going from about 268 when first coming to NM, to about 312 as of yesterday. 

The reason that I'm still here on campus, past the May 10th move out date, is this. On Sunday April 27, that boil under my left arm recurred. This after 29 years; back in 1985 I had a huge and painful boil that required draining by a doctor at an Orlando, FL urgent care clinic called Centra-Care on West Oak Ridge Rd. The lumpy skin still there and in dormancy all those years [ long before transition as transgender woman], last year my nurse practitioner [ like a doctor doing family practice] discovered that very same lump and was worried it might have been breast cancer. Suffering through Monday as the boil grew to the size of an orange, I waited until Tuesday to call the Presbyterian Health Centennial Care Plan's Nurseline, the Medicaid-Managed Care Plan I got because I'm on both Medicaid and SNAP Benefits under the Affordable Healthcare Act signed by President Obama. A president many of these self-sufficient Christo-fascist douchebag Republicans love to accuse of destroying the American Work Ethic of self-sufficiency touting the free-market and faith-based initiatives as the answer to poverty; and those trickle down economic principles which were a failure to most Americans. 

Anyway, I ended up taking that nurses' advice and going to the Urgent Care on Walton Blvd. here in Las Cruces. 

Summer of Love II 1976. Excerpt from Chasing Rainbows: A Search for Identity amidst Role Confusion

[An excerpt about not knowing who you are]Nevertheless, I let Chris load my bicycle unto his Jeep. After which time we rode away, taking a ride around Newtown up Point O’ Rocks Road and Boggs’ Hill, smoking a joint or two and just talking. From what I remember, Chris came on to me, thinking that I was gay and simply in the closet. Naturally, I pushed him away, telling him that I didn’t want to do this. Being the decent guy that he was, Chris was okay with that and discontinued his pursuit of me, his trying to bring me “Out” of the closet. However, Chris was not one to give up easily. Later on during that summer, he would pick me up and offer me some pot to smoke. Taking me to see a friend of his from New York City who had a summer house on Candlewood Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. A novelist who was published and also worked for an advertisement agency, Chris’ friend lived in nearby New Milford. Taking him up on his offer some two weeks later, despite the fact that I was not ready to “Come out” as a gay teen, one who even knew that [she] was “gay” to any extent, I had a really good time that evening with Chris and his writer friend at his Candlewood Cottage.  I liked his writer friend, feeling that I could be more the adult and less the teenager I had to be around most of the other people I hung around.

The evening that Chris took me to see his friend, I had a very good time. For once, I felt that I didn’t have tom pretend to be what I wasn’t. Not only had he shown me all his record albums; he also showed me all the books he both owned and wrote himself. Truly, I felt comfortable, however, there was still that “Gay” thing that I did not understand. I was not ready to come out as a gay “male”. Oddly enough, I still saw myself as the “Straight male”, or so I thought. Fellatio, or oral sex upon a man, was not the thing for me. Not that I wasn’t at least open-minded enough, sexually speaking, to try it that night. I was. Much unlike all the homophobic asshole guys back in Newtown, including those I often chilled out with. Honestly, I did not know what the right path to take was. After all, I still had hopes of being the heterosexual “male” I thought I was. The one I was raised to believe that I was, yet really wasn’t. I was not “gay”, or so I thought, anyway. [Back in 1976, nobody ever used the term “LGBT”, an acronym that stands for “Lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender”.]

Despite that, I really enjoyed visiting Chris’ friend. For once in my mostly fucked up teenage life, I felt comfortable. Both Chris, and his writer friend made me feel as if I were actually a part of the human race. No more and no less. For once, I felt as if I could simply be myself. However, at the time I was way too hyper, too confused by my attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, to see myself as artistically inclined. Looking back, however, I have a feeling that both Chris and his friend sensed that I was “One of the family”, or “Queer”. The only problem being that I, at age thirteen, was not quite ready to realize this. After all, I saw being “queer” as a bad, not good thing. “Queers” were abnormal. They were “Faggots, ass fuckers, ass lickers, pussy lickers, child-molesting Boy Scout Leaders” and the like. Not human beings like everyone else, who, like everyone else in America, had every right to the same civil rights the United States Constitution intended as a guarantee when our American Forefathers wrote “All men are created equal and have certain inalienable rights guaranteed by their creator”. If you actually believe in a creator, that is. Seeing what oppressive, evil “parasites” many who consider themselves to be “Christians” have become, ever since President Nixon designed and planned his “Republican Southern Strategy” to lure all the Southern bigots away from the Democratic Party of America [the conservative, prejudiced “Dixiecrats”] back in the early 70s, after age thirteen, I found it hard to believe in a fairy tale “God” and his so-called “Son” named [by Paul of Tarsus] “Jesus Christ”.    

About Maria? Well, without a doubt, Maria was definitely attractive, from the Playboy Magazine perspective, anyway. An Italian-American woman who was highly athletic, she was tall and thin. Much like the character “Jill” in Preiss and Reese’s One Year Affair, Maria had long black hair parted in the middle. That and a well-toned body; long before the yuppie-jockstrap fitness craze of the 1980s became popular and many upstart racquetball clubs and gyms soon took over the landscape in city and suburb alike. Exceptionally friendly beyond belief, especially after one took into account that she was a cheerleader and lifeguard, Maria was one of those teen women I could talk to without pretending to be something I was not. She was very smart and on the Newtown High School Honor Roll; I loved the fact that I could carry on a conversation with her. However, as the testosterone-driven “Gorilla” I was raised to be [due to physical birth sex assignment], often, I confused a woman wanting to be ‘friends-only’, with someone wanting a relationship with me. Put simply, I did not know the difference. That soon would play a part in whether she and I would get along. At first, she and I would became friends, true. Whenever I had nothing better to do, I’d ride into the town park and stop by her “post”. She and I would end up talking for at least an hour or more.

However, unable to understand the difference between “Friends-only” and sexual love, also called infatuation, in an opposite sex relationship because I didn’t understand how people of opposite sexes could even be “Just friends”. After all, back in the 1970s, that never happened in magazines; or on TV and in the movies. That and it never happened in any of the popular love songs I heard on the radio, one that comes to mind is B.J. Thomas’ 1968 hit, Hooked on a Feeling. 50 Particularly in the remake originally performed in 1971 by the United Kingdom’s Jonathan King, who, producing his own version, added “Ooga chukka” jungle chants at both beginning and end of song. [A version later reproduced in 1974 when Björn Skifs, lead singer of the Swedish pop group Blue Swede, did a cover including their own version of King's "Ooga chuka" introduction. The version I remember best, as it reached number one on the United States Pop (music) Charts.] That said, I began pursuing Maria to the point of obsession. Always pestering her for a “Date” because I liked her; unlike many other women living in Newtown who were, essentially, stuck-up bitches. Often I’d follow her home on my bicycle, all the way up Brushy Hill Road where she lived. Riding behind her bicycle, I’d holler “Maria! Maria! I like you a lot and want to go out with you!” During which time she’d constantly remind me, to no avail because I just could not [and still really cannot] understand the rules of social engagement, “I like you as a friend, ‘Frog’. Can’t you understand that? I think that you’re really sweet; however, I’m too old for you.”

Needless to say, I couldn’t take “No” for an answer from Maria, and, much the same as was with Jodi Harrington, soon I pissed Maria, too. However, Maria was a sweet, forgiving teenage woman. That said, I finally got it through my thick skull that all she wanted was for us to be friends and chat. Maria and I, as naïve teenage ‘Frog’ Oropal, became great friends. Referring again to my sister’s assumption that I had Asperger’s syndrome, despite never being diagnosed as such by a psychologist or psychiatrist, maybe that was true? That I do not know for sure. However, after reading what the symptoms are, maybe I did have [or still have] Asperger’s. Not really sure to be honest? However, for someone like my sister who subscribes, fully, to Wisconsin Senator Paul Ryan’s worldview of “Work as important virtue to all Americans”, in particular when he mentions those like myself [ and “ Urban males from the inner city”, translate “Black men”] who are “ Too lazy to work and would rather depend upon government Food Stamps and welfare”, whether or not I had/have Asperger’s and how it might have been the reason I was never able to hold a full-time job [or two to three part time jobs] is of primary importance. She, of course, referring to the social awkwardness often associated with those having Asperger’s; an inability to understand and interpret non-verbal, and verbal social cues.

However, this social awkwardness did not seem to interfere with my friendship with Chris; nor did it with his friend, a successful, published writer with both Manhattan apartment in New York City; and gorgeous weekend house overlooking Candlewood Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. Despite my fears of gay men at the time, the three of us had more than a great time that night at Chris’ writer friend’s place that night. His friend, whose name I have since forgotten, took me on a tour of his lovely weekend home in Connecticut. Telling me about the many other famous neighbors living in the area, he showed me all of his albums and played whatever I wanted to listen to. Honestly speaking, for the most part, he made me feel at ease. However, I did not think I was gay. I was basically sure that I was not a gay kid. To be perfectly honest, I was not sure what I was, exactly. It would be another thirty long years [chronologically speaking], that and a few sexual experiences with men, plus many more with women that never evolved beyond the first week to two months period, until I’d finally figure this out and “come out” of the closet. Much like Chris and his writer friend were encouraging me to that very night.