Can't a girl spend a couple of days in the hospital without all hell breaking loose in the world? I guess not. Before I get to my personal update, let me first review the nonsense that has occurred in America in my absence.
A shooting in Charlotte (a black cop shooting a black person) has resulted in riots and at least one innocent person being killed. Congratulations, Black Lives Matter. Who cares who dies, so long as you get to loot, riot, and run America the way you see fit? But, nah, there is no resemblance between you and the Islamic State. Not much.
Another shooting, this time in Tulsa. A young white female police officer shoots a black man who not only disobeyed police orders but who reached into his vehicle for God-only-knows-what. I see pundits on Twitter, talking about how cops are taught to shoot first, ask questions later. The investigation is ongoing, and there will be a trial, but let me ask all of the arm chair police officers in this country: If you tell someone to be still, and instead he turns around, heads for his car, and reaches through the door for something, do you send out for donuts and coffee and wait to see if he is giving you an early birthday present?
Back to Charlotte. This seems to have been a case of mistaken identity, but why in God's name did he pull out a gun? Was that supposed to prove to officers they had the wrong man? Do people think anymore?
And then there is Washington. An “Hispanic” man kills five people. “Hispanic”. How do we know this man is not Muslim? Because the media does not want to believe it? Because we know his religious affiliation? I am quite certain the FBI still cannot find its way to Facebook, so we have zero facts on which to base anything.
So much for arm chair police work.
Maybe people should stop trying to judge from the sidelines and wait for something those in law enforcement call “evidence”.
As I am writing this, I just heard the latest news conference out of Charlotte, and with it one of the dumbest questions I have heard since a reporter asked Donald Rumsfeld “When will this war be over?” five minutes after we began bombing Tora Bora. The question was, “Why is it that police are taught to shoot-to-kill?” I have watched police procedures evolve over the years, and here is the brief of it. Most street cops are not trained snipers. I urge this reporter to shoot a target in the knee (not that this would not enrage others who would think that was “cruel”). We are taught to shoot at body mass. It is the largest and easiest target to hit. Would the reporter prefer officers fire off a barrage of bullets in an attempt to wound the suspect, possibly killing a woman and/or her baby behind him? How about a “warning shot”? Well, those were outlawed decades ago due to something called “gravity”. You know, what goes up must come down? This is about public safety, people. Pure and simple. If and when an officer has the need to pull his gun the goal is not to shoot an apple off the man's head. The goal is to put him down. Safely, and quickly.
Again, more arm chair law enforcement. Maybe more people should undergo police training and spend some time on a “beat” before they jump to these Rambo conclusions.
P.S. After I wrote this, the Charlotte video was released. Lost in all of the “Did he have a gun, or was he standing there minding his own business?” is the cop calling for a medical bag afterward. Regardless of whether this turns out to be a “bad shoot” or not, one thing is clear: This was not murder-by-cop, or the officer would have stood there and watched the suspect bleed out.
One other thing: Now, according to the family lawyer, the suspect had a TBI. So now we want our law enforcement offices to do psychological assessments on everyone they encounter? “Excuse me, Sir, but would you put the gun/book/cell phone/whatever-that-is down so we can call in the duty shrink?” Gimmie a break.
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Two controversial issues. The first: Gennifer Flowers. She had an affair with Bill Clinton for ten years. Now she complains. Maybe I am a heartless bitch. But she did it, and she did it willingly. Now this is Hillary's fault? No, I have no use for Miss Thing (Hillary), but you play, you pay. Sorry you did not get what you wanted out of it, but obviously you got something out of it or you would not have done it. Sorry, but that was your moral decision.
Second. Juanita Broderick. I have never heard where Bill Clinton held her down at gunpoint, but even if he did, having been raped myself I am always put off by people who still cry over something that happened over thirty years ago. Maybe I am heartless, but having been there I learned when I was nineteen-years-old...when I woke up screaming in the middle of the night...that the only reason my perpetrator was still victimizing me from 3,000 miles away was because I was allowing him to do so. He has since died. Should I dig him up out of his grave and beat the shit out of him? Would that solve something? Unless you were held down at knife-point, and even then, there is a point where you are allowing your attacker to continue attacking you.
How many rapists tell their victims, “You will always remember me”? For God's sake, you let them control you? The best thing you can do is say, “Fine. You took my body for a minute. But it has always been mine, and you have zero control over it now.” THAT is winning, ladies. THAT is how you conquer this. NOT by crying over it decades later.
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So, now to my current situation. As readers will recall, The Shade Tree told me my stay was over. The VA failed me (big surprise). Clark County Social Services failed me (another big surprise). So, I found myself sitting on a street corner for the day, not feeling well at all. Finally the pain got the better of me and I called an ambulance. I ended up spending a couple of days in the hospital from lactic acid, which occurs when the body does not receive enough fluids. After umpteen IV's (both saline and antibiotic) I was released.
The problem was I had already spent what little money I had on a motel room, so I spent the day panhandling. It was a good day, but not enough to get another motel room. So I decided to stop for a hot dog and go back out (sometimes late at night someone will drop by if they see you sitting by yourself on a street corner). While I was there, someone hit a jackpot. He had no ID (I know; he should not have been in there in the first place). I did not know the guy at all, but he promised me a cut if I would cash it in for him. I have no idea what, if any, gaming laws I may have broken, but being in need of money I agreed and he paid me. So I went to find a motel room. Well, there is some stupid music festival in Las Vegas this weekend (as if concerts are only available here), and the only room I could find after much walking was a place called the Chalet Motel, which advertised Wifi and low rates. Well, I got a decent rate, but no Wifi. When I complained that they needed to reset the access point, the clerk shrugged and said he knew nothing about it. When I complained the following morning, the new clerk shrugged and said she knew nothing about it. Meanwhile, their marquee advertises Wifi.
Did I mention that this room, for which I paid $64, not only had no Wifi but had no ash tray...and apparently was bring-your-own-trash-can? That's right. No trash can. And I do not even know how to describe the “drapes”. They look like a huge tarp into which hooks were inserted and nailed into the wall. The air conditioner? Thankfully, it works, but there is no adjusting the temperature. In fact, there are no knobs. Yet, the marquee says the rooms have been “newly remodeled”. By whom? A drunk ninety-five-year-old former interior designer?
Yes, at least it does have a bed, and a television. But $64? Maybe $34. Maybe. Especially since the bathtub looks like it was brought here from a tornado zone and there is a glaring gap in the tile that brings sunshine into the room.
Don't get me wrong. It is better than sleeping in an alley. But, then again, an alley does not cost me $64 a night.
I wonder what the BBB will think about all of this when I report it? Not to mention the Chamber of Commerce? Booking.com? All the other websites that book for this motel? We shall find out.
Thankfully, my disability comes through in a few days, but unless I get lucky some more I will be sleeping in an alley somewhere until then. (No, I am not delusional enough to think there will be a repeat of what happened the other night. It does make for a great story, though.)
As a footnote, false advertising means nothing to the Chalet Motel. Their marquee advertises $249 per week. Nope. Try $300. This morning I renewed my room for one last night because I am not feeling well again. Despite it being Sunday (which is an off-night in Vegas), I was charged another $65. Again, the marquee says $35. So, who cares what you advertise? Apparently in Las Vegas ads are mere suggestions. In my next life I want to own a motel here. I could make a fortune stealing people blind.