A casserole of rants

Proceed with caution—a casserole of rants awaits. Like any casserole, some people will find it tasteless, others may think it’s too cheesy, and still others might wonder what kind of cook comes up with a dish like this? Or, perhaps, all 3.

I’m going to get the first ingredient out of the way, as it’s merely a strange spice in an otherwise common dish:
I have Tourette Syndrome, but Tourette Syndrome doesn’t have me. You’ve probably heard of the facial tics, grunts, sniffs (or perhaps you’ve heard them). Many people with TS have symptoms you might not see, or we find ways to mask them (holding onto the bottom of a chair and squeezing it during meetings, for example). Holding off the tics until it’s safe to do them is like filling a balloon with air and then letting it go. If you have TS, that’s when one-occupant bathrooms and unoccupied bedrooms come in handy.

What you may not know is this: There’s a tic where you have music playing round and round non-stop in your head. You wake up with it, and God knows you try to go to sleep with it.

The first song doing the loop in my head–for 4 days straight–was the middle section of Beethoven’s 9th symphony Choral. That was bad enough, but then it tried performing a clash of the songs with The Yellow Rose of Texas (I don’t know if you can actually call that “harmony”). My husband played 80’s rock on the radio to help me get it out of my head. When Beethoven and Texas weren’t trying to merge with each other, the Yellow Rose would have saxophone or guitar with drums–and sometimes there were even violins. I wouldn’t recommend the version of the Choral sung to the accompaniment of banjoes.

Then my brain picked a new one: The Battle Hymn of the Republic. At least it wasn’t trying to use something else as harmony (Like the theme song to the 1970’s Battlestar Gallactica). Nor was it being played with kazoos which, by the way, does nothing to make The Yellow Rose of Texas sound any better.

Remedies for too much tuner casserole? I can segue into a different song for a few stanzas at times. Or I can turn up a very loud fan, which creates a different set of tones. I can do stuff like write blogs, listen to the radio, or become very focused on work. After a while, it becomes musical tinnitus in the background– unless you’re in a quiet room.

This is the part of the casserole people might find tasteless:
Not all people with TS curse at other people. Well, not uncontrollably. I do curse at people on occasion—for the same reason everyone else does. Take, for example, the inconsiderate bitch who squats to pee on a public toilet, leaving the remains for the next person to sit on? Or how about hobbling into a superstore on crutches because you have a broken leg, but the 500 pound asshole who lumbered into the grocery store ahead of you grabs the last available electric cart in the place. The pudgy person then sits on said defenseless electric cart forcing you to have to hobble to the back of the store to get painkillers and a prescription.

That’s bad enough, but then you get into the checkout aisle where you have to look at a butt hanging over the sides of the abused little cart while bags of potato chips, 2 gallons of ice cream, several packages of pastries, and pork with enough fat in it to give 3 people a heart attack are dumped onto the conveyer belt.

Are we through yet. Absolutely not! That’s when the person, of whatever race/color/creed/sex, pulls out an EBT card. For those who don’t know what an Electronic Benefit Transfer card is, it’s the plastic card that replaced food stamps. Of course, the EBT recipient didn’t take into consideration that there might not be enough on the EBT card to pay for all that crap. That’s when the coins come out of the pocket and the cart sits in front of you while you—the person who didn’t become disabled because you had fork-in-mouth disease–wonder if you’re going to pass out. Further escalating the insult, the person sloooooowly counts out the pennies, dimes and nickels needed to pay the rest. Wouldn’t you have yelled out, “You inconsiderate dumb ass!” ????

The coup de grâce of this particular type of experience is that after yelling at the oblivious person in front of you out of frustration, you see that the slender, healthy young woman sitting on the electric cart in the next aisle has her young son on her lap because he wanted a ride on it. Does she stop for a moment to think that the electric carts might not be there for her entertainment? Not a chance! Wouldn’t you have yelled out, “You’re an inconsiderate dumb ass, TOO!” ????

I wonder how many people would use an electric cart in a store if they had to leave their name and a $1.00 deposit first?

Now for the Gouda part:
I’m almost through with this particular rant, but want to point out the substantive portion of this casserole. TS isn’t a death sentence. I’m married, I don’t just sit around watching reality TV all day, I’m bright enough to know that electric carts are there for people who really need them, and I have children who contribute to society who work 12 hour days.

Have I ever been a superstore zombie? Yes. And I’ve had people yell out, “You dumb ass, get out of the way!” The difference is, I don’t go running to the nearest lawyer to yell “discrimination.” That, however, is a rant for another day.