Why I'll Never Go Shopping Again

Yesterday sucked. The levels of fail cannot be measured or described. Here are some highlights from the worst. day. ever. for your reading pleasure, because sharing is therapy.. caring.. whatever.

The Bandwagon Is Full, So Get Off

Another article I wrote at Raspwire is getting moved over. Enjoy!

Have you ever noticed all the things you love becoming fads and trends? It sucks. I notice it all the time, and it makes me sad for the people who are calling a bandwagon taxi to Trendy Town. I am using my own experiences to rant about this topic, but I'm sure there are lots of people out there that can relate. Well, actual relation may or may not be present, because some people will relate because it's the new trend.

A Letter To Bad Drivers: This One's For You

I had some requests to do another rant, so this week, we're taking a look at bad drivers. I'm going to make it a letter so everyone can print if off, highlight the appropriate section, and hand it to anyone that you think needs to see it. Who knows, it could save some rage, a life, or just make you feel better. Awareness should never be overrated.

My Take On Your Take On Chicks Who Game

Hi, I'm Kate, and I'm (obviously) a chick. I am a chick who games; I mean, I really game.

I don't pose half-naked with my controller for Facebook pictures and I don't play those ridiculous "take care of this baby animal" games on my hot pink DS. I don't even have a DS, truth be told; I have a first-gen PSP. I have been known to sit on a couch for days on end -- no shower, no sleep, no food -- and play KOTOR until my eyeballs were almost literally bleeding. I used to think budgeting for a new game was the most important financial decision I would make that week, and I made grown men cry as they watched me blow through Halo 2 on Legendary with no deaths and no do-overs.

Extreme Spousing, Impending Birthday Doom, And Plagiarism Anger 101 -- RTTR

I'm going to turn the big ol' two-five on Thursday. I feel so much older than that. I know it's not really that old, but I've been through so much in the past ten years, that it just feels like it's been twenty. I'm already getting grey hair, I've got wrinkles and saggy skin in places, and my life is far from where I thought it would be. I'm getting there, but not exactly as fast as I always dreamed I would.

With a myriad of schooling and relationships, health scares and parenting/marriage woes, it seems far more reasonable to say that I'm turning 40. I'm not, but again, it feels like I am. Also, after twenty-four consecutively atrocious birthdays, I'm awaiting a twenty-fifth. It's kind-of like when I was 21, pregnant and waiting by the phone because my fiance was deployed, and I ended up spending most of the day in my uncle's basement. You see, there were TORNADOES. ON MY BIRTHDAY. OH FUCK ME.

I hate my birthday, and not just because half of my family refers to me as "the bad luck baby":

• Fourth grade, skating rink party, three injuries. Also, someone sneezed on my custom cake. Fucker. 
• Ninth grade, first girlfriend dumped me because I wouldn't "come out". Well, at thirteen, I was barely old enough to understand what I was going through, much less tell my super christian friends and family that I was dating a fifteen year-old chick who couldn't kiss worth a shit. 
• Twenty-two (or was it twenty-three), Husband decided that his friends (that really only want to be his friend when it's convenient for them) were far more important than me. I spent the whole day (and night) crying on the vacation HE wanted to take, and then when he tried to "make it up to me", he stood me up in one of the fanciest restaurants I've ever been to, and an older (and completely awesome) gay couple decided to get me wasted to forget about him and his meanness. I was in a city where I knew practically no one, in a bar where it costs half a day's pay to get a drink, alone. It was sad.
• Last year, same thing, only this time, I was called a whore in front of my child, for no reason whatsoever, by someone old enough to know better. Also, no one remembered it was my birthday, except on Facebook, and I don't really remember much about it, because I was in class, taking a test. I aced that bitch, too. I also worked that day. Bam. Adulthood. 

And that's only a few of the many reasons I hate my birthday. Let's move on, shall we?

I've created a new extreme sport.. or television show. Whichever comes first. Just remember, you saw this HERE first, so let's give me a pat for thinking it up. I'll remember the little people when I'm accepting a shitty daytime television award.

EXTREME SPOUSING! ::cues crazy gruff voice and "extreme" musical score::

It's where you and your spouse seem to have the most EXTREME.. ly hardcore arguments over completely asinine issues that should really be deemed "moot".. ALL OF THE TIMES. Like, television volume while people who work third shift in the house are sleeping, and you're trying to work, and SHIT IS GETTING REAL. Or, like putting in job applications, holding up a part of a pretty important agreement, etc.

Instead of getting pissed and using your big growed-up words, like civilized normal couples, you can come on my show, or whoever decides to pick it up, and go at LEAST Super Saiyan 3 on each other. It's fun and entertainment for the audience, gets out pent-up aggression out for the couple, and it's easier than therapy.

I need this show to start NOW. Like, RIGHT NOW. I'm not too proud to admit that, like most young-ish couples who started out their relationship under difficult circumstances, we fight. A lot. A whole fucking lot. It's getting tiresome, with both parties feeling drained and defeated at the end of the day. I am an adult, but sometimes, I fight like a stupid teen. I married someone who's every inch an alpha personality, like myself, so we know exactly what buttons to push to get each other to act completely stupid.

It would be fun to beat the shit out of him with a giant Q-Tip, but that's neither here nor there.

Moving on again.. Whooooosh!

The interweb.. it's a funny place, right? Last week, we talked about the crazy antics ensuing over there at that Chrysler Blogger Face-off thing. This week, we tune in and learn that the same party responsible has been called-out for plagiarism. Age, and pregnancy, are used as an excuse for said stealing, and it makes me really, REALLY, fucking crazy-mad.

I'm about to be twenty-five, which means I'm TWO years YOUNGER than her. I've never stolen someone else's work. I learned at an early age just how detrimental that can be. I've been falsely accused of stealing someone's printed off the internet article to use for an assignment, and that was bad enough. Thanks to her bad day, I had a big ol' fat dose of Saturday School, and a large stain on my record. It was expunged, but still. It's a serious issue, that there stealing thing.

I know better, and I'm ashamed to be lumped into a now pretty general class of "age equals stupidity" and "excuses, excuses". I have somehow managed to come up with my own shit, pregnant or not, young or not, for years. It's not easy, and it's especially difficult to make something your own in the digital age. Everyone has already said everything there is to say. Which makes and breaks a good blogger/writer. It makes ME better, personally, and quite obviously it has broken her. Quit instead of stealing. You'll get more respect.

If it's your JOB to write, whether you're good at it or not, you should at least make an effort to be original. Now, with that being said, I would like to clear the air. Not all twenty-something bloggers are a disgrace. There are just a few out there, that think they're invincible. I'm sorry on their behalf, and I hope that those of us that are honest and love what we do aren't going to end up with faces full of mud from this fiasco.

I have had my fair share of stealing and copying in my graphics business. I've even had to go as far as to get a cease and desist against a large corporation for stealing a damn Christmas card design when a customer decided to go with them, rather than the local business that I normally referred all my clients to for printing. She did so to save a few bucks, but it cost me my salary for a month and a lot of time and clients. Thanks for that, again. You know who you are. I know you're reading this. I should've billed you the five grand I shelled out/lost because of you.

Just CITE. Please. Cite, give credit, whatever it takes. It doesn't take any more time than going somewhere and stealing the work. I have done it a thousand times. If you've ever written a research paper, you should know all about proper citation, and several of the accepted methods of doing so.

The blog posts and websites I read and referenced to (about both crazy issues) will be listed at the end of this post. There is the actual Chrysler contest page, the awesome Avitable's blog where he defends and explains the mess to perfection, and the post over at the wonderful Amalah site that explains the thievery.


Now, I know this is incoherent at best, and scattered, but it's RANDOM TUESDAY. Also, family is driving me insane today, and I'm having trouble remembering what I want to write for work, much less this blog post. There. Excuses. I'm using them. It's my right as a YOUNG BLOGGER PARENT, right? See what I did there? LULZ of the day for me.

Head on over to Stacy's awesome blog to link up to the randomness this Tuesday. Happy reading, y'all!




Amalah's Blog Post
Avitable's Awesome Blog Post
The Start of the Chrysler/Ignite SM Fiasco

There were others, but we all know Kristine, from Wait In The Van, and I'm not even giving the actual blog in question the time of day. Views only keep her in paid gigs, and it's sad. So very, very sad.

Too Much Coffee, People Who Skipped Grammar In School, And Cyber Stupidity -- RTTR

I've been hard at work lately, doing research and reading tons of resumes. By research, I mean playing the shit out of Fable III, Halo Reach, and Halo ODST. Throwback to some great games wut?! Yes. I have an awesome friend who let me borrow his old school first gen 360, and I'm banging out an article that's going to take a lot of patience to write.

Also, if anyone wants to donate to the game fun, I'll give you my paypal. I'm spending all my money on bills and coffee these days, and I can't afford the ridiculous prices for games.. they used to be necessities, but then I had a family and a kid and responsibilities. OMFG. WHEN DID I GROW UP? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! ::shakes fist angrily towards the sky::

Speaking of coffee, I'm up to a $30/week budget for that shit. It's insane. I'm killing my insides. It's totally cool, though, because I enjoy killing my organs with black gold. Well, more like, caramel gold.. I like coffee creamer and sugar in my coffee.

I've had this stupid hair stuck in my eye for FOUR FUCKING DAYS NOW. It's not cool. My eyeball is raw. How does that even work?! It just does. There's your answer. It's in that unreachable top crease, and it's driving me insane. Not that I really need any help, but it's a helpful motherfucker. Touche, hair stuck in my eye, touche. I don't know how to make the little accent thing on the top of the "e", so get over it already.

I hate to call-out bad grammar (well, not really, but this time I kind-of do.. maybe.. probably not. Whatevs.), but I have to say this to everyone that wants to be a writer:

Everyone makes mistakes. It's learning to correct your mistakes, and better yourself that makes you a good writer. When you balk at the notion, it tells me you're not a writer, you're simply someone who wants to seem deep and interesting. Get a beret, or something, but please don't harp on how awesome your shit is. When you can't even discern the STARK difference in "your" and "you're", and you make no never mind about it, it annoys me.

If your resume has more grammatical errors than a kindergartner's poetry, you look like an idiot. If your blog posts are so incoherent that I can't even grasp the topic you've chosen to write about, you look completely incompetent. I'm not going to give you the time of day.

I know I'm not perfect, but I choose to use ellipses like they're going out of style. I know the right and wrong way to use commas, but sometimes, I choose to splice shit up FOR THE EFFECT. Like, how it would sound if I said it. SO THERE. FUCK YOU. CAPS!

This week, I'm ashamed to own a Chrysler vehicle. One of my most favourite people on the interwebz was in a contest, and was banging out the hilarity in her quest for votes. I enjoyed her not taking herself so seriously, and having fun with the process.

She got disqualified. Another contestant got upset that she was losing (because obvs she's internet famous and awesome, but OMFG EVERYONE IS MISSING IT WHAT DO I DO?!), and lost her sense of humor. She set her husband loose on the Twitterverse, and he said some pretty nasty things to this awesome lady that was just trying to have fun, as well as some of her interweb supporters/friends.

IT GETS BETTER!

She the decided to write a completely terrible blog post about said person, slandering and bullying her. She set her "fans" after her and her readers, and she made all kinds of false accusations. This, in itself, was enough to make me pretty peeved, I'm not going to lie.

THEN! as if this wasn't enough! she contacted Chrysler and made a big stink, leaving out all the nasty things on her side that weren't all in good fun and humor, and Chrysler. backed. her. up. y'all.

Chrysler promotes cyber bullying. I say that with complete conviction. I know what's right, and what's completely wrong, and I also know THAT I AM A REAL PERSON AND SO ARE MY FRIENDS AND YOU CAN SUCK A NUT! I don't make friendly-time with proxy servers and cheaters, because I only make friends with people who can hug it the fuck out.

When has a proxy server or a cheater ever had the capability to give a fucking AMAZING hug? Nevah!

What I'm really saying here, through all my weird hilarity, is that the real bully is the man who threatens a woman, or anyone else, on the internet. The bully and the cheater isn't the person who made jokes and did what she always does, it was the person who stooped to petty and childish tactics.

I have been internet harassed, and it was awful. It made me a wreck, and hurt more than I can describe. It wasn't over a contest, it was over something that happened in the realz, but it was carried to the internet, and I was threatened, my child was harmed, and my husband's career was threatened. It was the worst time of my life, and it's still going on, because petty fucking people have nothing better to do with their time.

I've learned to let it go, but it still hurts. It's still wrong, and to see a power company ENDORSE THE SHIT pisses me off to no end. Like, pisses me off more than when my husband decides to be a fucking dick all day and treat me like I'm an idiot because I have a vag. That, my friendly readers, is a whole fucking lot.

I voted for her, because her contributions were awesome, and so is she. I didn't cheat, I didn't vote for the stupid iPad 2 (that CHRYSLER was BLATANTLY using for incentive votes), or the cookies (which WERE JUST A FUCKING JOKE OMFG), or for any other reason than I loved her shit, so. hard., and I love reading her blog, also so. hard.

So, there. Fuckity-fuck-fucker. Now I think I have it off my chest, I'm going to shit-talk my Jeep because ITS PARENT IS RIDICULOUS. It should've been adopted. I'm just glad I didn't buy it from a dealer, because technically I didn't pay them for it. I paid the dude who did a craptastic job of restoring it.

This, my friends, ends Random Tuesday Thoughts. It has a whole 'lotta rebellion in it. Enjoy the rest of your week, awesome people, and remember to head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun.


I'm not adding the linky thing today, mostly because I'm lazy as shit, but also it's over there -----> on the side of my blog. Have fun, and rebel on!

UPDATE TIME BITCHES!

So, there's this guy, and he's pretty much fucking awesome. He wrote this blog post about all the Chrysler Blogger Face-Off shit, and it's perfection.

Go HERE, and enjoy.


Also, I realize that it was Ignite Social Media that made the wrong decision, but CHRYSLER BACKED THEM UP. Obviously. The shit is still going on.

There's Work And Then There's Housework -- RTTR

NOTE: I wrote this Monday night, because I thought it was Tuesday, despite the fact that I had just watched and live tweeted The Bachelor. Don't judge me, my brain is fried.

First, let's talk about those people in your family that are always out to get you. You'd think after spending an entire childhood being a fucking bitch would be enough for some, but no. They drag it all over into adulthood, because they can't grow up. Stalking your FAMILY MEMBERS on FACEBOOK is RIDICULOUS. Please grow up soon, thanks.

Second, let's talk about work. I'm working on so many things I can't keep them all straight. Funnest thing going on is trying to get press passes to a stellar concert full of epic win. Least funnest thing (hat statement is one that totally works in my head, but is so wrong on paper.. blogger.. whatever), but one that I feel compelled to work on, is a piece on people and celebrity deaths. It's hard to write it in a manner that won't get a brick through my window, but I think I can pull it off. We shall see.. I'm setting myself a midnight deadline to hurry the process along.

Third thing, my eyesight. This problem keeps rearing its ugly little face. I can barely see, my glasses are crap, and I'm in so much pain it's just not cool. I really hope I can grab a new pair of glasses and it will magically disappear, but I'm almost positive it won't. I think my sight is going to be as bad as some of my family members. Lame.

Fourth.. wait, why am I counting? Wow. I'm losing it.

Housework. SUCK MY NUTS! I know that it's a huge part of my duties and all, but seriously. People can't even make it to the trash can or the laundry room ONCE A DAY. I'm literally doing EVERYTHING. I'm exhausted, I'm drained, I'm sick of it. The only person in the house that will take a piece of trash to the trashcan is me. There are two other adults and a kid, who USED to love throwing things away, and nothing ever makes it. It makes it to the kitchen table, RIGHT NEXT TO THE TRASHCAN, but not in it. I don't get it. I'm lost. Also, the floors needing to be deep cleaned every single day is getting insane. I can't keep up. I commend people with more than one kid, and I can totally sympathize.

My Valentine's Day present will most likely arrive AFTER tomorrow, and that sucks. I did get a super sweet owl print bag from Journey's today. It's exactly what I needed for running around with the Munchkin. I no longer have to deal with my bag falling off my shoulder, because it's a cross-body bag. It's got a really pretty yellow silk lining, too. Cheap, quick, cute, fun, easy.. everything I needed. TAKE THAT Coach bag I've been drooling over for months!

I'm making a really amazing roast for tomorrow. I'm not planning on going anywhere unless it's to Lowe's to get a tub repair kit. We didn't make it today, so maybe tomorrow. Who knows.. I'd really like to get my shower fixed, but I'm the queen of putting home repairs off.


This concludes Random Tuesday.. because I'm starting to bore and confuse myself. Oh, and if you haven't seen Code Monkeys, the 8-bit cartoon G4 TV came up with, you're missing out. Get on Netflix and watch it. It's awesome.

Head on over to Stacy's blog, grab a button, write some crazy shit, and link up to the awesome fun that is Random Tuesday Thoughts. We're still at the rebellion, and it's so much fun I think you'd like doing it, too.

Peaces.. Deuces.. Peace.. Whatevs.

The Things I Do For Money, The Waiting Game, And Gramma's Oatmeal: RTTR

So Tomorrow was going to be the day I finally got the hubs back from Louisiana. I don't think that's going to happen. I really appreciate all the shit he's gone through since I moved, but I think it's time he told everyone and everything to go to hell so he can come home. I'm tired of waiting, sleeping alone, changing dates, hearing my kid cry because she misses her daddy, and dealing with everyone's drama.

Do you think I'm really that bad of a person, guys? I wouldn't MAKE him do anything. This was a mutual decision, and I don't appreciate the accusations or the hateful messages. Man up, grow a set of balls, and learn what "staying out of things you don't know anything about" means. I promise, what you think you know, isn't at all what's really going on. Maybe you should disregard gossip and worry about yourself.

I'm a bit cranky when it comes to this subject. That's about all I can say. I miss my best friend and regulator, so I'm not exactly thrilled that it's going to take more time. Also, it's getting harder to keep the munchkin on the up-and-up. I can't tell her to be good because Daddy will be here soon if soon never comes.


I pounded out an article that took me a week to prepare for. It's pretty sweet, and I'll be linking to it in a post as soon as it's live. I wrote a speech for someone's kid who did something "cool", and got to hear more of the same crap I just posted about. Lame jokes.. lots of them. I finished up the last of the graphics I plan on doing for a while, and had another 100 e-mails from douchenuts who think it's my job to make them free shit. I'm letting you know now that it's not my job to give you something that takes away from my paid-for time and my family, for free. Ever. If I offer, then I offer. If you e-mail me 12 times in a day TELLING me to do something, I'm going to remind you that eating a bag of dicks can be cleansing, and block you from my life. Forever.

Now, this eating of the bag of dicks can also be applied to people who make me work hours on things I offered, and assumed would be simple, and then never contact me to finish them, or treat me like I'm their fucking bitch and can't even say thank you before they're telling me what I am and am not going to do for them.

Fuck off. My time is worth $125 an hour, and if you want me to bow to your every whim, you will pay me for it, I clock my hours with the same timer my Dad uses, and trust me, I clock your free shit. I clocked in almost three hours out of the goodness of my heart, and you will pay me for it, PLUS whatever time I waste from here on out, since you want to be a fucking tool.


Also, if you type like a douche, I'm going to block you. I won't even accept your money if it means I have to read your messages. I mean, come on: "Dhuz eyU mayK gRaFiiXx fu ah Tallt?!??!G won noe, tryyk. iiMma nea tuhh giit ah bluu XxX owna bakk. lmk. ppeecce."

What in the fucking fuck does that even mean?! I'm totally serious, here. I know what "lmk" is, but other than that, I'm fucking lost. I copy+paste-d that from an e-mail I received two hours ago. My head hit the desk so fast I wasn't prepared for it.

If that was you, you're blocked. Forever and ever. And if you leave a comment on this post, I will hunt you down and shove my old Grammar book into your ear canal in hopes that it, by some divine miracle, punctures your brain and oozes its useful knowledge all over it. Get a job, and maybe you'll learn proper english.


It's going to be super nice outside today, Thursday, and Friday. I can't wait to get out and enjoy it. I'm hoping the munchkin will be up for some serious walking, because it's going to happen. Wednesday can kiss my ass. It wants to be rainy. I hate Wednesday right now. Wednesday, you're a bitch.


I cheated when I cooked supper last night, and made spaghetti from a canned sauce. It was a huge mistake. It tasted like I dumped a cup of sugar into it, and then added some Karo syrup. No one could eat it. It was a total waste of meat, spices, and time. I promise, family, I will never do that again. Ever.


I made myself some oatmeal for a snack and breakfast tomorrow. I used the same oats my gramma used to use, and I added in some brown sugar, a dash of nutmeg, honey, and a spoonful of some home canned maple peach preserves. It was awesome, but it paled in comparison to hers. No one will ever make oatmeal like hers. Also, butter beans. She made the best, and I am just trying to make mine a fraction as good these days.


I have found the worst thing about living out in the middle of the country: waiting around for the dude to refill your gas tank. Everyone else is fine with the slight drop in temperature due to conservation, but I'm not. I haven't taken my boots off all day, and I'm in so many layers it's hard to walk around.

Also, I think I may have over-shot the limits on my Jeep. I decided to wait to get gas, and then I forgot I was low, and drove it around today. I may or may not be able to get back to town to fill it up. Anyone have a gas can? Because I'm a failure.

You know the drill, head over to Stacy's awesome blog, grab a button, write some shit down, link-up, and get in on the Random Tuesday fun! Now with more REBELLION!


Have a very random Tuesday!

All I Have To Say About Internet Censorship: It's Ridiculous

   

Can you read that? Chances are, you can't. You didn't make it, and it's been censored. I made it. I used my bought and paid for copy of Adobe Photoshop CS 5 Master Collection. Chances are also pretty high that it will be copied, saved, linked-to, and re-linked to again and again. It will be changed, the size will be messed with, and people will most likely say they made it. I didn't even bother to slap my copyright watermark on it.

If I post it to Twitter tomorrow, it could be censored. If Bills like ACTA, Bill-C11 (formerly Bill-C32), SOPA, PIPA, or any other Internet Censorship laws pass, I could be fined or placed in jail. That doesn't sound fun, since I made it, and it's my right to bellyache and complain about whatever the hell I want.

That's just it, though. It's MY choice. This is the internet. Shit gets stolen; so what? I take it as a compliment when people like what I do enough to share it. I don't really go for the changes, but like I said, this is the internet, and shit happens. I always ask that people at least let me know they're taking something because asking is a simple courtesy. I'm not going to police my work after they take it because I have a life and better things to do.

If you don't want people to get to anything that you do, don't make your work public. I am guilty of it, you are guilty of it. I like memes, and so do you. That is a prime example of what they're calling piracy. It's not just about grabbing a torrented copy of a movie or CD, people -- it's so much bigger than that.

I know we (the internet lovers) had a huge "win" when we all got together and shut our sites down for a day. Wikipedia had probably the biggest impact, leading people to be forever lost because they don't remember a time when we didn't have ready access to the information we wanted/needed. Since I used to use my handy-dandy encyclopedia to find information, I still tend to stick to it. But there's something comforting about having the ease of Google Search right at my fingertips. Many of the web pages that we visit are powered by Wiki, and we rarely realize just how crippling it's loss would be.

SOPA and PIPA may be frozen, but ACTA is like SOPA and PIPA on steroids, and it my friends, is FAR from frozen. Bill-C11? It even makes ripping your bought CDs to your iTunes library and DVR-ing your favourite TV shows illegal. Have you unlocked your phone? Rooted it? Changed the OS? That's illegal under Bill-C11 as well.

Think I'm crazy? Check the links at the end of this article to find out for yourself. I'm not crazy, this is our future. Taking a small stand against one bill and thinking we've won the war is ridiculous. We have yet to win anything but one small smokescreen of a battle.  SOPA and PIPA were created to annoy us, while we remained in the dark about other bills, whether American or not, that are far worse and could royally fuck our shit up. Sharing isn't caring to these bills -- it's a federal offense that could land you in jail for sharing a photo you found via Google Images.

And, just to let you know just how far the laws can carry themselves, some of the bills I'm talking about aren't American. Bill-C11 is Canada's new love-child. We as Americans can't do anything but spread the word, but most of us have never even heard of it. Canada helped us out with SOPA and PIPA, so don't forget to help them. I'm appreciative of their efforts.

You see, they realize, unlike most people, that whatever laws are passed here (or anywhere else) are going to affect us all. It's the WORLD-WIDE web, people. If ACTA passes, it's going to affect us; If the Canadians lose their battle against Bill-C11, we're just as screwed. These bills our governments are trying to hide behind fancy words and 'round-about press releases, if passed, will open the floodgates. One passes, they could ALL pass.

And then the internet would look like a pissed-off dude ripped the shit out of a book. There won't be any Wiki sites, there won't be a Twitter and Facebook worth using, and Google will take a huge dive. Even searching for articles to cite here in my own blog lead me to censorship. Google was forced to take articles off the search queue. It's complete bullshit, and we shouldn't be content to let other people decide what we can and cannot share. 

Not all sharing is bad, government, and your bills aren't going to help. Things are just going to get worse.

Oh, and in case you haven't heard, Twitter is now able to censor your tweets on a case-to-case basis.

I'm not quite fond of this idea, and you shouldn't be, either. They're your thoughts, and if you want to let them be known, it should be your decision how they're conveyed.

This is basically a war on freedom of expression; which side are you on?

Check these links to learn about the bills and the new Twitter censorship (I'm not including SOPA and PIPA, so no worries. You're going to learn something new.):

Bill-C11(formerly Bill-C32)
More on Bill-C11
ACTA(A Wiki site.. better read quick!)
Forbes Speaks: Twitter Censorship and Internet Censorship Laws

I Don't Like Your Dress, But I Did The First Time I Saw It

I've been to so many weddings in the past 5 years that I can't even count them anymore. I'm at that age where everyone is getting married, and most of them are doing it big.

Big or small, they've all had one thing in common: The dress. That dress up there, to be exact. Same colours, same dress, almost the exact same veil, and the same bridesmaid dresses to match.

My wedding wasn't big, and I didn't have a dress. Hell, I hadn't even washed my hair yet that day. We got married when Husband got a few minutes off his shift, in a tiny room up a dirty staircase in downtown Waikiki. Hooray Military weddings! We got there just in time to wait in a growing line, and got out of there just in time to make it to the closest McDonald's to grab his lunch. I wore a gorgeous jean skirt by Aeropostale, a tank top from Hollister, and a great custom jacket from Cafepress. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

No, it wasn't the most fancy wedding, nor the most traditional, but it was mine. It was unique and special. I'm pretty sure no one else in the history of ever will have my "dress" because that jacket? It was one-of-a-kind. That makes me feel pretty okay with skipping the white dress and the reception.

Before you go bitching at me, let me explain my disdain for this dress so maybe you can understand where I'm coming from.

If I had worn a dress, and if I had had a wedding that was all match-y and decorated, I would've gone for something that was original. I don't want to look back at my wedding pictures and notice that ALL MY FRIENDS had the exact same dress and colours as I did. That would make me feel weird. We don't match on a daily basis, why would we want to match on the most wonderful day of our lives?

Isn't anyone noticing that for every ten weddings they go to, they're going to nine carbon copies, including their own? Doesn't that bother anyone? There are a thousand dresses with pickup skirts and satin fabric and sashes in millions of colours. Do you all have to wear the exact same one, with the exact same shade of red?

And, for the record, it's kind-of crappy to make your friends lie to you. When you ask me "Don't you just totally LOVE my dress?!", from now on, I'm going to tell you no. I'm sorry, but if I tell another person I do, I'm going to hang myself from my own tongue. I shouldn't have to lie. At this point in time, if I saw the ugliest dress ever made, and it was on my friend, and they asked me how I like it, if it was different than that dress up there, I would think it was the most amazing piece of shit ever. Because, despite the trends, they went with a dress that was unique and fit their personality.

That dress up there? It's not for everyone. I've seen a lot of weddings where the dress looked awful and the bride looked just miserable in it. However, her friends? They loved it. You could tell they were the ones who picked it out. They see the trends, and they make decisions based on what's hot, not what's special. I've even seen this dress recreated into bridesmaid dresses or prom gowns.

YOU'RE TAKING IT WAY TOO FAR, PEOPLE! OMHMYGOD!

When you try on a dress and you're standing up on that platform, staring into the mirrors, turning and twirling, don't look at the dress like a fashion statement. Please, for the love of all your photos and memories, look at that dress like it's an expression of yourself; like that dress is going to be on you forever and it's the last thing you'll ever put on. Would you want to look just like everyone else for the rest of your life?

Probably not.

I realize I sound awfully mean, and full of hate. I am full of hate.. for that dress. I sat here for a few minutes and tallied up the times I've either seen it in person, or seen someone's wedding pictures, and the count comes to 140. Yes, I'm completely serious. And the saddest part? at least 90% of those times, the girls know each other.

I liked the dress the first time I saw it; I liked the red pop in the sea of black and white. Now? I wish someone would've picked blue, green, pink, yellow, orange, cream, grey -- SOMETHING DIFFERENT. How about some gunmetal grey? What if you go with some deep purples and blues? Have some bright pink?

Anything? Anyone?

Whatevs, it's your wedding. I would suggest making it actually your wedding, but if you want me to come and say how much I love your dress, or the colours you chose, don't expect me to go crazy for something I've seen before -- so many times I'm just plain sick of it.

Where's the open bar? I need enough tequila in me to not rant on-stage about your cookie cutter wedding.

Your Number Come-th Up, Judge-y Parent!

Okay, this is purely a rant blog. It in no way means I think that any one of my friends and fellow bloggers are these types of people. It does mean that others have encountered this shit in real life, away from the internet, and I feel like it needs to be said.. by me.. on this blog. I'm out to get the ones who make us not-so perfect parents feel like a bag of douche for not being as awesome and sun-shiny as they seem to think they are.

Hey! Guess what? You're not perfect and rainbows do not come falling out of your ass every time you fart. I don't like you. Most parents do not like you. Life? Yeah, life doesn't like you, either. No one likes a show-off. Or you. Because you're a fucking tool.

If you are easily offended, don't read this. If you read this and you're like "OMG THAT BITCH IS TALKING ABOUT ME!", you're wrong. I don't know you. This is about the kinds of shit that other parents have given me/others during the course of our lives as parents. Some of this has nothing to do with me, but I'm writing it the way I'm writing it because I'm awesome and I'm dedicated. I never reveal the sources of my inspiration. Get over yourself, most of this shit is hilarious as fuck. Just laugh, dammit!

Aaaaaanyhow, back to my rant. Well, the points of my rant.. Here are some reasons why I don't like you. I also got some pretty great fodder from some not-so amused dads. Apparently other moms are too nice to say mean things. I don't believe in "sticking together" if you can't fucking be nice. Go eat some mushy peas, mean-ass. Here are some letters to mull over while you stuff your judge-y face:

Dear 'Oblivious' Parent,

Is there any reason why you feel more inclined to talk shit about my clothes, my kid's clothes, or how I'm letting my kid/kids play on the playground, than pay attention to your own kid/kids? Because, I just want you to know, your kid has a face full of sand and something that resembles dog shit, and I'm not sure you care at this point. Oh, and while you were letting your kid/kids do shit like that, my kid was perfectly safe and happy and I was probably playing with her or watching her play like a fucking helicopter mom, you accomplished nothing by treating me like I'm on 'American Idol: Parenting Edition'. And your kid ate shit. I hope you get some all over your face because you still have no idea it happened. Like my top? I got it at fucking WALMART.


Dear 'Savvy' Parent,

I like your shoes. Were those on sale for $400 or $900? Oh, mine? I got mine at the fucking Dollar General. They were in the clearance bin for like a buck. With the money I saved, I bought my kid four new outfits, a new pair of shoes, and that bubble bath that costs more than all my beauty supplies combined. She likes it and it makes her smell like Jesus rubbed his awesomeness all over her. No, I don't mind that my shit looks old and ragged, because my kid has the best of everything and I work my fucking face off to make sure she never goes without. I like spending my money on her instead of me; it's the reason I'm a fucking GREAT mom. I may be on the lower-class side of life, but you'd never know that my kid doesn't have rich parents. I'm glad that you have lots of money, but why is your kid wearing Walmart while you wear Gucci? Thanks for making me feel like Parent of the Year. I needed that. My last pair of slacks that are work appropriate just ripped, and I was having a bad day.


Dear 'Awesome-Rack' Parent,

Congratulations! You fed your kid from your/your wife's boobies and not from a bottle. You achieved something so wonderful that the angels cry. Oh, me? Why didn't I breast feed my kid? BECAUSE I FUCKING COULDN'T! Thank you, though, for telling me I'm a terrible, no-good parent, and rubbing the glory of your success in my face. It makes me get this warm and fuzzy feeling deep inside my vag. I tried, and I was really down on myself for two fucking months because I couldn't have that bond with my kid. If you had bothered to ask before you sat on your titty pedestal, you might've saved some face. You just look like an asshole now. And, for the record, we bonded. We bonded the shit out of each other. That kid tells me every single day that I'm her best friend. She also got to bond like Gorilla Glue to her dad. It was awesome. We are awesome. Fuck you.


Dear 'Earth-Friendly' Parent,

I'm glad that you chose to use cloth diapers. That makes me happy for you, and I'm sure that you feel a little more righteous because you saved the fucking tree people or whatever -- awesome. I chose to use the diapers that I can throw away. It's my choice. I had enough shit thrown at me while my kid was in diapers, I didn't feel like dealing with washing them and drying them and wondering if shit was going to be stuck in my washer. Just because YOU did something, does NOT mean the rest of the world has to. Every parent has a choice and your way isn't always the only way. I know you feel this way because you're a martyr and you do so much good with your cloth diapers and your fucking ego, but no. Fuck that. You're not holy, you didn't save the tree people, and your washing machine probably smells funny. There, how do you like MY opinion? If it pisses you off, I did my job. Because you piss me off. A lot.


Dear 'Wow' Parent,

Your kid is not a testament to you. You kid is a kid; a human being. They aren't a prop. If you treat your kid like a fucking accessory, you're an asshole. You have no place to judge me or any other parent. You're the Paris Hilton of parents, and you suck. The end.


Dear 'Psycho Hippie' Parent,

Breast feeding your child when they're in pre-school is just creepy. I'm not doing it and it's not because I'm a bad parent. It's because I talked with my kid's pediatrician and I chose to go with her facts and not my own weird internet research. New age parents confuse me. If our parents fed us real food whenever we were ready, why can't you do that for your kid? You seem to be semi-stable and normal, meaning your parents did a good job with you. Why would you want to do something that isn't healthy for your kid for your own sake? You are also the 'Wow' parent.. making your statement. It's a really messed-up statement and I don't understand it, but it's there. I salute your decision in my own way. All I ask is that you stop telling me what's best for my kid.. because you don't know anything about her. You should also stop being so fucking high and mighty. No one likes people butting-in where they have no business sticking themselves in. I did what was right for my daughter, and she's a healthy, intelligent, well-adjusted little hellion that has gone through a lot in her three years of being alive. I think she's doing fan-fucking-tastic all things considered. If you think she needs formula at three, when it loses all nutritional value between 10-14 months, that's your opinion. Now, please go choke on it. Enjoy your day, you're very rude.



Okay, so the last one is from me.. but whatevs. I know a lot of parents feel like ass when other parents act like they've never had a breakdown, never had to deal with bullshit, never been stressed or tired, or they just have their fucking shit together all the time. I am calling you out, mean parents. STOP BEING SO DAMN AWFUL! Not every parent is the same, much like the children we rear. We all have different ways of coping with things and raising our kids. We were all raised differently. If you can't accept that not everyone is going to be as amazing as you think you are, you're a huge bag of ugly.

POWER TO THE COOL PARENTS!

We have meltdowns, we don't always like our kids even though we love them with every fiber of our being, we do the best we can with what we have, and our kids are the kids everyone wants to have. I love being 'Mommy' to my little tornado. She makes me mad, sad, tired, hyper, cry, smile, laugh, fuss, and amazed every time she comes into a room. I couldn't imagine my life without her in it, and I'm thankful every single day for her. I know I've had some days where I'm like "Baby Jesus, please give me a break!", but everyone has had those days. It's normal. It's called being a fucking parent. Try being a REAL parent sometime, judge-y parents.. you just might find it's a great experience. Also, when you try it and love it, apologize to the parents you've shit on over the years. Make our day.

RTT: Things Suck More In Louisiana

Today has already been one entirely over-stressful day. That sucks because it's not like I'm not ALREADY stressed out from first test jitters and financial ruin looming and the winterocalypse and the cat.. did I mention he pounced on my head while I was putting makeup on? Yes, he did. He apparently needs to seek therapy.

So we, errr, I mean I did our taxes today....... the state in which we live in has -- yet again -- fucked us over. And not even with the consideration of lube; just nasty, horrible, dry rape. Thanks a lot, La. Thanks a whole bunch. Fuckers.

My first test is today. Imagine a girl with extreme anxiety problems and a tendancy to over-analyze and worry who just happens to be a genius that sucks at math and taking tests. That's me, and I'm nervous. I'm freaking out and the cat isn't helping. He's staring at me with this judge-y eyes like he just KNOWS I'm going to flunk it because he's a cat and they're like super all-knowing creatures. Fuck you, too, Spazzy McSpazz.

My phone, my glorious phone, with my awesome SIM card and my SD card full of things of importance, is still missing. I seriously hope no one stole it and was stupid enough to chuck it out somewhere like the last time. I really kinda need that thing. It's like, super important.. and stuff. I'm like a failure when it comes to having a phone. This will make the second time it's been stolen, and that really sucks because I NEED it. It's not like it cures cancer or anything, but it does hold potential job interviews and my life on a phone and a bunch of other shit that really means like, a lot. I'm emotionally compromised because I can't call anyone. This is like cutting me off; stranding me on a deserted island; putting gum in my hair when there's no peanut butter or mayonnaise in the house to get it out. SERIOUS. SHIT.

 I don't want to go to school today.. I don't want to take a test. I just want to lounge around the house and study some more. It doesn't help that I just found out I'll be missing gumbo tonight. Definitely sad-facing over here, and like, there are tears and shit. Gumbo is important. Almost as important as my phone, but not quite.

Gameboy Pokemon sucks. Just wanted to share.