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.

Bad TV, Awkward Situations, Gas Stations, And A Jeep With A Grudge -- RTTR

At this moment in time, I'm procrastinating work, because I feel like crap. I've had a perpetual cold for a month now. It's driving me insane. It's cold outside, and supposedly it's hot in the house. I feel like I'm chilling in Greenland, though, and I can't breathe out of my nose. I figured I'd actually post my Tuesday blog a little earlier than Tuesday night, almost Wednesday. Sounded like a good plan at the time, but now I'm stuck watching The Voice. Wow. This is worse than Idol, but with better judges fights. Well, mentors? What do you call them?  Button Guardians?  Whatever.. this is bad. And I'm kind-of mad that I can't just watch something I DVR'd last week and never got around to.

My gorgeous Jeep is running again. And since Husband decided to drive it to work today, he has to put gas in it. BAM! I dodged the bullet on that one. It took me an hour, but she's not parked anymore, and that makes me happy. Now if I could just convince Husband to sell his crappy car in favor of something he can actually use, we'd be set.

I went to the gas station yesterday, and I wore my awesome RAVN shirt. It got a couple of app downloads for the dudes behind the badassery, and I ended up ruining my workout jacket. Also, they were out of Dr. Pepper. WHO DOES THAT?! I was sad panda for sure.

So, I know I'm awkward, but sometimes, the situations I find myself in, are too awkward to be all me. Does that make sense? I found myself trying to explain bootstrapping and Venture Capitalists to my Mom, and the ensuing conversation was just.. I don't know.. confusing at best?


And I just watched big momma almost take Carson Daly down. My life is complete. Totally just messed up my train of thought. I'm done for this Tuesday. Tune in next week for, hopefully, a more exciting post. With less Button Guardians.

Omg. Country music is singing stories? I thought it was singing A STORY, over and over.. okay, for real, I'm done. Stupid show.

Head on over to Stacy's, grab a button, and link to the fun. Rebellion is best served with an awkward blog post that makes no sense, didn't you know?

Promotion, Lots Of Cooking, Rant Articles, And Stuff: RTTR

Another late RTTR post. I know, I suck. Get over it. I had stuff to do. Also, I had a nap to take. That was awesome, I'm not gonna lie.

Anyhow, I got a promotion. It's awesome. I'm not just a writer anymore, I'm Managing Editor. What? I know, right?! I'm cheesing just writing it. I have so many awesome ideas, and it seems like I'm constantly writing them down. They just come to me.. I don't know. Whatever.

My last article? It's gotten a lot of attention. I guess people really like when they get to read someone else ranting away. I just get so mad when people do stupid shit. Like, really, if you want to say you're obsessed with zombies, at least know something about them. And Tim Burton stuff.. I swear, the next time someone sits there and says they're obsessed with The Nightmare Before Christmas and Tim Burton's work, I'm going to die. Or dragon kick the shit out of them. It's so annoying. If you like it, cool. Say that. Don't be like "OMFGIMTOTALLYOBSESSEDANDILOVEALLOFTHETHINGS!!!!"

Be honest with yourself. Also, don't talk about it in front of me. When I contradict you, and you get pissed off, it makes me really sad for you. If you're going to fan girl all over something, learn about it first. That's all I'm asking.

I've been doing some pretty amazing cooking lately, I'm not even gonna lie. I've made barbecue chicken that will blow your mind, lots of yummy pasta salad, anything I can put spinach in, great spaghetti and pizzas, and I made some ridiculously awesome parmesan crusted chicken breasts, that were probably the greatest things ever the other night.. err.. last night? Anyway... moving on, since I just completely blanked out on what all I've made lately..

Kiddo has been driving me nuts. I can't wait until the three stage is over. I wish I had the terrible two's back.. so hard.. omg. She refuses to listen to me, and is mean as shit until Husband gets home. When he gets home, she's good for him. I hate being the least favourite parent. It blows. At least the cat loves me.. and even he gets pissy when he thinks I'm not going to remember to give him his second scoop of food before bed. I can't catch a break.

I seriously think I married a dumbass. He walked past me, just now, with his ass hanging out of his shorts. I hate that shit. He knows this. So what does he do when I tell him to pull them up? He comes back out with them around his knees and asks me who I was talking to.

Someone, anyone, husband for sale. You can have him.

This concludes Random Tuesday Rebellion, and all the fun that's had with it. Tune in next week for more fun and shenanigans. Also, don't forget to check out our leader, Stacy, for more awesomeness and bloggy goodness.

Happy Randoming and Rebelling, y'all!

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.

Men And Excuses, Sandwiches and Cats, And Saving Lots Of Money With The Internet: RTTR

So, again, Husband has made an excuse not to make the drive from Louisiana to Georgia. I've done it alone with a cranky toddler and a scared-to-death cat. I think he can make it on his own. I'm not into men's excuses. Every guy I've ever dated has always had a plethora of them. It's starting to get old. They wonder why women always bitch at them all the time, and I can't really sympathize with them. They do it to themselves.

When are women ever allowed the opportunity to make an excuse when something they don't want to do is coming up?

Don't want to cook for four extra people that showed up without notice and uninvited? Fuck you! Get your ass in the kitchen and make these people some sammiches.

Don't want to make brownies for your husband's entire workplace or your kid's school bake sale? Too bad. It's your job. Get to it. Don't whine while you're doing it, either, because we'll laugh at you.

House dirty? Put your computer down, stop doing your job, and start doing your real job. Scrub those floors!

What I am trying to say is, I'm not ever allowed to make excuses for not being productive or not doing what people think I am supposed to be doing. I have to work through any illness, irregardless of how I feel; I must make sure everything and everyone is fixed up, all nice and happy and satisfied, no matter what I have going on; I make plans, and they're always iffy because I may or may not have to drop them for someone else. It's a drag, and I hate it.

So, Husband gets to make another excuse, and I have to rearrange my schedule to compensate. When is it my turn?

Hey, I don't feel like you coming home tomorrow, why don't you do it today, when the fuck you said you would, because you've already changed your mind ten different times, and save me the trouble of having to put up with your shit? How's that sound?

I'm not happy. I shouldn't blog angry. He's not so bad.. well, he's a total asshole, but hey, most men are assholes. I'm just tired of excuses. I can't make them, so I think perfectly capable people shouldn't make them constantly, either.


Moving on!

My cat stole half of my sandwich. He drug it right off the plate, carried it off to wherever he goes to hide, and came back smelling like caesar vinaigrette. I guess I made a man a sandwich today, after all.

He also has a thing for poptarts, but only the kind with lots of sprinkles on the outside. Fucking weirdo.


Hershey's Cookies 'n Creme candy has nothing on Palmer's. Palmer's is the best. Nom.


I did a lot of online shopping in the past few weeks. I found a pair of boots for myself and my Mom, a coat for her to wear to work (that has to be returned because, hello, how is anyone supposed to fit into that thing), and a new cell phone case.

I've saved hundreds, and it always feels nice to get a deal. $80 phone case for $11 and super cheap 1-3 day shipping? Yes please! $300 boots for $35 and free shipping? Of course! But in the end, I guess I would've compromised and bought something less, how do I say this, nice, to save money. I just happened to get lucky.

Though, the cell phone case thing was non-negotiable. I won't ever skimp on one again. The cheap one I bought shattered into a couple hundred pieces when I sat my phone down on a counter a little too hard. Insanity.




Still rebelling, one Tuesday at a time. Head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun!

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!

Shocking Developments, The Flu, Work, And A Talking Cat -- RTTR

I have the flu. And it's not because I didn't get a shot, or because I don't use hand sanitizer. It's because I do not possess any winter shoes. I have a pair of aerated tennis shoes, some holy flats, and several pairs of flip-flops. I got stuck in freezing cold rain all day on Saturday, and my feet stayed wet. I contracted a cold, which turned into the flu.

Thank you, being broke, for making it impossible for me to buy a friggin' pair of boots. Also, thank you, tax return, for giving me the extra cash to acquire a pair.. after I got sick. At least I'll have my cherry red Ukala's soon, right? Just in time for more cold rain and yuck.

Anyhow, the flu. It sucks. It makes work nearly impossible. I have used so many eye drops trying to work today it's unreal. And now I'm blogging.. with my eye drops.. and a really sore throat. And a cough. Fuck you, flu.

I have a super bad ass article to write this week. It's about two of my most favourite things: Star Wars and video games. Together. Yay! I get to work with some friends on it, and I am actually excited to get out of the house and do something -- even if it IS for work. It'll go live next Monday, so be checking for that link.

Sunday I took my Mom to church. It was under unusual circumstances, and neither one of us really wanted to go. But we did; me with my chip on my shoulder and her with her strong religious roots. I used to love that place.. not because it was a church, but because it was a second home. I've never been religious despite growing up in that tiny little church a few miles from my house -- I'm still not.

It was awesome to see the people that helped shape me into who I am. They were extra parents and grandparents, the brothers and sisters I never had. Even though I was pretty much the outcast because I was awkward and socially retarded and they didn't really like me all that much, I will still always remember the countless hours spent in those cramped classrooms and that small fellowship hall. It was something I used to look forward to.

No one looks forward to stepping through those double doors anymore. No one even wants to talk about it. There's a new preacher in town, and he's pretty much the worst person I've ever met. I sat halfway back from the front in the same old pews I remember being a lot bigger, and listened to a supposed "man of God" disrespect and belittle every single one of the people that I loved so much. I've never been so appalled in my entire life. His wife, his friends, and some blind followers have turned that place into a den of resentment.

I stood up after I couldn't take it anymore, hands shaking, tears rolling down my face, and made a very respectful stand against his hurtful words and twisted sense of entitlement. I tried to bridge the gap, and in doing so lost the respect of my grandparents. I couldn't even look them in the eyes as I made a heartfelt plea for him to pull his head out of his ass and act like a preacher, or even a decent human being.

How can someone call themselves a man of God if they are going to verbally abuse the members of the church that have been there since before he was an afterthought? I was attacked as I stepped down and went to my daughter. It was ridiculous. The support I received from others was immense, and without them and my wonderful Mom, I would probably be lost in a bottle of something 100-proof. I just couldn't sit there and listen to the snide sarcasm and the accusations.

I really never thought I would be so depressed to be back in that church. His behavior is atrocious, and his little lackeys aren't any better. If that's what it means to be a christian, I'm thankful I'm not one. He ain't neighborly, and he definitely ain't doing what Jesus would do. Maybe he needs to take a few more classes? Maybe brush up on what it means to be a real preacher? Douchebag.

My cat talks. Seriously. I'm not crazy. He will sit and have a full-on kitty conversation. It makes me happy.


And it obviously makes me the crazy cat lady. Judge away.











This has been a really awesome post brought to you by Random Tuesday Thoughts.. Rebels! Stacy at Stacy Uncorked has kept RTT alive for all of us random-ers that can't live without our favorite Tuesday tradition. Follow the button or the link, enjoy my post and hers, grab a button of your own, link up and join the fun!







Enjoy your Random Tuesday!

Bad Weather, Mean Kid, Dumb Husband, Fair Trades, And Star Trek For Kids: RTT Rebel

So, I traded getting out in the freezing drizzle and taking the trash to the pick-up spot for a pot of coffee and an episode of Bones. Yes, I'm that guy. I'm totally easy to barter with. Mom knows what really gets me ready to make a deal. Husband, not so much.

I'm still really happy to be home. Our awesome living arrangement is going well, and it's also keeping me busy. Since she works nights, I do the cooking, cleaning, organizing, kid watching, and working thing. I'm also about to start school again... hopefully.
I say "hopefully" because I have yet to find a suitable student loan for the remaining balance of my tuition, and "again" because, well, I've been in school pretty much the entire time I've been out of high school. I'm just trying to find my niche in the universe.

Yesterday was a really bad day to be "Mommy". I'll admit it. My kid told me she wished I would die so she didn't have to have me telling her what to do all the time. I was heartbroken. She's only three, why is this even an issue yet? What. The. Fuck? I tried to talk to Husband about it, but he just doesn't get it. He never has to be the "bad guy", so she's nice to him. I'm the one that makes sure she eats the right stuff, picks up her toys, feeds the cat, takes her dishes to the kitchen, gets the right amount of sleep, bathes properly, brushes her teeth, etc. She thinks I'm fucking Satan or something. So, of course, I get the temper tantrums and the mean names... it sucks. It sucks hard.
But, admittedly, it has been boring lately. We haven't been able to go outside and play because it's just been gross. I won't let her get her way on eating chips for breakfast or having ten pounds of candy like my in-laws do (which, fuck that.. it's not even a question of "right and wrong", but she still sees it as awful, mean mommy won't let her do something). It still doesn't make it any easier to hear your kid say something like that to you, and even though I was crying and probably making a complete case file for commitment to some kind-of institution, Husband still should've understood where I was coming from. I think he's just a douchebag man, and this is probably normal. Men aren't exactly the best listeners.

It's raining again. And it's cold. The weather hates me.

I've been adding labels to my old blog posts to avoid doing dishes. I have like, half a load, and I just don't feel like doing much today. It's fun to label things. It's like labeling a piece of pie as "yummy".



Did I mention that Curious George 2 movie has a Star Trek reference in it?! SOFUCKINGAWESOME! For Klingon, press "Cha".

Word.





Random Tuesday Thoughts lives on! Just head on over to Stacy's amazing blog, Stacy Uncorked, grab a button, link yourself up, and blog on! Thank you for keeping us all random, Stacy!

Enjoy the rest of your 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.

RTT: I Need Sexual Healing Or Something Else That Heals

So in my absence I have:
- Moved
- Watched my Melodrama go under the knife and come out perfect -- sans the 8 inch scar on her back
- Made new friends, said fuck old friends, and hung out with old friends that I haven't seen in ages
- Tried to make my in-laws understand that my daughter is MY daughter -- not theirs.

I have also semi-tried to conquer my extreme fear of bridges, gotten back on my daily dose of anxiety medication to deal with everything going on, basically wanted to scream and yell and pitch a fit to the head of the whatever in the Air Force that - yet again - fucked us; it's been one hellacious past few weeks.

I have dearly missed my weekly blogging, and the immense joy I receive from reading the amazing-ness that I follow.

I applied for several jobs; One I actually get to use my degree for, one that I would rather die than do, one that requires me to go back to school for a short period of time in Ferriday (which I seriously doubt Husband will let me do), and one that I would LOVELOVELOVE to try.

I am craving tamales thanks to the new restaurant in town that we've eaten at two day in a row and I can't seem to stop drooling about.

I got a new pair of winter boots -- ones that do not include a hole cut into the toe because my Grandmother is a tish bit nutty. I am pretty excited to wear them tomorrow (cue me asking everyone to will this awful rain away) and I hope that Husband doesn't make fun of them like my other pair that are sitting in a box that I can't seem to find.

House hunting fucking blows ass. The end.

I am trying very hard not to murder anyone, so people that know me - pray extra hard to whatever you believe in that I succeed in this new endeavor.. also, pray that we find a house, a couple of jobs, and a new drive-thru to get extra large sodas at; Hammer's pissed me off tonight.

Now, that you've read my RTT for the week, get your ass over to The Unmom and do it yourself next week.


GO!



Um, stop reading and do it MEOW!

RTT: Oops I Taught Her To Cuss

I've decided to go ahead and do my RTT tonight. I have been too busy for words to possibly describe lately, and I've missed out on blogging about a lot of things.

I have to go back to Atlanta tomorrow. I have to watch Melodrama go under the knife on Monday. Wow. That's a lot for me to fathom right now; I mean, come on, she's only two!

I actually got excited today when Maintenance came to "fix my roof" - until I noticed all they did was spray a 2% Clorox© solution on the ceiling to hide the stains and leave. Thanks for nothing, dick-less wonders.


I totally died when I got to see one of Ass-bands superiors/co-workers/friends almost trip and fall flat on his ass today when he saw Melodrama walk through the Clinic doors. It pwnd. Melodrama made two dollars, got two large Cinnabon© buns, lots of attention, candy, and two balloons from the excursion to MedGroup. I was pretty stoked on seeing her so happy - especially since my day consisted of logging exactly 7.9 hours of talk time on my phone.

Last week, Melodrama had to get an MRI. They had to sedate her, she had to fast, we got lost, and we had to get up at 4 a.m to even consider making it on time. Thanks to two wrecks and a broken stop light, we were late.
So I almost punched a nurse in the face (anxiety at the highest it's been in years) when she decided it would be an awesome idea to rip an I.V needle from Melodrama's hand among other things. It was not a good day - though I did get Starbucks, Project 96-1, and Bahama Breeze out of the deal.


Ass-band decided to try and steal my planner today - not the smartest thing you've ever done, darlin'. I have two: one for my bag, and one main one for everywhere. I think it's pretty normal to write down EVERYTHING you have to do in a day, right? Right?

uhmmmm... yeah... *ahem* anyhow.

My bird got out today :/ Like, HE. WENT. ALL. THE. WAY! :o
Luckily one of his wings is still clipped for the most part, and he basically flew around the yard, low and in a retarded circle, squawking at me until he got tired and shit on my shoulder. Nice, Ziggy, nice.

I got a new toy this past weekend :D A brand new Shop-Vac!! It's pretty sweet, I'm not gonna lie.


Funniest event from this weekend:
Me: "Babe, hand me a cookie, please." *extends hand to Ass-band*
Ass-band: *hands the entire package to me* "Yes, the white oreo cookies."
Me: "I see that.. and I care why?"
Ass-band: "You care because I'm fucking racist. I'm the fucking Adolf Hitler of cookies. I don't like the black ones." *totally serious facial expression*
Me: "You're fucking stupid. Adolf Hitler didn't like a lot of things, but I'm sure he didn't give two shits what his cookies looked like." *completely amazed by Ass-band's ever-growing brain loss*
Ass-band: "I hate Jew cookies, too." *again, totally serious look on his face*
Melodrama: "Shut up, Daddy. Don't say that. Mom will hurt your hand." *standing with hand on hip, pointing viciously at his face*
Ass-band: "Mommy can't hurt Daddy, she's 3/4 a minority, and I, the Adolf Hitler of cookies, would destroy her. I hate minority cookies, and, right now, I hate Mommy."
Me: "Fuck off."
Melodrama: "Daddy, fuck off."
Ass-band/Me: --->  :O *this face* ... .... BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!


fin.


GO RTT NAOOOOOOOOOOO! *does her best Arnold impersonation from the only good movie he ever had*

RTT: Letters Are Dead; And So Is Conversation

Because you know, the internet killed them. Just sayin'...

Okay I'm doing this new thing, because I'm already so random people can rarely follow my thought process in any way, called Random Tuesday Thoughts. Enjoy the link, you're very rude.

So I woke up and my back still felt like it's trying to ask for a new mattress through pain. I'm 23, not 43, and I feel like writing a letter to someone just because I'm laying on the floor. It's cold down here; I'm not happy about it.

Munchface was so excited about Lucky Charms and The Princess and The Frog this morning that she almost brought the roof down screaming out the window at the people cutting grass "OHMYGODIT'SAFWOGGIEONTHET.VANDMOMMASAIDI'MHERPINCESSSSSSSSSSS!"

Which, yes, we think it's hilarious when she says "princess" so we tell her she's Daddy's and Mommy's and Gramma's and that random person running on the other side of the lake's "pinCessssssss". But this morning, while my coffee was still brewing, my back was aching like a geriatric, and I hadn't completed my morning routine, she wasn't a princess, she was Satan's child. As she jumped up and down and danced around, I lost my nerve to scold her for screaming like she was getting beat up by the Gnomes, however, because it was so damn cute. I miss the simple joys of childhood.

I got an e-mail from my high school pen-pal. DUDE! PEN fucking PAL. You write LETTERS - not e-mails. I miss letters and cards and written sentiments to save forever. I miss seeing handwriting and beautiful or interesting stationery. I also actually miss phone calls. I prefer human interaction over e-mails and text messages, no matter how awkward it gets for me - that kept me grounded and always finding ways to adapt. Yes, I'm a socially awkward freak unless you put a drink in my hand and some good music in the background. Yes, I'm weird and most people find me extremely difficult to understand when I start prattling on about this and that. Learning to get along with people and communicating on a primitive level is good for me. It's good for you, too, so do it, dammit! 

Husband started out-processing today... insert sad face that quickly turns to a happy sigh of relief. I am going to miss my glorious Bull-DAWG nation (a.k.a Georgia) but at the same time, it's time for a change. We're headed for the dirty south... Louisiana. Yuck.

-- but anyhow! (see, there I go getting off-topic again - do try to follow)

The Housing people reminded us that we need to hire cleaners. I called Husband and told him to make sure that they knew I wasn't paying to hire someone to clean this damn house. I clean it ALL the time, every day, and if that's not good enough for them, they can pay for it.

The doors and window weren't sealed properly so every day I'm cleaning up a multitude of bugs and random particulates from the great outdoors off of everything. It's actually pretty disgusting since I have small person running around. Here, enjoy this picture of what happens when I don't dust for just two days --

my window - two days; just two days...

the corner next to the window (sans random big yellow spot)

So you can clearly see why I feel like I've done enough. They refuse to fix every problem from the busted door that floods my dining room every time it rains like it's trying to convince me to make an Ark for two of each bug, to the leaky roof that stained the floor and ceiling that they want me to pay for... oh well.

I'm on to another subject again...

Munchface told me yesterday that she was going to go to work for Husband and I decided to take a picture of it:

cue the "aww" and stuff...

My plants are starting to make me depressed. I saved them from our last house, where they were going to be demolished, and they've flourished from near dead tiny things, to big huge elephant ears - I can't save them this time. I'm going to miss them..

So my neighbor offered me $1700 for my mixer again. I tried to tell her she could offer me $10k for it and I'd still say no, but no one ever listens to me. I'm just going to stop answering the door. Munchface tells her she smells all the time - I don't get mad at her. That should tell you something.

I lost my favourite shirt. I'm sad about that. I had to wear something random today, which fits the topic of the blog, but not my mood. I look like zebra. My only belt is zebra print, my sunglasses are zebra, and now my shirt. I have a thing for zebra print, and I love it, but I didn't realize how ridiculous I looked until I walked by the mirror.

I just told Munchface not to be ugly (she was screaming about some outside toy she wanted to bring in the house) and she looked at me with her lazer beam ninja death eyes and said "but Momma, I petty pincess, I not ugee!" and walked away.

I was just pwnd.

I want to know how a silverfish got on my ceiling; also why it decided to drop onto my head. Un-cool.

And now for the end of my blahrghhhhhhh...

enjoy the squish face-