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.
Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts
10 April 2012
21 February 2012
Latest Articles That I'm Sure I Forgot To Link To
I wrote this, that, and a little in between.. here are the latest ones that I probably forgot to "pimp". With my new fancy promotion, I really should get better at this stuff.
The One Where I Rant Like Crazy:
The One Where I Talk About My Tweeting Husband And His Ability To Get Me Through Idol:
And The One Where I Fan Girl All Over My Favourite YouTube Channels:
Okay, so that about covers it. I highly suggest you keep checking back over the next few weeks. There are going to be chachachaaaanges. All over the place. You're going to love it.
Peace out.. not literally. Whatever. Yep. Just went there.
The One Where I Rant Like Crazy:
Life Called, Your Bandwagon Is Waiting Downstairs…but it would serve everyone quite well if you missed it.
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... continue reading.
American Idol Recap
And boy was it ridiculous. How some of those people even made it far enough to participate in this round, amazes me to the point of complete and utter shock. This week was all about the beginning of the Vegas round, which, unfortunately, is basically an extension of Hollywood. I also had some major help getting through it from my husband. He decided he was going to start a Twitter account just to make work a family affair... continue reading.
I have the best job in the world. I get to surf the web all day, watch TV at night, and write about anything I want to. It makes me all warm and fuzzy to know that I get to share my opinions — good or bad — with the masses.
Also, I get to wear my pajamas most of the day. That’s always a nice feeling.
Now, I love me some YouTube. It’s awesome. I can get lost for hours watching videos of people popping cysts, the weirdness of “scene queens”, crazy Photoshop wonders, and lame slide shows... continue reading.
Peace out.. not literally. Whatever. Yep. Just went there.
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!
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!
14 February 2012
My Take On Reactions To Celebrity Deaths
Right now. Right this very second. The public is going crazy over the death of Whitney Houston. So crazy, in fact, people that made fun of her, never listened to her music without cracking a joke, and generally couldn’t care less, are “crying” and “dying inside” and “completely devastated” via Facebook, Twitter, Google +, their blogs, and ... continue reading.
You might actually want to read it before burning me at the stake, just sayin'.
You might actually want to read it before burning me at the stake, just sayin'.
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.
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.
07 February 2012
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!
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!
31 January 2012
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!
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!
29 January 2012
The Good Times Had by a Freelance Writer
So, among the many things I do to make ends meet, I freelance write. Now, don't get me wrong, I love it. It gives me the freedom to work on so many different projects that I normally would't get a chance at. It's rewarding and fulfilling on so many levels.
But, sometimes, I hate it. One of these sometimes is when I'm commissioned to write a speech for someone who really didn't want my help in the first place. How can I say that, you ask? They refuse to let me do my job. There is a difference between tossing around ideas and then letting me go to work and deliver you a great speech, and taking over -- basically paying me hundreds of dollars to be your PA and type your shit up for you.
Since everyone always posts up "What If" scenarios, and people, like the incredible author/artist of The Oatmeal, create amazing comics out of their horror stories, I'm going to write the speech that I wish I could give to difficult clients here.. in my blog.. because I like money. I would rather continue to receive money, than lose out on it because I want to post up my issues like I'm grand-standing in a public forum.
You know, that thing I'm doing now, only it's not to a room full of people who already hate me.
Enjoy!
Dear Audience,
Thank you for whatever reason I'm here. I'm a clueless Douchenut, so I really don't have a idea as to why I'm actually standing here, but thanks. Here are a few really awful and extremely stupid jokes to make you question why I am in whatever position I am in; I am quite certain your fake laughter will give me whatever confidence booster I'll need to make it through the rest of the night. I'm not exactly sure I like any of you, but it warms me more than my fist of whiskey to hear your finger claps and discontented chuckles.
Now, here's the part where I should be telling you it's all thanks to you, but no. Fuck that shit. It's all about me tonight, baby. Me, me, me, me, and me. I love me. I'm accomplished at something, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I'm sure it'll come to me in the next however long I choose to stand here, but right now? Total blank. Oh, did I mention I love the way my farts smell? Because I do. They're awesome. More about me. Blahdy blahdy blah blah blah blah blah. Blargh.
I would also like to give thanks to the chick I hired to help me better articulate absolutely nothing. She's awesome. This bitch can type like.. fucking fast. She got a lot of money to help me, but instead, I decided to go my own way. I'm a fucking REBEL! Here's the gist of what I put her through:
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm at or how I got here. I hired someone smarter than me to research and write me some pretty words. She's now far more competent than me, and could quite possibly steal my position based on her gleaned knowledge alone.
But, I decided I wanted jokes; lots and lots of really un-funny and extremely offensive jokes. Also, I wanted a small slideshow of ponies and unicorns and rainbow-shitting cupcake faeries to go with it. You're definitely welcome for those. There's also a few images of me spending my insane salary on some equally insane vacation. Do you like my hot pants? Daddy likes.... Let me rub my nipple in a failed attempt at sexual humor and innuendo. I do these things so fucking well, and she knows it.
She also researched the people who should actually be here, and she wanted to thank you all, but like I said, fuck you. It's me time, and I'm cashing in.
Words and stuff.
Man that bitch can type.
Now, I realize that I've completely ruined any chance I have at making you think I have any idea why I should be here.. or grateful.. or even alive, because I'm a fucking tool. Please let me just take the cheap-ass trophy or certificate you made me from some crap-ass Microsoft program, sans speech, and I swear, to Zeus, that this awkwardly painful moment (for everyone involved, mind you) will never happen again.
Also, I'll save $700 on something I could've easily done myself. Which is cause massive embarrassment and give you all something to discuss, at-length, in e-mails and at the water cooler, behind my back, for at LEAST a year. Probably more, depending on how drunk I am right now and who's wife is hottest. I'm grabbing your ass, hot wifey, I'm just sayin'.
Spanx. See?! I'm totally not hilarious at all!
Continue on somehow with the rest of your miserable night,
Douche-y McFuckNut
But, sometimes, I hate it. One of these sometimes is when I'm commissioned to write a speech for someone who really didn't want my help in the first place. How can I say that, you ask? They refuse to let me do my job. There is a difference between tossing around ideas and then letting me go to work and deliver you a great speech, and taking over -- basically paying me hundreds of dollars to be your PA and type your shit up for you.
Since everyone always posts up "What If" scenarios, and people, like the incredible author/artist of The Oatmeal, create amazing comics out of their horror stories, I'm going to write the speech that I wish I could give to difficult clients here.. in my blog.. because I like money. I would rather continue to receive money, than lose out on it because I want to post up my issues like I'm grand-standing in a public forum.
You know, that thing I'm doing now, only it's not to a room full of people who already hate me.
Enjoy!
Dear Audience,
Thank you for whatever reason I'm here. I'm a clueless Douchenut, so I really don't have a idea as to why I'm actually standing here, but thanks. Here are a few really awful and extremely stupid jokes to make you question why I am in whatever position I am in; I am quite certain your fake laughter will give me whatever confidence booster I'll need to make it through the rest of the night. I'm not exactly sure I like any of you, but it warms me more than my fist of whiskey to hear your finger claps and discontented chuckles.
Now, here's the part where I should be telling you it's all thanks to you, but no. Fuck that shit. It's all about me tonight, baby. Me, me, me, me, and me. I love me. I'm accomplished at something, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I'm sure it'll come to me in the next however long I choose to stand here, but right now? Total blank. Oh, did I mention I love the way my farts smell? Because I do. They're awesome. More about me. Blahdy blahdy blah blah blah blah blah. Blargh.
I would also like to give thanks to the chick I hired to help me better articulate absolutely nothing. She's awesome. This bitch can type like.. fucking fast. She got a lot of money to help me, but instead, I decided to go my own way. I'm a fucking REBEL! Here's the gist of what I put her through:
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm at or how I got here. I hired someone smarter than me to research and write me some pretty words. She's now far more competent than me, and could quite possibly steal my position based on her gleaned knowledge alone.
But, I decided I wanted jokes; lots and lots of really un-funny and extremely offensive jokes. Also, I wanted a small slideshow of ponies and unicorns and rainbow-shitting cupcake faeries to go with it. You're definitely welcome for those. There's also a few images of me spending my insane salary on some equally insane vacation. Do you like my hot pants? Daddy likes.... Let me rub my nipple in a failed attempt at sexual humor and innuendo. I do these things so fucking well, and she knows it.
She also researched the people who should actually be here, and she wanted to thank you all, but like I said, fuck you. It's me time, and I'm cashing in.
Words and stuff.
Man that bitch can type.
Now, I realize that I've completely ruined any chance I have at making you think I have any idea why I should be here.. or grateful.. or even alive, because I'm a fucking tool. Please let me just take the cheap-ass trophy or certificate you made me from some crap-ass Microsoft program, sans speech, and I swear, to Zeus, that this awkwardly painful moment (for everyone involved, mind you) will never happen again.
Also, I'll save $700 on something I could've easily done myself. Which is cause massive embarrassment and give you all something to discuss, at-length, in e-mails and at the water cooler, behind my back, for at LEAST a year. Probably more, depending on how drunk I am right now and who's wife is hottest. I'm grabbing your ass, hot wifey, I'm just sayin'.
Spanx. See?! I'm totally not hilarious at all!
Continue on somehow with the rest of your miserable night,
Douche-y McFuckNut
28 January 2012
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?
Bill-C11(formerly Bill-C32)
More on Bill-C11
ACTA(A Wiki site.. better read quick!)
Forbes Speaks: Twitter Censorship and Internet Censorship Laws
26 January 2012
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.
14 January 2012
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.
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.
01 February 2011
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.
29 January 2011
E-mail To An Asshole That I Will Never Send - Maybe
So I have this friend.. had this friend.. that used to be my, I don't know, best friend of sorts. She was the person I called anytime, anywhere, and talked to for hours at a time.. or until one of our phones died. She was always there for me no matter what was going on. I loved her like an extension to my family. My daughter loved her and even Ass-band loved her. It was the perfect friendship. I did all I could do for her, and helped her through all kinds of shit that I really didn't want to get into but that's what best friends are for and I loved her so I did it no matter the consequences.
And then, almost three years ago, she stopped talking to me. She's on my accursed Facebook, and she wouldn't even say hey if I tried to start a conversation. I'd long since been kept out of the loop when she changed phone numbers and I'd started to feel like a stalker for my once-a-month comments like "Hey XXX, I miss your face. Call me sometime and we'll catch up over coffee!"...
I don't want to feel like a stalker, so I stopped doing it about a year ago. Ass-band keeps asking about her, Melodrama sees her picture and asks me to call her, and my best dude friend always asks have I talked to her and I'm always having to walk around with a stupid look on my face and an eye twitch.
I tried to e-mail her the other day, but I couldn't bring myself to hit the send button. I've wanted to tell her so many things over the course of [almost] three years. I've wanted her to share in my joys and my sorrows, just like she used to. Our lives overlapped so much for so long that it was just natural to see my Sidekick glued to my ear no matter what I was doing. I think back fondly on the many years of friendship and tomfoolery, but the charade is over.
Here's the letter I decided to write and pussied my bitch ass out of sending. I'll share it with the blog world, and if she sees it and happens to know it's about her, so be it. Enjoy. I suck at writing letters, by the way.
XXX,
Wow, it's been almost three years! I found your e-mail in my address book, and I am hoping against hope that you didn't change this, too. I heard you moved and changed your number (well, read off your Facebook), and I tried to get in touch with you to get your new number and address for Christmas gifts and the likes, but you brushed me off. It kind of bothered me, but since I'm a pussy when it comes to my friends, I never said anything.
I changed my Facebook a while back, and you added me again. I was elated. I took that to be a good sign, and I tried to talk to you again. To no avail. That really hurt me, because I love you like a sister; I have told you things my husband doesn't even know and I have been there for you through good times and "I'm so depressed I'm going to kill myself in this manner" times.
Why exactly have you chosen to abandon the bond that we shared? Why have you come to ignore the one friend who never did you wrong? Was it something that was said -- or something that was not?
I guess being southern, a mother, and using boxed mac-n-cheese to make my husband happy made me not good enough, but your attitude and the way you've made me feel all this time kind-of tips the scales in my favour of being the better friend and better person. No matter how busy you think your life is, it doesn't even compare to any woman with a child, a job, a degree in progress, a husband, and a bird.. or some other kind of pet but still. All you have is you and your husband to worry about.. and he's a grown ass man who should know how to make a sandwich if you're busy with other shit.
Look, all I'm saying is that through all the hard times and the busy times and the times when I wanted to flat out drink myself into a coma for a month, I've tried to still be there for you. Where's your try? Fuck this shit.. I hate writing damn e-mails and I'm tired of coming up with nice ways to say:
Hope you're happy, hope you're well, hope you choke on a carrot. Seriously, eat a fucking dick unless you want to say hey and then I'll totally be excited and talk to you again because, again, I'm a fucking pussy when it comes to bitches like you. I think it's because you're cute.
All my best,
Kate
05 October 2010
Pizza isn't comfort food when it makes you violently ill..
Today, like the rest of the past few weeks, has been insane. Here is a little bit of a recap of today that pretty much mirrors the last two weeks, and will project on to the rest of this month:
Melodrama had the entire house up before morning Taps to pile into our extremely depressing car and drive two hours to Atlanta. If you live in Georgia, or have ever been to Atlanta, you understand. It wasn't exactly my dream morning.
We get to 400, and BAM! - traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. Of course Ass-band wasn't exactly helpful; Why would he be when he knows I'll just put on my Super Mom cape and do everything with a smile?
So after dealing with a missing doll, cup, and stray M&M, we finally get there.
OHMYallegoryforgodDUDE!!!!! They have full-time super cool therapy dogs that just sit on really funky couches next to massive fish tanks all day. Melodrama was so excited about life at the moment of eye contact with the animals that we spent 30 minutes standing around in a massive lobby with a volunteer and several other screaming children. Cue anxiety hives, exhaustion, migraine, and general unhappiness. Now, to elaborate, I love my daughter more than I love caffeine, right? I don't love crowds, screaming and squealing noises from well over a dozen children, and I'm allergic to dogs.
Yes, the dogs were amazingly friendly and over-enthusiastic about my toddler hanging from their necks, the fish were gorgeous, and the volunteer that lead us to Lab was super understanding of Melodrama's ADHD. No, I wasn't having a good time - especially when there were other mothers there trying to ask me strange and semi-personal questions.
"How old is your daughter? You look exceptional for a young mother."
"How did you lose all the baby weight?"
"How do you keep your piercings in?"
To answer your extremely nosy questions, Mom-zillas:
- She's two; Yes, I'm pretty banging for a young Mom.
- I don't sit on my ass eating cupcakes and Twinkies all day. I get up off my lazy ass and stay moving ALL DAY. Thanks for the compliment - albeit it wasn't delivered in a very considerate fashion.
- I just fucking do.
All in all, Melodrama came out two vials of blood lighter, 20 + stickers and band-aids more decorated, and exhausted both myself and Ass-band. It was a rather eventful day that I can't even continue typing for fear of reliving it in my mind and becoming even more wiped out.
I get home to e-mails that won't wait - nice right? I am now going to be hosting a very awkward visit from my Dad and my Step-Mom. This should make for one hella fantastic blog when I return from the land of Children's Hospital of Atlanta next week sometime.
Melodrama just informed me that I should be cleaning up her mess thanks to Ass-band; I guess I should get on that now.
Anyone have any M&M's I can give her to quell the screaming and running around? hehe.. yeah.
Melodrama had the entire house up before morning Taps to pile into our extremely depressing car and drive two hours to Atlanta. If you live in Georgia, or have ever been to Atlanta, you understand. It wasn't exactly my dream morning.
We get to 400, and BAM! - traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. Of course Ass-band wasn't exactly helpful; Why would he be when he knows I'll just put on my Super Mom cape and do everything with a smile?
So after dealing with a missing doll, cup, and stray M&M, we finally get there.
OHMYallegoryforgodDUDE!!!!! They have full-time super cool therapy dogs that just sit on really funky couches next to massive fish tanks all day. Melodrama was so excited about life at the moment of eye contact with the animals that we spent 30 minutes standing around in a massive lobby with a volunteer and several other screaming children. Cue anxiety hives, exhaustion, migraine, and general unhappiness. Now, to elaborate, I love my daughter more than I love caffeine, right? I don't love crowds, screaming and squealing noises from well over a dozen children, and I'm allergic to dogs.
Yes, the dogs were amazingly friendly and over-enthusiastic about my toddler hanging from their necks, the fish were gorgeous, and the volunteer that lead us to Lab was super understanding of Melodrama's ADHD. No, I wasn't having a good time - especially when there were other mothers there trying to ask me strange and semi-personal questions.
"How old is your daughter? You look exceptional for a young mother."
"How did you lose all the baby weight?"
"How do you keep your piercings in?"
To answer your extremely nosy questions, Mom-zillas:
- She's two; Yes, I'm pretty banging for a young Mom.
- I don't sit on my ass eating cupcakes and Twinkies all day. I get up off my lazy ass and stay moving ALL DAY. Thanks for the compliment - albeit it wasn't delivered in a very considerate fashion.
- I just fucking do.
All in all, Melodrama came out two vials of blood lighter, 20 + stickers and band-aids more decorated, and exhausted both myself and Ass-band. It was a rather eventful day that I can't even continue typing for fear of reliving it in my mind and becoming even more wiped out.
I get home to e-mails that won't wait - nice right? I am now going to be hosting a very awkward visit from my Dad and my Step-Mom. This should make for one hella fantastic blog when I return from the land of Children's Hospital of Atlanta next week sometime.
Melodrama just informed me that I should be cleaning up her mess thanks to Ass-band; I guess I should get on that now.
Anyone have any M&M's I can give her to quell the screaming and running around? hehe.. yeah.
23 September 2010
The One Where I Give Husband A Whole New Nickname
So the other night, Ass-band reached a new level of mean. Which, if you know him, you're probably now sitting there going "OMGNOWAI! HOW?!"! And I would sit here and be all like "well let me tell you" and proceed to type out this blog.
Me: "You never laugh at my jokes anymore... it's like you don't think I'm funny but other people think I'm funny so what's your issue?"
Ass-band: "I laugh at you all the time!"
Me: "THAT'S NOT THE SAME THING!! I hate you!" *takes his shoe off and flings it into the yard while extending my middle finger*
Ass-band: *annoyed face* "Go pi--"
Me: "NO! STFU!!" *random AIDS hateful thing to say and another middle finger*
Me: *random trying to be normal conversation*
Ass-band: *something completely rude and stupid*
Me: "SEE?! You're such an asshole!"
Ass-band: "I love you - which negates the stupid shit I just said, right?"
Me: "You're a douche-y epic fail..."
Me: "I'm going to blog about how mean you're to me and everyone on the internet will see it and call you Ass-band forever! You're like a less productive lap band but you hang out on anuses all day. People will knooooooooow!"
Ass-band: "You don't need to write down every stupid and mean thing I do/say because you know I'm going to do it again..." (which what he really meant was "you don't have to because it would be repetition and then what kind of blog would that be? everyone will see you're really a freaking weirdo and they won't like it anymore and then you'll be sad and I'll laugh at you, not with you.)
Me: "The world is going to pwn you and call you Ass-band." *insert silence and a very disheartened facial contortion - which is what Ass-band calls my facial expressions*
Ass-band: "I'm goin' to poop - leave me alone."
Now, to clarify, he's not really going to poop because that would be too much information. He says that when he either doesn't want to do something, or he wants to shut me up. Which is mean because he'll sit there for half an hour playing solitaire on his phone, use half a roll of toilet paper (no, that's not an exaggeration) just to piss me off, and then make a glass of tea, spill it everywhere, and sit and play XBOX. It also stomps on our communication, which is key for a healthy marriage/relationship, and that makes me sad panda face it for hours afterwards. The spilling of the tea annoys me to no end, and makes me want to throat stab kittens; I love kittehs :( He also likes to scream random things from inside the bathroom and make Melodrama beg and cry and beat on the door for him and that is just wrong. If you want to hide out, don't antagonize the toddler.
So I look up from the outline I'm writing for a speech and realize he's been gone for a while, and it's already late, and I get kinna upset cause he wasn't planning on saying good night or anything. I go stomping off to the bathroom door and stand right outside it and this is the result:
Me: "Dude, seriously, what the fuck - not cool."
Ass-band: "Well I told you what I was doing..."
Me: "Yeah, uh-huh, I heard that. Were you gonna come say good night and pick up shit you left laying out? I'm your wife, not your maid - I work, too, and you said you'd help out if I made money."
Ass-band: "No - you know already so why are you bitchin'?"
(I AM NOT BITCHING! My concerns are legit, son >_<;;)
Me: "Why do you hate me????"
Ass-band: "I don't? If you want a kiss, get it while I'm poopin'!" *cue his weird/creepy laugh*
Me: "Go die, but pick up your mess first, mean ass!"
Ass-band: "I figured you'd get done with whatever you're doing and just come to bed..."
Me: "No, because I have to do all the stupid cleaning shit before I go to bed, remember?"
Ass-band: "Yeah, whatever, they're probably not even going to show up and then you did all that for nothing." *cue more maniacal laughter and a very sad face from me that quickly turned into a really angry face*
Mean. Ass. Man. The End.
So I get right up next to the door and wait for him to come out. When he does, I get right on his back and lean on him while he's walking and the following ensues:
Me: "I'm the weight of the trees that you just killed for no reason!! The trees and the money YOU wasted - FEEL MY WEIGHT SMOTHER YOU!"
Ass-band: "I don't even like trees, woman; They take up space and that space could be a parking lot. I like those better than trees."
Me: *dumb facial contortion* "You could be a parking lot..."
Yes, I realize, that was stupid and a terrible comeback. I'm an awkward reject, it's to be expected of me to say dumb things - though I'm usually the comeback queen so...
Ass-band: "Kate, really? How the fuck am I gonna be a parking lot? You're stupid."
Me: "Well, you can't, but you could be a speed bump and people could run all over you like you run all over my HEART!" *cue sad panda face*
Ass-band: "I spilled tea; you gonna clean that shit up or not?" *maniacal laughter and an ill-timed "I love you" cover-up*
Me: ... *silence and a really random facial contortion*
This has been an important PSA about Ass-band and his mean-ness. If you see this person, call him Ass-band and laugh at him so he's not right about no one liking my blog :/
Me: "You never laugh at my jokes anymore... it's like you don't think I'm funny but other people think I'm funny so what's your issue?"
Ass-band: "I laugh at you all the time!"
Me: "THAT'S NOT THE SAME THING!! I hate you!" *takes his shoe off and flings it into the yard while extending my middle finger*
Ass-band: *annoyed face* "Go pi--"
Me: "NO! STFU!!" *random AIDS hateful thing to say and another middle finger*
Me: *random trying to be normal conversation*
Ass-band: *something completely rude and stupid*
Me: "SEE?! You're such an asshole!"
Ass-band: "I love you - which negates the stupid shit I just said, right?"
Me: "You're a douche-y epic fail..."
Me: "I'm going to blog about how mean you're to me and everyone on the internet will see it and call you Ass-band forever! You're like a less productive lap band but you hang out on anuses all day. People will knooooooooow!"
Ass-band: "You don't need to write down every stupid and mean thing I do/say because you know I'm going to do it again..." (which what he really meant was "you don't have to because it would be repetition and then what kind of blog would that be? everyone will see you're really a freaking weirdo and they won't like it anymore and then you'll be sad and I'll laugh at you, not with you.)
Me: "The world is going to pwn you and call you Ass-band." *insert silence and a very disheartened facial contortion - which is what Ass-band calls my facial expressions*
Ass-band: "I'm goin' to poop - leave me alone."
Now, to clarify, he's not really going to poop because that would be too much information. He says that when he either doesn't want to do something, or he wants to shut me up. Which is mean because he'll sit there for half an hour playing solitaire on his phone, use half a roll of toilet paper (no, that's not an exaggeration) just to piss me off, and then make a glass of tea, spill it everywhere, and sit and play XBOX. It also stomps on our communication, which is key for a healthy marriage/relationship, and that makes me sad panda face it for hours afterwards. The spilling of the tea annoys me to no end, and makes me want to throat stab kittens; I love kittehs :( He also likes to scream random things from inside the bathroom and make Melodrama beg and cry and beat on the door for him and that is just wrong. If you want to hide out, don't antagonize the toddler.
So I look up from the outline I'm writing for a speech and realize he's been gone for a while, and it's already late, and I get kinna upset cause he wasn't planning on saying good night or anything. I go stomping off to the bathroom door and stand right outside it and this is the result:
Me: "Dude, seriously, what the fuck - not cool."
Ass-band: "Well I told you what I was doing..."
Me: "Yeah, uh-huh, I heard that. Were you gonna come say good night and pick up shit you left laying out? I'm your wife, not your maid - I work, too, and you said you'd help out if I made money."
Ass-band: "No - you know already so why are you bitchin'?"
(I AM NOT BITCHING! My concerns are legit, son >_<;;)
Me: "Why do you hate me????"
Ass-band: "I don't? If you want a kiss, get it while I'm poopin'!" *cue his weird/creepy laugh*
Me: "Go die, but pick up your mess first, mean ass!"
Ass-band: "I figured you'd get done with whatever you're doing and just come to bed..."
Me: "No, because I have to do all the stupid cleaning shit before I go to bed, remember?"
Ass-band: "Yeah, whatever, they're probably not even going to show up and then you did all that for nothing." *cue more maniacal laughter and a very sad face from me that quickly turned into a really angry face*
Mean. Ass. Man. The End.
So I get right up next to the door and wait for him to come out. When he does, I get right on his back and lean on him while he's walking and the following ensues:
Me: "I'm the weight of the trees that you just killed for no reason!! The trees and the money YOU wasted - FEEL MY WEIGHT SMOTHER YOU!"
Ass-band: "I don't even like trees, woman; They take up space and that space could be a parking lot. I like those better than trees."
Me: *dumb facial contortion* "You could be a parking lot..."
Yes, I realize, that was stupid and a terrible comeback. I'm an awkward reject, it's to be expected of me to say dumb things - though I'm usually the comeback queen so...
Ass-band: "Kate, really? How the fuck am I gonna be a parking lot? You're stupid."
Me: "Well, you can't, but you could be a speed bump and people could run all over you like you run all over my HEART!" *cue sad panda face*
Ass-band: "I spilled tea; you gonna clean that shit up or not?" *maniacal laughter and an ill-timed "I love you" cover-up*
Me: ... *silence and a really random facial contortion*
This has been an important PSA about Ass-band and his mean-ness. If you see this person, call him Ass-band and laugh at him so he's not right about no one liking my blog :/
20 September 2010
Socks And Dish Gnomes
So I came to the conclusion long ago, and reaffirmed last night, that missing socks and the likes = laundry Gnomes, right?
Well, dishes have Gnomes too, dammit!
let's get some story action going --
I was all set to go to bed last night at an extremely awesome and human time. 10 p.m. Right?
Wrong.
Husband informed me that I had to wash socks. Just socks. Nothing else... socks.
socks... well, ABU socks, but still socks.
He couldn't just look through the laundry baskets and find another pair that were already clean - they HAD to be the ones that he wears every Monday that have the crusted and rotted elastic and that huge toe hole.
I assume the hole is important for proper toe-breathing. What else could it POSSIBLY be?
So I run all around the house, upstairs and down, looking for all of his work crap so I can actually do a full load -- meaning I'm digging in toy boxes, under couches, inside random cabinets and drawers; with the main goal of finding socks. Please remember to note that this is a toddlers home.
yes, this is mine... I know. Don't say anything...
Flash to like 20 + minutes later...
I finally have everything wrangled together in one general pile, right? I start the laundry and settle in to surfing YouTube and playing my Facebook app obsession.
Flash to 10 or so minutes later... Yes, I "flash". I'm a Super Hero with awesome-super hero-Jedi-Ninja powers. Be warned.
I decide that I'm bored, and I want to do something productive with the hour and six minutes it takes to wash the clothes - the dishes.
YAY! I'm not procrastinating! (see previous blog about procrastination here)
Well I figure out there are several ways that I can use my time wisely. I can make the tea which I almost forgot was steeping in the kettle on the stove. I usually forget up to three times before there's finally a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge for Husband and Munchface -- an oversight that I blame on the knowledge that I'm allergic and making it breaks me out. Hives = un-cool un-fun-ness. The end.
I can pick up toys, fix up my coffee so all I have to do is press a button and I get caffeinated amazing-ness in the morning, and yes, the dishes.
the cleaning process - you shoulda seen it before o_o;
I also did something nice and set up a "thank you" picture for the person who gave the board to Munchface...
NOMZ!
I do all of the above, and re-settle onto my little spot on the couch to continue my internet debauchery - my little way of doing the whole "relax" and "piddle around" thing...
Ninja-Jedi-super hero-awesome -flash to the highly annoying "beep" sequence of the wash cycle ending...
I'm extremely excited -- it's time for bed and the dishes are done, the toys are put away, the coffee is ready to brew, the tea is made, the internet is surfed, and now the laundry is done - go me.
I even made up a list for Husband ^_^
I get up to meander in to the laundry room, dreading the weight of three sets of ABUs, 7 shirts, and numerous pairs of sock, and what do I see?
DISHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is after I picked them up, but you get the idea (yes, that's my heat that I pack - are you scared?)
ksjdhfskjdhfskjdhfksjhdfksjhdfkjshdfkjshdfkjsdhfkjsdhfkjshdfkjhsdkjfhskdgfouweroiweyisdbvkjsdbvsmcnvakdjfoqeihfFUCK!
DUDE! Did I not JUST do a LOAD of DISHES?!
Dish Gnome, you sneaky, sneaky little rat bastard!
And it's not like it's a load of dishes, either.
It's a fucking cup; It's a fucking salad fork; It's two fucking dishes.
fuck you, dishes.
Do not fail to note that it's Husband's TEA glass -- complete with sticky tea goop in the bottom that I can't scrub out by hand because my hand doesn't fit into teeny tiny crevices, and neither does my sponge.
And they're sitting there all defiantly in the window sill where he put them...
Now, everyone is always complaining about their Laundry Gnomes. Not this guy; This guy is complaining about Dish Gnomes.
Dish Gnomes are not responsible for missing silverware - no, not that. They're responsible for fucking up your clean kitchen and your life with randomly-placed dirty dishes that escaped the last load of the day.
I was so proud of myself and all that I had accomplished... Braving the case lot sale crowd at the Commissary for groceries; Cleaning my house; Cleaning my bird's cage like I was preparing it for his transformation into the first Zombie cockatiel; Cooking a dinner that pleased everyone, including small person a.k.a Munchface; drawing awesome chalk art at 9:30 p.m to amuse Munchface while she trampled invisible bugs and alerted the neighborhood of their impending doom of the presence of the moon at the top of her lungs and honestly didn't really pay all that much attention to my chalk art so I really didn't have to do it but I did at the same time because that's just what the fuck I HAD TO DO...
when he goes Zombie, he's going in style, son...
the rabbit is NOT mine; it's Husband's...
that weird duck thing isn't mine, either.
.. and these two tiny dishes are just fucking raining despair and defeat on my sunshine-and-fucking-rainbow-cereal-shitting-unicorns day.
I felt like the biggest domestic failure ever.
Jedi-Ninja-super hero FLASHHHHHHHhhhh!!! ...
So now I'm sitting outside chain-smoking and sipping the first soda I've had in months; debating on whether or not this is an epic enough emergency to call my Mom's work and have them page her so I can wait ten minutes just to be able to cry about my meaningless woes to someone who gives a shit about me..
Because if Husband loved me, even a smidge, he would've put the dishes in the fucking kitchen where the Dish Gnomes couldn't ruin my night.
Touché, Dish Gnome. You're the clear victor in this battle.
You've won my sanity and an all-expense paid cruise vacation to suck my hypothetical balls.
Douche-y as you are, I applaud thee.
random picture of something I made for work, because I feel like putting it here. fucking deal, son.
He couldn't just look through the laundry baskets and find another pair that were already clean - they HAD to be the ones that he wears every Monday that have the crusted and rotted elastic and that huge toe hole.
I assume the hole is important for proper toe-breathing. What else could it POSSIBLY be?
So I run all around the house, upstairs and down, looking for all of his work crap so I can actually do a full load -- meaning I'm digging in toy boxes, under couches, inside random cabinets and drawers; with the main goal of finding socks. Please remember to note that this is a toddlers home.
yes, this is mine... I know. Don't say anything...
Flash to like 20 + minutes later...
I finally have everything wrangled together in one general pile, right? I start the laundry and settle in to surfing YouTube and playing my Facebook app obsession.
Flash to 10 or so minutes later... Yes, I "flash". I'm a Super Hero with awesome-super hero-Jedi-Ninja powers. Be warned.
I decide that I'm bored, and I want to do something productive with the hour and six minutes it takes to wash the clothes - the dishes.
YAY! I'm not procrastinating! (see previous blog about procrastination here)
Well I figure out there are several ways that I can use my time wisely. I can make the tea which I almost forgot was steeping in the kettle on the stove. I usually forget up to three times before there's finally a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge for Husband and Munchface -- an oversight that I blame on the knowledge that I'm allergic and making it breaks me out. Hives = un-cool un-fun-ness. The end.
I can pick up toys, fix up my coffee so all I have to do is press a button and I get caffeinated amazing-ness in the morning, and yes, the dishes.
the cleaning process - you shoulda seen it before o_o;
I also did something nice and set up a "thank you" picture for the person who gave the board to Munchface...
NOMZ!
I do all of the above, and re-settle onto my little spot on the couch to continue my internet debauchery - my little way of doing the whole "relax" and "piddle around" thing...
Ninja-Jedi-super hero-awesome -flash to the highly annoying "beep" sequence of the wash cycle ending...
I'm extremely excited -- it's time for bed and the dishes are done, the toys are put away, the coffee is ready to brew, the tea is made, the internet is surfed, and now the laundry is done - go me.
I even made up a list for Husband ^_^
I get up to meander in to the laundry room, dreading the weight of three sets of ABUs, 7 shirts, and numerous pairs of sock, and what do I see?
DISHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is after I picked them up, but you get the idea (yes, that's my heat that I pack - are you scared?)
ksjdhfskjdhfskjdhfksjhdfksjhdfkjshdfkjshdfkjsdhfkjsdhfkjshdfkjhsdkjfhskdgfouweroiweyisdbvkjsdbvsmcnvakdjfoqeihfFUCK!
DUDE! Did I not JUST do a LOAD of DISHES?!
Dish Gnome, you sneaky, sneaky little rat bastard!
And it's not like it's a load of dishes, either.
It's a fucking cup; It's a fucking salad fork; It's two fucking dishes.
fuck you, dishes.
Do not fail to note that it's Husband's TEA glass -- complete with sticky tea goop in the bottom that I can't scrub out by hand because my hand doesn't fit into teeny tiny crevices, and neither does my sponge.
And they're sitting there all defiantly in the window sill where he put them...
Now, everyone is always complaining about their Laundry Gnomes. Not this guy; This guy is complaining about Dish Gnomes.
Dish Gnomes are not responsible for missing silverware - no, not that. They're responsible for fucking up your clean kitchen and your life with randomly-placed dirty dishes that escaped the last load of the day.
I was so proud of myself and all that I had accomplished... Braving the case lot sale crowd at the Commissary for groceries; Cleaning my house; Cleaning my bird's cage like I was preparing it for his transformation into the first Zombie cockatiel; Cooking a dinner that pleased everyone, including small person a.k.a Munchface; drawing awesome chalk art at 9:30 p.m to amuse Munchface while she trampled invisible bugs and alerted the neighborhood of their impending doom of the presence of the moon at the top of her lungs and honestly didn't really pay all that much attention to my chalk art so I really didn't have to do it but I did at the same time because that's just what the fuck I HAD TO DO...
when he goes Zombie, he's going in style, son...
the rabbit is NOT mine; it's Husband's...
that weird duck thing isn't mine, either.
.. and these two tiny dishes are just fucking raining despair and defeat on my sunshine-and-fucking-rainbow-cereal-shitting-unicorns day.
I felt like the biggest domestic failure ever.
Jedi-Ninja-super hero FLASHHHHHHHhhhh!!! ...
So now I'm sitting outside chain-smoking and sipping the first soda I've had in months; debating on whether or not this is an epic enough emergency to call my Mom's work and have them page her so I can wait ten minutes just to be able to cry about my meaningless woes to someone who gives a shit about me..
Because if Husband loved me, even a smidge, he would've put the dishes in the fucking kitchen where the Dish Gnomes couldn't ruin my night.
Touché, Dish Gnome. You're the clear victor in this battle.
You've won my sanity and an all-expense paid cruise vacation to suck my hypothetical balls.
Douche-y as you are, I applaud thee.
random picture of something I made for work, because I feel like putting it here. fucking deal, son.
15 September 2010
Taps Aren't Cool When You're Tired
Okay, rant time. Small one, but rant nonetheless.
After not sleeping, driving to Atlanta, getting gawked at - oh, just see previous blog; I'm too lazy to type this out again.
Yeah, but after all that, I didn't even get to sleep until the Munchface woke up. Thank you taps at 0700. I'm not that patriotic. I care more about my sleep, than the music you blare into my bedroom window every morning. I stop my car at 1700, I stand with my hand over my friggin' heart if I'm out somewhere, and I make Nigel do the same, whether he's in uniform or not. I'm not doing that in the morning. I'm also not doing it at 2200, either. Once a day should be enough for you! It's enough for the vitamin, why isn't it for you? I can only be so respectful when I'm tired.
On a random happy note, Munchface is completely over the whole stomach bug thing. It doesn't stop her from telling everyone we meet that her "belly hurted". Neighbor decides to walk by randomly on their way to do who knows what? Yes, you guessed it, "HEY! Heeeeeeyyyyyyyy! Hey baby, my belly hurted!". Random group of PT-ers running on the other side of the street? Yes, again, she tells them.
*sigh* Oh, the joys of motherhood.
By the way, is it completely normal to have your kid licking the inside of a chip bag mumbling "nomnom"? I haven't decided to eat my feelings in a while. She didn't get it from me.
*glares at husband's chair*
14 September 2010
Will You Provide Treatment For Us?
My life is apparently destined to suck ass at all times for some reason. I'm feeling like ass after my excursion outside the homestead today. Apparently, I didn't eat this morning - yes, I know, I ignored myself and didn't eat. I'm not going to make excuses, but you try not getting to sleep because of stress/worry/ZA noises outside until almost four in the fackin' morning, getting up before the sun decides to make its daily debut, then trying to wrangle a slightly stupid husband and a very hyper child into a very small car to drive through Atlanta "nightmare" traffic to Scottish Rite Hospital. I might as well have one of those enclosed golf cart-ish tiny cars with as much room as we have in it.
Traffic, albeit not the best, wasn't the worst. Only problem there was I budgeted our time for "bad" traffic, and we ended up getting there like two hours early. Enter stage right - the waiting game. I've never been so bored, or quite so exposed in my life. I might as well have been naked with how people were staring at me. I don't think having an alternative view on how a mother should look really deems all those gawking rejects necessary. Yes, I have a child. No, I don't wear jeans up under my boobs, weird sweaters, and a Farrah feathered hairstyle. I don't think it's necessary to take my piercings out, or cover my tattoos, just because my body made a little person. Stop staring at me like I'm 1940's Germany and you're a fleeing minority.
I'm not going to burn your house down, I'm not going to rob you, and I'm not going to hurt you - though I may talk rather sternly to you like a mother chastising her child because you let your kids run around a very large facility unchecked, and are therefore putting them at risk to be hurt by others.
Yes, obviously my piercings, tattoos, and normal clothes make me a bad mother; yet I've always got my child in check, I'm always watching her, and she's healthy, happy and intelligent. Thank you for your concern, though, stranger. Now please fuck off. Go raise your own child, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing with mine.
When we finally got to see her doctor, I was so happy we I went through all the driving/staring/planning stress to get to that point. He's amazing. Rudy likes him, I like him, and Husband - who cares? He is really good with her; not demanding but polite. He treats her like she's an intelligent child who isn't too stupid to understand simple commands like "sit just like that", "take your shoes off for me", etc. He is also going to get her taken care of, come what may, by the first week of October. Hooray medical competence! Husband doesn't like him as much as I do because he's younger. Guy is like in his early 30's, but he's probably been in college since he was 16. He's extremely intelligent, and he knows what he's doing. Something we haven't seen in any other specialist since Hawaii. He also treated me with respect and not like an overly-concerned parent. I greatly admire someone who treats me like I'm of a higher understanding than a high-school dropout.
I'm desperately thirsty and nothing sounds good but Sonic. I think I'm about to take a blogging break for a huge sprite. Yes, I take snack breaks during my blogging. I'm a dork.
I'm desperately thirsty and nothing sounds good but Sonic. I think I'm about to take a blogging break for a huge sprite. Yes, I take snack breaks during my blogging. I'm a dork.
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