My Take On Your Take On Chicks Who Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving on again.. Whooooosh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IT GETS BETTER!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

UPDATE TIME BITCHES!

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

Go HERE, and enjoy.


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

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!

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.