This is not an example of "good" writing.

Sorry I've been more or less M.I.A. the last few days... But I promise, it's not just you, Dear Blog. I have also been neglecting Facebook, Twitter (not that Twitter gets that much attention from me, anyway...), emails, the other blogs I follow, and sleep. Been reading on my Kindle like cuh-RAZY though. Had a wonderful weekend, where I watched one of my best friends get married (SQUEE!) and got to spend time with my nephew, which I haven't gotten to do in a while due to the craziness of the work schedule. This honestly made the *second* time I've actually seen the child in person since he was born a couple of months ago. I'm a horrible aunt. Hopefully I'll get better at it, but my job apparently hasn't gotten the memo. Neither has my crushing lack of interest in anything other than the pursuit of sleep, despite my complete inability to actually do so. On that note, though, I have a doctor's appointment in a couple hours! Hooray for medication!

The main purpose of this post, however, is to get a few things off my chest. These are some things about me that may be helpful to know if you plan on spending any time around me. It may also clarify things for those of you who already DO spend lots of time around me, as if you didn't already know it. Also, this is not exactly a happy post, as there have been quite a few people to really tick me off lately for a multitude of reasons. Generally there are only a couple kinds of people that have the ability to get me ranting. But this list does start off on a positive note.

1. I *love* my friends. I love the uniqueness of the individual relationships, whether it's quirky shared interests/dislikes, love/hate of the same kind of books/movies/music, chatting about family, deep philosophical discussions, the tons of laughs, an established Mutual Admiration Society, or any combination of the above. Even if a friend does something a little "questionable" on occasion, and we all know that happens, I will still defend them, respect them, support them, and love them without reservation. I hope they would do the same for me.
2. I can be a little chilly at times. I don't mean the "grab a sweater" kind, either. I enjoy and desperately need lots of personal space and time, and need to be able to disengage from social situations frequently. This may look like I'm shutting down a little, but I'm just needing to decompress before I can start getting involved again. I hate large gatherings, and I also hate to appear rude. So at times I will totally flake out on parties and events, because the thought of feeling or even *looking* like I'm uncomfortable or anxious causes me anxiety. I hate this about myself, because I know that I'm missing out on stuff, and that there's a good chance I'd be just fine. Then there's that "but", though. For this, I apologize, because I know it may seem like I'm uninterested or careless.
3. However, I am NOT easily impressed. If you are always talking about your "connections" or all the people you "know," or if you totally, honestly believe that you are the most in-demand individual when it comes to whatever and your ego is large enough to require its own room, then yes, I am uninterested. I do not care. I do not feel bad about not being interested in all the names you drop, I do not feel bad about NOT being impressed. I am NOT impressed by people with no skill other than using the skills of others to get yourself things you don't deserve or into places you don't deserve to be. Like your job. Trust me, I'm nowhere near as impressed with you as you are.
4. I. Hate. Drama. I hate drama. I hate it when someone gets pissed off because someone "spoke to them wrong" (note, this is usually the kind of person mentioned in #3, and it's almost *always* an overreaction due to over-inflated sense of self-importance) and talks about how they "REALLY DON'T APPRECIATE THAT KIND OF TREATMENT, THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THAT, AND THEY'RE GOING TO TRY REALLY HARD TO KEEP THEIR COOL. So they're just gonna forget about it, because it's bullshit and it just ain't worth their time. And then they talk about it the rest of the fucking night, to everyone they talk to. And yes, they would say that in all caps, too. It's that obnoxious.
5. I. Hate. Liars. I hate people who cannot mind their own business, and where factual information is lacking they decide to insert their own wild conjecture. I think those people should go fuck themselves, and not try to hurt me or my friends. Because you know what? I wouldn't do that to you, and I don't think anyone that I'M friends with would either. I think you're a total ass hat, but no matter what I think of you, I would stick to the truth and what I know for sure when speaking of you to others. Your actions speak for themselves. As do mine. I can be honest while keeping it classy. You might even think I was complimenting you for your massive skillz in being an ass hat.
6. I am not good at confrontations. I am much more a delete-you-from-my-life-without-comment-even-though-I-soooooo-want-to-say-something kind of person, because *I* was raised to believe that if you can't say something nice to someone, it's best to keep your damn mouth shut.
7. I am not good at numbered lists.
8. I do have more ideas for blog posts, and someday soon may even post them. I promise I'm not always such an angry person.
9. I should have stopped at #8. Or #1.
10. But I'm pretty sure that if you have a numbered list it's supposed to go to 10. I may regret this later.

   

If.

IF I were to open a restaurant (Never happening.), here would be some of the items listed on the menu.

• "The Most Amazing Dish Ever": If you ask what it is, you don't get to order it.
• "Something Really Awesome, If You're Into Sandwiches"
• "The SURPRISE! Appetizer Platter": Assorted meats, cheeses and vegetables of similar sizes and shapes dipped in batter and fried, all on one plate.
• "Soup! You'll Have What We Have." No substitutions.
• "Random Meat On A Stick": We promise it's most likely safe.
• "The Heartstopper": Don't worry... It's JUST a burger... We swear. ["OHMYGAWDDIDTHATJUSTMOVE??"]
• "Roasted Squirrel Even Better Than Your Grandma Used To Make"
• "All Day Bacon." Includes a glass of lemonade with just a *hint* of bacon, and free refills. [Update: Imagine my horror when I discovered Denny's Bacon Sundae]

The name of the restaurant would most likely be "Questions." I think it has a nice ring to it, don't you? By the way, if you steal this idea, I will hunt you down, paper your house with pages from War And Peace, and sit next to your windows with a stereo blasting Rebecca Black's "Friday". All day, every day. Although I might have to hire someone else to do that part of it, because honestly it'd be just as torturous to me. See? You're costing me money.

A new toy. No, not THAT kind! *sigh* Perverts.

So I was frustrated by the inability for me (or anyone else, for that matter) to reply directly to comments on my posts. Therefore, I've added a new service (widget? code?) called Disqus into my page that allows exactly this. So now I can reply directly to you, and you can even have a conversation with each other! No pressure. (Dammit kids, play nice! Don't pull her hair.... And what have I told you about biting?) You can also:

• Check a box saying you "like" (or "dislike". . .) a post. At least for now. We'll see how well my self-esteem handles it.
• Note: This is an excellent opportunity for those just stopping in on their way to something better OR for my "lurkers" who read but don't comment (yes, I'm talking to you!) to let me know that it either made you smile, made you think (*stifles laughter*), or pissed you off. I've even set it to where it just shows the number who liked/disliked it rather than names. 
• Use other login names (Facebook, Twitter, Yahoo, Google, or OpenID) if you want to when posting so you're not having to type crap in over and over again (at least, that's how I'm hoping it will happen!)
• Flag comments for moderation. Although seriously? It's not like I'm wading tits-deep through comments at this point. So I'll probably come across inappropriate stuff fairly quickly. But just in case I miss something, there's that option available.
• Note: I really want people to be able to say whatever, since *clearly* I'm doing so myself, but don't expect blatantly disrespectful, offensive comments to go unscathed. If you give yourself the freedom to be an asshole, you should welcome my right to be an asshole right back. Along with my "legions" of readers. I'm sure if they all got together they could, I don't know, paint your living room an obnoxious color. (That doesn't take too many people, right?) 

Okay, but here's the thing... from what I've read about this (AFTER installing it, of course...) it may be a bit of a pain for people to comment the first time. There may be a need to set up a profile. However, this may be beneficial to some, since it allows you to keep track of any other comments you've made elsewhere.

I really would appreciate feedback on this. If it seriously is too much of a headache to comment, and it leads you to not wanting to do so, then please know that I'm not totally closed off to other available options. I'm also looking at CommentLuv, a similar service that is more commenter-friendly and allows people to include a link to their last blog post if they have one, which is HELLA helpful for bloggers in general. But CommentLuv is apparently less "pretty" and may take more work to allow threaded comments. But? I totally don't care, since I'm by no means invested enough in what I'm using now. (And no, they can't be used together. Thanks, though!) I'll gladly give each a shot over the next few days to see what works best. I'm wanting this blog to be able to evolve over time, becoming less freakin' basic, but I don't want craziness or difficulty commenting to be what keeps someone from coming back. So I'm just going to keep tweaking a tiny bit at a time, and let you guys tell me what's a total failure and what you like. I'll try to keep you posted on changes as they occur, or let you weigh in on whatever I'm wanting to change. Plus you'll come out of this particular situation able to casually chat about the differences between Disqus and CommentLuv. Or maybe that one's just me.

I could be the only one in the world that deals with this, but I doubt it.

For all the other married chicks out there... Anytime you have a conversation with a dude and he finds out you're married, does that kill the conversation and any future possibility of conversation or even *gasp* friendship almost immediately? Does this same phenomenon occur if you're not married, but in a relationship?
For all the dudes out there, married, divorced, in a relationship, single, whatever... Do you really ALWAYS think we were interested in you like *that* in the first place??

This is something that has truly pissed me off from the first time it happened to me. You see, I've always gotten along well with guys. I was raised around guys, I have a "guy" sense of humor, and things are generally more relaxed and goofy with guys than it is with girls. (Of course, this is by NO MEANS a blanket statement applying to all females--I've got some seriously awesome girl friends--they know who they are!!--who aren't all-gossip-no-goofballing, and I value those friendships probably more than they'll ever know.) And it's not what you might think--I'm not the super-flirty chick that hangs around guys for attention. Trust me, I know the difference. In fact, I didn't have a lot of boyfriends growing up because I was always considered "one of the guys." I was always someone they joked around with, not someone they'd seriously consider dating. So that's where I'm coming from with all this.

This is why it hurts and makes me absolutely furious when someone I've been joking around with now has nothing to do with me, and won't even hardly look at me. It's not like I was looking for a new best friend or anything, but what the hell?! All the sudden, since you know there's no chance of fucking me, I'm not worthy of your time, even a "Hey, how's it going?" Honey, there was no chance of that in the first place. And I have a HUSBAND, not THE PLAGUE. I'm sure "marriage" isn't going to rub off on you if you stand too close to a cool freakin' chick (if I do say so myself!) who happens to be married.

This just really makes me re-think my defense of guys and their sometimes douchecanoe-y behavior. It really seems to prove that guys and girls really can't be friends, but cheese-and-rice don't people usually at least make an effort to not make it so damn obvious what's going on?

Hey man, we work at the same place. We're gonna see each other occasionally. You think I'm not gonna remember the way you just treated me? Fuck you. I'm a human being, not a target for you to try and aim your dick at.

I'm tired of this shit. And everyone there still keeps on wondering why I'm so quiet, why I never fucking smile, why I'm not appearing to be absolutely fucking thrilled to be there. Guess what? Even though I am dealing with some serious depression right now... I smile a lot. I talk a lot. I joke around a lot. I laugh a lot. Ask *anyone* who knows me. You're just not worthy of it anymore.

I think I'll start opening conversations with new people--guys, anyway--with "Hi! I'm [actual name here]. I'm married. Go ahead and pretend you never spoke to me now, since I'm pretty sure that's how this works." Then I'll walk away, so I don't get pissed to see them do it first. Otherwise, they might try to laugh it off and pretend that wasn't going to be the case... But then that'll still end up being the only conversation we have.

But some part of me still feels like that's a bunch of bullshit. How the hell am I supposed to handle this kind of thing?? I am totally *flabbergasted* by this. Am I doing something wrong? I've never been one to hide behind the husband, using him as an excuse to not have to meet and deal with obnoxious people. Although I prefer someone else initiating conversations, I really do like meeting or just talking to people, even if it really doesn't seem like it. Am I taking it too personally? Never mind, I know I am, but it seems impossible for me to just let it go. Please help! What am I supposed to do in these situations?

Meet Teh Kittehs.

This is The Pants. A.K.A. Miss Pants, Fancy Pants, and [actual name here]. First kitty of our household, 5 years old, much loved.



She is our lovey lap kitty, who we can always hear coming because she seriously just crashes through the house, destroying everything in her path. Loud noise in the middle of the night? Pants is on the move! I thought kitties were supposed to be graceful and stealthy, but if she has to walk past anything you can almost guarantee she's not going to miss running into it or knocking it over. She is also the one I have to battle for computer access most often, and she is the most frequent reason for random google searches... I have no idea what ";;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;/;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;l;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;" means to her, but apparently it is extremely important to find out. Also, I love how she manages to get *three* paws up there for this picture, but her other back leg was all splayed out. Sometimes she manages to steal the cursor from me, and we have an epic battle where only one individual (me, in case you need the clarification) cares about the outcome.

And this wondrous mass of fur and bliss is the 2-year-old Juggabutt, and she's an idiot. This is her absolute favorite position other than The Hubby's left leg. When sitting on The Hubby's lap, she *only* lays on his left leg.

She is also known as Jugga, The Dinosaur, [Actual name]-osaurus, and of course, [actual name here]. She is best known for a few things: Scurrying through the house going "Reh-eh-eh" or trilling/chattering while she does so (the scurrying-while-chunky is what got her nicknamed "Juggabutt", as in "Quit juggabuttin' around!"), the chattering she does anytime she's irritated, and getting stuck. What "stuck" means for her is that she runs into another room, stops somewhere, and cries the most pitiful kitty cry until someone comes and "rescues" her by picking her up. We are rewarded by almost immediate purring, and she is one of the loudest-purring cats I've ever heard in my life. She tends to get stuck in the bathroom, either on the toilet (we have to keep the lid down, otherwise she plays in the water... then tracks it all over the house and onto our laps) or in the bathtub.

This little game may also be referred to as hide-and-seek, but we started referring to it as her being stuck because The Pants was first to discover the game when she'd jump on top of the fridge and not want to get down by herself. However, instead of the pitiful kitty cries, The Pants would just say "Hurrrrroooo? Hurrroooo? Woe, woe..." Seriously. Clearly she's able to get down on her own, since she does all the damn time. Every once in a while, however, she just doesn't want to.

But seriously, I thought cats were supposed to be all snooty, elegant, graceful... Between Pants's clumsiness and Juggabutt's constant chatter-commentary while running through the house we only have quiet kitties when they're sleeping. Even then there's no telling if they're gonna fall off whatever perch they're sleeping on. I do adore my kitties, maybe because of all their craziness and faults.

Anyhoo, just thought I'd post something fun to balance out that last one, which certainly wasn't so fun. Maybe one day I'll be able to joke lovingly about The Princess like this.

I only wish this was not serious. And sorry Mom.

Depression sucks. In September of 2010 I sent this to someone I don't know in "real life" but respect tremendously, because I was feeling like I was suffocating under the weight of it all, and didn't feel safe turning to people closest to me. So here's what I wrote to her.
Consider this a giant set of beginning quotation marks. (I'll do the same at the end.)

“Shit, I’m Writing Poetry Again—It’s Worse Than I Thought”
September burns through my core
Every thoughtfeelingmovementache
Another year starts its slow fade
Its death can’t come soon enough
This has to end soon
Can’t go on like this
I feel so heavy
The depths of darkness pulling me
down
Funny (sad?) how little effort it takes
It’s easier to sink every time, easier to stay there
The way smoothed by the tears, frustrations, shame, emptiness of previous
times
Whittling down what I am
Less resistance next time I drop
Lighter and lighter I’ll become
(But for now I still feel so heavy)
Until soon I’ll float down like a feather
Casually making my way to the
           bottom
At least, that’s what I hope
Tell me this gets easier
Better yet, tell me this will go away
I’m waiting…
                                   
*                 *                 *
You see, I’ve been dealing with some major depression for the past couple of years. Untreated at this point, of course, since I’m a stubborn idiot. I dealt with a less major version of it as a teenager through artwork (painting, drawing, poetry, typical tortured artist stuff), but stopped once things started looking up a little more. Misery’s great inspiration. Then things went horribly wrong. I lost a family member I adored, switched to a workplace that is always in multiple kinds of crises that I have to deal with, a coworker went through her own massive downhill slide (which I totally could relate to, but it was simply too much for me to take up her responsibilities and the whole situation seriously contributed to my own already precarious situation), and hubby decided he wanted a dog, which would be just fine if I didn't know that although I like dogs, they are in need of way  more attention than I'm able to give them at this point. And he didn't get just any dog, he got a high maintenance dog that has severe separation anxiety and cries all night. We both work full time. We built a pen outside for the dog to be able to get him out from under our feet when we need to, but can't even put him out there by himself because he cries. REALLY LOUDLY. I recently mentioned to my mother that I’ve been having a difficult time lately and with everything our family’s been through maybe I need to finally seek counseling, and her response was a sarcastic “Doesn’t everybody?” accompanied by one of those eye-rolling/snort combos. I may have imagined the eye-roll, since this was a phone conversation, but Mom almost always pairs snorts and sarcastic comments with eye-rolls, so I’m pretty sure it happened. Yes, most people go through minor or major bouts of situational depression in their lives, and that’s nothing to sneer at. But not everyone goes through long-term major depression that feels like it is crushing you inside and out, where you’re lying on your bed with your husband holding you as you tense every muscle trying to hold in the screams of misery unable to breathe while you’re sobbing buckets of tears and you think to yourself, “Wow, I can understand why some people cut themselves, because I would do almost whatever it takes to get this feeling out of my body before it tears me apart.”
I have never self-injured or ever considered suicide, but the fact that I’m at the point where I can understand people feeling like those things are viable options terrifies me. I think that is a good point where counseling and medication are things to be taken a little more seriously. But I didn’t explain all that to my mother, so I can’t blame her for being “insensitive” when I reach out.
And now I’m writing f*#&ing poetry again. Does that mean I've regressed? I am happily married to a good guy, have a job that stresses me to no end but is still fulfilling something in me, have a couple of coworkers that I adore and can truly talk to about almost anything, have a good relationship with my family, have a fairly close network of friends, and despite the multiple traumatic experiences I’ve had I consider myself lucky.  But then there’s this THING that I feel that I worry they won’t understand. I don’t feel comfortable sharing this with them. I don’t want pity, I don’t want people to worry about me, and I don’t want people to downplay it, secretly thinking I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, because “everyone gets a little down sometimes”, and I don’t want them to back away from me. Plus it’ll seem WAY out of left field to some of them since I’m a master at hiding my problems. Years of practice at seeming nonchalant. I guess what I’m really trying to do is share my experience of depression (through bad poetry, I guess…), but I don’t really know how (obviously).

Consider this a giant set of ending quotation marks.

Yeah, long email, huh? Especially to someone who essentially was a stranger. But you know what? She responded. And not with something generic and empty, but with a real, true meaningful response. She understands, as I knew she would, because she has dealt with depression and anxiety also. That's what I needed, and that's what I got. It was way more than I expected, but it was so helpful. I don't think I could ever thank her enough. I knew at this point that I needed to get some help, and that I was strong enough to do it. It was at that point (well, a couple months later...) that I finally got on some medication to help.

Things have changed since that email was sent... I left that stressful but meaningful job, and started working elsewhere. The poetry didn't continue, I started this blog as an outlet instead. The situation with the dog has gotten moderately better (eventually I'll tell more about that). I wish I could say that everything is better now, but obviously it's not. It seems that when you stop taking antidepressants because you don't know whether your doctor just wanted you to call his office about a refill or if he wanted you to set up an appointment to check on you in person, any question about whether it's actually depression and if the medication was even working is soon put firmly to rest. There is no question in my mind now whether I am suffering from major depression. It is affecting everything now. People that I've worked with for two days (they move me around a lot at this job) ask me if I'm okay, because I look miserable. There was actually a point a couple days ago when someone asked me this and I thought to myself, "I can make excuses for now, but I'm totally going to be crying about this when I get home." I used to smile all the damn time, apparently now I never do. I either have that "flat affect" (severe reduction of emotional expressiveness) symptom typical of depression or I guess I look mad or upset. I seriously keep to myself at work, because trying to forge relationships with new people is too difficult. Apparently they've noticed. I hope they don't think I'm snobby or stuck-up or hateful, but honestly I don't have the energy to put in the effort right now. And I've never been the person to initiate conversation anyway. I'm cool if someone talks to me first, then I'm animated and joke around and all that. But until someone hits that switch by initiating, I'm stuck in the "off" position. And as soon as the conversation is over, it's right back to "off" almost immediately.

The one bonus to all this, I suppose, is that it's not the agonizing kind of depression I experienced before at times, although the more I've thought about it the more I believe there's been at least a slight component of anxiety to it that may have led to that combination then. Then there's my constantly changing work schedule, which I'm hoping is the reason why I'm having a ton of trouble getting to sleep, which means that it seems like I'm sleeping all day since I didn't sleep all night. And when I do sleep I'm constantly waking up, so I sure don't wake up feeling rested. All I ever want to do anymore is sleep. I don't want to go anywhere, do anything, see anybody. I haven't even been upset that I haven't gone out anywhere with The Hubby in weeks. It was a hell of a problem for me to set up an eye doctor appointment this past week for that reason, but I was motivated by the need to get a new pair of glasses so that I won't have to mess with contacts anymore between "naps." Seriously. I was motivated by the idea of making sleep less of a hassle.

I hope within the next week or two I manage to go back to the doctor. Maybe I'll see about getting something stronger, because I didn't notice *that* much of a difference on the medication, which may have contributed a bit to my not rushing to refill the prescription. Which has led, as you see, to all this. Yeah, it totally wasn't just due to MWW, although that certainly didn't help. Maybe I'll also ask ask him about something to help me sleep better. How about this, dear readers:  If two weeks from today I haven't gone to the doctor and filled a prescription, you have my permission to yell at me, call me (if you have my number) at all hours of the . . . day. . . forcing me to wake up, leave mean comments, or bring The Hubby into it. Or even Mom. Just please keep me accountable, otherwise I know I'll keep making excuses. And yes, I know that two weeks seems ridiculously excessive.

The Painted Toenail Apocalypse

I recently came across the story (stories, really) about the reaction to the J. Crew article featuring pictures of designer Jenna Lyons painting her 5-year-old son's toenails pink. Who knew that wielding a tiny paint brush could cause so much of an uproar? Apparently she should have known that painting her son's toenails hot pink will lead not only to his gender confusion and definitely "choosing" to become gay, but will also lead to *nobody* wanting to have and nurture children or join the military.

Because that's the *obvious* result of such careless action.  At least it is according to Dr. Keith Ablow's opinion piece (on none other than the Fox News website, of course!). Some of my favorite quotes, accompanied by my own personal commentary:

This is a dramatic example of the way that our culture is being encouraged to abandon all trappings of gender identity—homogenizing males and females when the outcome of such “psychological sterilization” [my word choice] is not known.

(Believing that spending time with her son by painting his toenails pink--she says it's his favorite color--is a dramatic example of anything other than spending time with her son is frankly astonishing to me. I guess if he wants to watch Dora the Explorer, she's brainwashing him to support illegal aliens through learning how to say "door" in Spanish?)

Well, how about the fact that encouraging the choosing of gender identity, rather than suggesting our children become comfortable with the ones that they got at birth, can throw our species into real psychological turmoil . . . Why not make race the next frontier? What would be so wrong with people deciding to tattoo themselves dark brown and claim African-American heritage? Why not bleach the skin of others so they can playact as Caucasians?

(Now I'm not saying he's a "well-known" psychologist, but the fact that he believes we can freely *choose* our gender identity is irresponsible in his profession, to say the least, let alone forcing them to just "become comfortable with" the one they got at birth. Sorry sir, even I know that biological sex and gender identity are two totally different things! They teach you that stuff in even *introductory* psych classes. Also, anyone else sick of the dramatic snowball crap that these assholes use when it comes to this topic? Gay marriage leads to marrying animals, polygamy, etc., now hot pink toenails on 5-year-olds leads to light-skinned folks in "black face" and darker-skinned folks "playacting" as Caucasian. Right. Sound logical argument there!)

And while that may seem like no big deal, it will be a very big deal if it turns out that neither gender is very comfortable anymore nurturing children above all else, and neither gender is motivated to rank creating a family above having great sex forever and neither gender is motivated to protect the nation by marching into combat against other men and risking their lives.

(Wow.  Selfish current and upcoming generations, with their whole "GTL" fascination. Apparently it's not just a few individuals, it's everybody. And it's no joke. But that's not my real point here. Since when has there been problems with people who don't feel  like they were born in the right body NOT wanting to have children and start families, just like everyone else? I thought the Neanderthalic (is that a word? Nope, not according to spellcheck) assholes (that one is for SURE) were all pissy about LGBT couples/individuals WANTING to have children and be able to join the military? So... is that off now? Have we changed our mind about that? In any case, I'm sure it would definitely be a big deal if nobody ever in the whole world ever wanted to do either of those things ever. But logically? Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Unfortunately, assholes like you will continue to procreate smugly in the knowledge that none of your children will ever question anything if you have anything to say about it.)  

Jenna Lyons and J. Crew seem to know exactly what they’re up to. That’s why the photograph of Jenna’s son so prominently displays his hot pink, neon toe nails. These folks are hostile to the gender distinctions that actually are part of the magnificent synergy that creates and sustains the human race.   

(Yes. Spending time with her beautiful 5-year-old son doing whatever activity he wanted is clearly a hostile action. It was a massive liberal conspiracy, which frankly I'm surprised conservatives on your so-fair-and-balanced network didn't make up in order to point out such massive liberal conspiracies. I'm sure Glenn Beck has some pictures of some crowds that attended the nail-painting event.)

One of the saddest parts of this whole thing for me is that I actually liked Keith Ablow as an author of psychological thriller/suspense novels. I'm really sad to see that now... Well, you know.

I don't even know how to respond to that.

Hubby: "Why do they call ladies' boobs "knockers"? Shouldn't balls be called "knockers"? Balls are way more knocker-like than boobs."

Me: . . .


But you know, it totally makes sense. Then he moved on, deciding "clackers" is an even more appropriate term for men's dangly bits.

Of course, you must also know that this one-sided conversation came out of nowhere.

This is why meth is bad for you. Also, I should get a new car.

Last night Dear Hubby went to go get a "new" car (it's only 21 years old!), and came back muttering, "Okay, THAT didn't get it out." So of course, I suspiciously asked, "Get what out? What did you do to my car?" And he simply said "Come outside and look, you're never gonna believe this!" There was a huge dent in my hood.

He had taken my car and his dad rode with him. On the way there, before they were even 15 miles from our house, Hubby noticed a car parked at the side of the road and slowed way down. There were a couple of people in it, and a couple of people outside the car. One of the people outside happened to be standing in the middle of the road, throwing his shoes up in the air. Occasionally he would just fall down into the road, and after a while he just crawled over to the side of the road into the mud-filled ditch (We've had an extremely rainy March and April). Hubby had plenty of time to notice all of this, because he was basically just inching along the road hoping to pass the crazies with no incident. Too bad.

As soon as Hubby got close, Crazy Dude who is now covered in mud came running from the side of the road, leaped up onto the hood of the car, crouched down, banged his head against the windshield as hard as he could--TWICE--then rolled off the other side of the car. Remember, Hubby is driving maybe 2 miles an hour. So they pulled over and called the police, and watched the insanity from the relative safety of the car while they waited. Eventually the cops got there, and apparently found all this hilarious. The only damage that was really done, surprisingly, is a sizable dent in the hood of my car. We're really lucky he didn't break the windshield. They took statemnets from Hubby and Father-In-Law and they talked to the obviously messed up on something guy the best they could, but he would randomly start jumping around and screaming at them. So they had a little trouble getting handcuffs on him, but finally did and got him into the back of the police car. Hubby said that the last things they heard before they got back into the car to leave was the cop yelling in his car "You sonofabitch! You puked in my squad car!!" And the Crazy Dude replied, "I'm sober now!"

Of course, this is not the first incident with that car... A couple Thanksgivings ago on our way back from my mom's we hit a deer. Or rather, the deer hit us. Of course, I'm pretty sure Hubby only phrases it this way since HE was driving. Afterwards he put some of those deer whistler things on the car, which supposedly deter deer. I don't buy it, but if it gives him a little peace of mind then whatever. Apparently it doesn't work for crazy-drunk/high people.

Anyhoo, some links for you to enjoy:

So cute!
"No longer do you have to dribble bacon down your chin to get a hint of pig on your throat!"
A story that's taken the country by storm
Time to incorporate your uterus! (I totally love this.)
Truly amazing work being done here.

Mean Woman Week.

I
May
At anytime
Burst
Into
Tears,
Crying
Hysterically  Heroically

This poem has been brought to you by a woman who *clearly* has ovaries and hormones that are by all appearances in working goddamn order.

Hubby long ago dubbed this particular week that occurs all too often (I am cursed with long periods AND a short cycle) "Mean Woman Week," mostly because he doesn't get booty and because the cramps that accompany this "condition" could make anyone feel homicidal. However, I really truly deeply believe that it would be better labeled as "Sobbing Woman Week" or (kindly put) "Digestion Issues Week" or "OH MY GOD GET THOSE SCISSORS OUT OF HER HANDS BEFORE SOMEONE SAYS SOMETHING REGRETTABLE Week". Or "Now is not the time to bring up her unhealthy love of pizza products. Duly noted... Week."

This has been an excruciatingly fun episode of Mean Woman Week (MWW from now on, because why not?), due to some terribly ill-timed events. I generally start getting a little...*ahem*...emotional during the few days before MWW, and that's usually my best warning that SURPRISE! It's that time again! Better stock up on the lady products! This particular time, I was beginning to think it was a flare-up of the depression (does "flare-up" fit there? It seems a little counterintuitive...) since I've been neglecting to take my antidepressant... for 2 months.  What finally tipped me off was not the constant need to sleep, since that's typical of my brand of depression, or the moodiness, for the same reason, but when I noticed that my reactions to things were a little, well, exaggerated. Please read this story, and try not to focus on the unfortunate name of the deputy. I was not even aware of her name until I found it myself...

Now, I know that's a horribly sad, horribly horrible event, despite the writer's attempts to lighten it up a little. Normally I would be outraged and sad, of course, but when Hubby chose the worse possible time in the world to educate me about this article by reading it OUT LOUD IN DETAIL (!!!) my reaction was to immediately burst into tears, crying inconsolably. And that is no exaggeration, either. It was no quiet little sniffle with a couple tears trailing down my face, it was full-blown hysterical sobbing, paired with wails of "Why did that have to happen?? That was so MEAN!! He was just trying to be a good bup [this is how we refer to dogs, they're bups, not pups. No idea why.]!! He went back to his kennel!! He knew he was in trouble, he tried to make it better! I DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!!" And they were indeed wails, punctuated by sobs so intense they led to snorts and coughs which embarrassed and frustrated  me further, leading to more sobbing. The whole time I *knew* it was a tremendous overreaction, but could not stop it. I have no idea what possessed the Hubs that he felt it was necessary to share that little tale of woe and murder with me, especially when we were just sitting down, watching TV, with the typical chit-chat here and there. I bet he regrets his decision and never makes THAT mistake again. The worst thing is, that's not the only thing this week to turn me into a blubbering, wailing mess.  But that IS the only one in particular I will subject you to, because everything else after that has just been a repeat of the same, just with different topics.

I hope everyone else has had a better week! And if anything untoward has happened to you this week, PLEASE GOD DON'T TELL ME UNTIL NEXT WEEK. I apparently can't handle that shit right now.

Update, and a pop quiz. (No pressure.)

So I worked 3rd shift last week, and was supposed to work 1st shift again this week... That lasted one day before I was moved to the other plant, and shifted up to 2nd shift. And tonight I ended up working a 12-hour shift, getting off work at 1am. It really wasn't bad at all though, I enjoyed the line that I was on tremendously! However, my bony booty is sore from having to sit on a metal stool (BTW: Really, Body Fat? There's plenty of you in my stomach and thighs, couldn't you relocate just a little to my ass?), and I can't go to bed until the laundry finishes at least the first cycle in the dryer. I really wish some stuff didn't have to go through twice before being dry enough to actually wear... (I also wish *someone* in the household would notice they are ALMOST out of something rather than panicking the night before or the day it is needed and they have nothing clean. But that's another battle better left unfought for now.)

ANYHOO, if you're wondering why I've been slacking on posting lately, that's why. Work, and sleep. Sorry. (But also, chill.)

Just to tide you over a little right now, I'll assure you that I haven't been totally neglecting this in thought. I recently started going back through my MySpace blog (shut up.) to see what is salvageable before I delete that profile. I would have deleted it long ago if not for the fact that THAT blog got me through a tremendously difficult time in my life, providing an outlet where I felt I had none. Perhaps it's the hoarder in me coming out, but I am pretty attached to some of those posts, and am considering whether or not to post some of them in their entirety over here. Of course they'll be a couple years old, but once you read them you'll see where I'm coming from. Or I could just post a general synopsis of what was going on in my life in the days of the MySpace blog.

Any thoughts, comments, opinions? You're the ones that will be reading, after all (hopefully)...
So in this case I'm seriously requesting honest feedback from my dear blog-reading friends. How would you like me to handle this situation?