Archive for November, 2007


November 29, 2007

One of our newspapers is written on about a fourth grade reading level. Sounds shocking, but I think most are written for people who didn’t have the wearwithall to make it past junior high.

I try to avoid media at almost all cost. If it doesn’t come from your mouth or your blog, it isn’t newsworthy to me at all. Ignorance is bliss. If something is going on in the world that is terribly important someone will tell me about it. I run with a pretty savvy crowd.

Today’s Daily News ran an article about a dog who was beaten by (and I quote) “two miserable bastards”. It said just that, right in the first sentence.

Do I swear? Not really. I like to use dirty words when I blog or email or write. But I don’t necessarily use them when I speak. Unless we’re playing that game where we dress up and pretend that you are… Wait. Never mind. I don’t necessarily use them when I speak.
Do I care if you swear? Kind of. I think it’s crass and a surefire mark of a limited vocabulary. If you can’t come up with adjectives that are safe to say in front of your grandmother then I suggest you consider going back to night school.
Do I have a problem with swearing on television? No! In fact, I have a problem that they don’t swear enough on television. There are no laws about what you say on cable television. If you don’t like it, don’t get cable. As long as NBC, ABC, CBS, and what other crap is free these days keep their mouths clean it doesn’t matter to our government. It matters to the American people who pretend to be so appalled when they hear naughty words so their neighbors think they are good upstanding godfearing people. I call bullshit on you.
Yes, you.
You know who you are.
Don’t try to tell me that the only reason you have cable is for the 700 Club, I look in your windows at night and see you watching porny stuff.
I do have a problem with allowing my child to sit in front of the television when a sweary or violent show is on because I think it is trashy to teach children swear words and expose them to gratuitous violence.
Then again, I accidentally showed my child this video. I swear I didn’t mean to. I thought I was doing a good thing by YouTubing some Teletubbies that he could watch while I got him some milk. I put him in front of it without checking to see what kind of footage it was and didn’t think twice until I start hearing little “no! No! NO!”‘s coming from the computer. Jake didn’t sleep well that night.

Somehow seeing swear words in the paper always makes my heart jump. Its like hearing an old lady say something naughty. First I’m shocked, then appalled, then angry. Mostly at myself for being such a miserable prude.

I use the word bastard all the time. Both of my nieces are bastards. My brother is going to have a bastard. I bought presents for all three of those little bastards yesterday. I was with my bastard cousin last night. The lady in the next cube over has four little bastards of her own. By three different bastardizing babydaddies. I had a bottle of Arrogant Bastard last week. I’m a lucky bastard because I get a catered lunch this afternoon. Then I’ll be a fat bastard. I don’t know why seeing the word in the paper gets my panties in such a bunch. Which I kind of like, by the way. So I’m not too sure why I’m complaining.


me meme

November 20, 2007

There are a lot of meme’s going around the blogosphere lately, most likely because we are all conflicted between getting stuff ready for Spanksgiving, doing a little bit of work at work because everyone knows that absolutely nothing gets done between Thanksgiving and mid-January, and laying out our lives for the whole literate world to see. Creativity runs a bit low this time of year, so we all look for someone to tell us what to write about so we don’t have to come up with topics between breaks in the holiday madness.

One of my favorites out there right now is the list of things that readers most likely don’t know about the author of the blog. I’ve learned tons. Especially from people who I think are total Stepford moms and wives or are total loser trainwreck bloggers. Turns out that not everyone is as perfect or as horrible as I judge them to be. Hmm.

I put myself out there pretty well, so you already know that I’m a little obsessive but I’m too lazy to be compulsive. And you know I like to do things by the book but you may not know that it is because I don’t always trust my own intuition and innovation. That’s why I like math so much- there is always a right answer and I know how to get to it nine times out of ten. That’s ninety percent of the time. Or nine-tenths. Or 0.9 of each of my attempts.

I’m freaking adorable and wildly hilarious.

I’m a pretty good listener but I’d always rather talk. In fact, I’ll listen to you until you say something that reminds me of something that happened to me, and then I’ll totally monopolize the conversation.

Some of you will be pleased and some will be disappointed that I don’t drink as much booze as I purport to on this blog. But I think about it all the time because everyone knows that whiskey is the solution to all of life’s problems. As I get older my body doesn’t process the poison so well anymore and I end up with a real bad case of the pukes and the poops if I have one too many and that’s never fun when you have a one year old who likes to watch you in the bathroom. But don’t worry, I still drink more than my fair share.

I’ll break the news to you all here because the authorities have already been notified that my little brother is going to be a dad in June. And because I’m a really good sister, I like to tease him about his bastard love child. No, really. Look up bastard in the dictionary. It’s true, just like when I say that your dog is a bitch. I’m not being mean, I’m just telling it like it is.
I show love and support through insults and punches and by stealing milk money. It’s because I grew up in a terribly dysfunctional environment and I don’t know any better. I’m hoping it’s a boy so I can dump all of Jake’s old stuff on the new brat. But I guess a girl would be nice too. I have 1.5 nieces in laws, but it is a lot more exciting when it’s your own brother having a baby. Mostly because there is a chance that the kid will look like me.

I’m not a very healthy eater anymore. I used to be, but I just ate a sleeve of Chips Ahoy and a KFC bucket full of coffee and I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with that until I typed it out for the world to see. Now breakfast is coffee, lunch is either coffee or pizza, and dinner is either pizza or whatever Jake didn’t eat off of his plate. Jake eats a well balanced meal every night so I’m getting a little bit of nutrition every once in awhile. I’m going to try my best to change my eating habits. One of these days.

Before I had Jake I was a size 6. Now I’m a 2, sometimes a 4, or a 30×32 when I wear boy’s pants. My boobs used to be glorious DDs, now they are a pretty nice C but they are kinda lower than I’d like them to be so I have to buy bras that are more expensive than I’d like them to be. But a $40 bra makes a $10 shirt look like a million bucks.
The most I ever weighed was 145 pounds when I was a freshman in college. I got down to about 112 when I was nursing but now I’m a robust 123ish, ten pounds less than I weighed when I got pregnant. Don’t hate. I was actually concerned because of my wacky health problems this year but it turns out everything is fine.

Speaking of health, my cat is sick. She’s old and puking. It’s awful.

Speaking of sick cats, my lady cancer has been cut out and thrown to the hounds and I guess I’m all better. At least that’s what the pathology reports say. I go back for another screening in June. I’m pretty happy that’s all done with, even if I am missing a big chunk of my chassis. Word on the street is that you can’t really tell that anything is gone up there. If you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.

I dress like a 19 year old boy when I don’t have anywhere special to be. I’m kinda butchy sometimes, but I like it. And so does your mom.

I have all sorts of funny in my brain. Believe it or not, the dose you get here is mild and clean compared to what you’ll get in person. Think of this as Ivory Soap, all lily white and floaty and 99.9% pure. I’m practically a sailor in real life. A hilarious sailor. Insert seamen joke here.

I’m a little ADD. Okay, a lot. Writing helps keeps me focused. If I could only get a job writing I’d get a lot more work done in a day because I wouldn’t be here all the time.

I’d like to get a Doctorate in English Literature.

I’m an exhibitionist. I don’t even have proper curtains on my bedroom windows. The bottoms are covered with this faux-stained glass stuff (not as bad as it sounds. It’s actually quite lovely) but the tops are bare naked. To see in you would have to stand on my neighbor’s roof and if you are going to put that much effort into seeing what I do in there, you’ve deserved it.

I’m a chronic nose-picker. It almost doesn’t matter who the nose belongs to, I love it that much.

I’m smart enough to understand British humor.

I’m obsessed with the inner-workings of the US Mail System.

I’m deathly afraid of severed heads and those pointy things at the end of umbrellas. I’m certain that I will die in a firey autocrash as a result of losing my vision in a terrible eye-gouging incident involving a golf umbrella on that block of Sixteenth Street between Chestnut and Walnut where everyone has to walk on the West side of the street because of the construction on the other side and we are all jammed together because there are so many mailboxes and lunch trucks and that homeless guy who sometimes has public sex on his milk crate with that homeless lady who wears that long winter coat all year round to hide her sex-having. It doesn’t hide it well.

Don’t worry, I’ve enlisted some professional insight to my issues.

Anything else you need to know? Just ask. I’ll likely tell you.

as you like it

November 15, 2007

I just went shopping for a little girl’s birthday present. I’m guessing she is about five-ish, I have no idea but I got suckered into going to her babyparty because she is a friend of Jake’s and her mom is my cousin’s friend so I’m officially on the list. By default. Or courtesy. Or whatever. I’m totally a B-lister so that means that I can just sit back and watch the pink unfold before my eyes. Erase that. I didn’t mean to say that. It sounds really porny, but all I meant is that there is going to be a lot of frilly stuff there (little girls tend to surround themselves in it) and I’m not an official family friend so I can sit in the corner and not take part in the madness. You guys have dirty minds.

I always head to The Children’s Boutique for kidgifts because they have a lot of original stuff there and they aren’t corporate and you are almost guaranteed to not buy something the brat already has squirreled away somewhere and not a lot of people from my neighborhood brave downtown, especially if they are in the market for toys. I’m usually bowled over with choices but I had a hard time finding anything appropriate.

Appropriate girls’ toys to me are non-pink, non-princess, non-ballerina, non-popstar, non-slutty, non-dress-up, non-kitchen, non-dolly, non-Disney, non-Dora, non-non. After today I’m adding non-High School Musical, non-Hannah Montana, non-Madeline, non-Groovy Girls and non-Bratz. What did I end up with? A Barbie and her kitchen complete with 30 pieces of flair. Whatever. It’s not my kid.

JUNK! Girls toys are junk! Sexist, silly, syrupy, sparkley junk.

Don’t tell anyone I’m admitting this- Barbie I kind of like, but this progressive new Barbie is atrocious. Where are her boobs? What’s with the eye make-up? Why isn’t she tan? Why is she dressed in more than a bathing suit? How is America supposed to keep her daughters skinny, busty, blonde, and dippy with this new Barbie? I hate.

It’s so much easier with Jake, who is only really into cars and skeletons. And buses, trains, ambulances, helicopters, planes, trucks, and wagons. And tractors. And his Bear. And cookies.

I try really hard to never ever buy anything that has to do with any sort of popular character but stuff finds its way into our house despite my best effort. We have a Spiderman t-shirt upstairs from an aunt, a Bob the Builder (“Bobbabilda“) book from a judge, a few Winnie the Pooh books from a neighbor, and a Superman ball from my mom. Jake knows who Tigger and Piglet is even though I never talked about them until he did (disclaimer: I’m okay with the vintage Pooh stuff. It somehow seems okay to me). He knows Dora and Diego, every damned resident of Sesame Street is his best friend, and I almost threw up the other day when he pointed at a lady in a purple sweater and screamed “Bahhhneeee!!!!”. I’m okay that he loves Elmo and Ernie and Big Bird. I’m okay that he feens for Boohbahs and “‘Tubbies“. And I’m even okay that he likes Curious George, but I’m not okay with Bahnee.

And I’m completely at ease with the fact that whenever he sees a skeleton he wants to “kiss da bones”. It’s very normal, I’m sure.

off a duck’s back

November 12, 2007

Every once in awhile something happens that really really makes me feel like a great parent.

I was such a good mom yesterday and was so on top of things that I had the foresight to bundle Jake up in his big fat waterproof winter coat because it was kind of chilly outside. Good thing I did, because he didn’t even notice when I spilled half my piping hot coffee all over his sleeve, on his hood, and down his back while trying to maneuver his stroller away from a crackhead outside of E’s Passyunk.

I’m going to win Mother of the Year for 2007, I can feel it.