I think that it's reasonably safe to say that one cannot underestimate the profound importance of solidly constructed foundation garments.
That is to say, underwear is important. And if you're going to go commando (hey, whatever trips your trigger), it's then crucial that you not abuse the visual landscape with billowing, wide legged shorts, in which you proceed to sit well at or even slightly above my line of sight with your legs spread wide.
I wish I were just making this up to be funny, but recently I had just such an experience at someone's house during a playdate. Granted, she wasn't entirely commando, but we'll go ahead and leave it at two important facts:
1) Full vulvar coverage was not achieved--in fact, only partial coverage was assured, and what remained uncovered was left to flap in the breeze. Emphasis on the word "flap" and "labia". Oh, wait. I didn't use labia. Whoops. My bad. I'm guessing you've got the visual by this point, eh?
2) It was necessary to employ a safe word to flee the situation with the utmost haste.
(Tangential issue. I double dare you to put "vulva" into dictionary.com and NOT click on the link at the top for "Commandos" and launch your own bizarre research project into Vulvodynia that involves both Google AND Wikipedia. I just don't think it can happen. Note: Vulvodynia can be treated with physical therapy. Not to belittle the condition, but I'm just curious about how one would employ physical therapy to cure pain in their vulva.)
OK, so there was a lot wrong with that playdate that even prolific quantities of alcohol wouldn't have cured. The kids had a blast, so there's that, but the grownups left with varying levels of discomfort and unease. And mental scar tissue. However, one thing stands out very clearly for me.
How do you get your knickers THAT twisted up and not know...and how do you have that situation and not retreat to the bathroom to fix it posthaste?
This is what I'm saying people. I love my friends dearly. Male friends and female friends alike--I adore them all and am pleased to have them in my life. But I'm just going to say that there are parts of their bodies I have no desire to see. These include, but are not limited to: lady bits/flaps and gentleman bits.
Now, most of my lady friends are Mamas, and have at some point been required to nurse in front of me. That is not the issue at hand, 'cause hungry babies trump my need for never seeing someone's nipples every time. Similarly, I'm sure I've flashed boob at a friend for the same issue, but when you're a nursing Mom, you don't really give a rat's ass who sees nipple, as long as the baby STOPS SCREAMING RIGHT NOW.
And I really can't say this enough--if you've sucessfully hit puberty (congratulations, by the way) and you require anything over, say, a B cup (I'm being generous), you need to be wearing a bra. Seriously. It's not just a good idea, it ought to be the law. When you go out in public without a bra, people can't not look. You know that. Don't make me stare in horror at your chest and your visible THOs, because I'll admit this: I will look. The part of me that rubbernecks at car accidents and watches the news in horror to stare at crash footage will be looking at your chest.
Don't mistake me here. I won't WANT to look, but I won't be able to NOT look. Train wrecks are hard to ignore. So are nipples. And exposed crotch--whether it's from the top OR the bottom, so super low-rise jeans are a no-go.
Whoever came up with THAT fashion blunder ought to be shot. OH! And also, guys who belt their pants underneath their buttcheeks. What the hell? Just buy pants that fit, dumbass! I don't want to look at your manties as you walk by, and when my five year old yells "What the hell? I can see his underwear! Mama, why doesn't he pull his pants up?!" I am not going to feel in the least ashamed or embarassed.
She's right. Pull your frigging pants up. Leave us a little mystery, mmmkay? Cover that shit up. All of it.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
My Little Chuckleberry.
Chuck sits up by herself! She rolls, she scoots backwards, she pulls herself forward. She has two teeth. She eats table food and still thinks her ba-ba is her best friend.
Right now, she's sitting on the floor in the living room, talking to it. She's saying "babababanananamamamadadadada" and "adadada ananana abababa".
I seriously adore this little monkey with a ferocity that has shocked me. After all, I was the one who didn't want to have another kid because she was sure she couldn't possibly love another kid as much as she loved the first. Oh, how I was wrong. I was so wrong. It took a little longer for me to bond with Chuck, but once it happened, it was complete. I love her like she's part of my body.
Don't get me wrong, I adore Peyton too. Some days, though, it's hard to feel the adoration that's masked behind
But, she's challenging. She's five. Five year olds are challenging. Plus? I'm not too proud to admit that she's my mini-me in more than just looks. She's got my personality, too--which is great, because she's freaking hilarious and stubborn and feisty. Nobody is going to walk all over my Peyt. But it's also not great because she's sarcastic and...well, stubborn and feisty.
Sometimes when Mommy says to do something, she doesn't need the eye rolling and the gusty sigh.
So, don't get me wrong, Peyton is a beloved child in our home. But Chuck? Chuck is EASY. Feed Chuck and she's happy. Change her diaper and she's happy. Give her a paci and she's happy. Snuggle her and she's happy. It's really hard to find something that DOESN'T make Chuck happy--AND, she wakes up that way in the morning, just full of grins and joy. She's started reaching for people when she wants to be picked up--and she always reaches for me. Her face lights up with a thousand watt smile when she sees me--and that's ALL for me, not for anyone else.
Chuck is a baby, see. Babies are easy. They're little balls of chubby fluff and need. Fix what's wrong and they're content. Babies sleep, eat, poo and coo, and it's all adorable, all the time.
But, Chuck is nine months old now. In three months, she will be 1. One year olds are still babies. They still have major milestones to reach, they still have teeth to grow, they're still anticipating the first haircut. But it's a step in the sad direction of growing up. I know how things go from here, there's not much realm for surprise. She will talk and walk and for a while, I will still be the focus of her whole world.
And then she'll start being able to feed herself, and eventually dress herself. She'll take her first steps toward me, but the steps that follow will take her away. It won't be more than a few thousand heartbeats before Chuck's in school too. Before I know it, she'll be telling me that her name is NOT Chuck, it's CHARLOTTE.
Oh, I'm making myself weepy. It's intense stuff, this Mommyhood. I'm gonna go snuggle my babies while they'll still let me!
Right now, she's sitting on the floor in the living room, talking to it. She's saying "babababanananamamamadadadada" and "adadada ananana abababa".
I seriously adore this little monkey with a ferocity that has shocked me. After all, I was the one who didn't want to have another kid because she was sure she couldn't possibly love another kid as much as she loved the first. Oh, how I was wrong. I was so wrong. It took a little longer for me to bond with Chuck, but once it happened, it was complete. I love her like she's part of my body.
Don't get me wrong, I adore Peyton too. Some days, though, it's hard to feel the adoration that's masked behind
- annoyance because she repeates herself ad nauseum.
- irritation because she moves so slowly that snails pass her in their travels.
- exasperation because she is LIPPY AS HELL.
- occasional fury because she has thrown something at myself or the infant Chuck.
- snuggles her baby sister and coos "It's alright, little Chuckiebaby. I am here and I love you." and Chuck stops crying and grins at her.
- wakes up and comes to me and says "Goodmorning, Sunshine! I love you so much, I am going to be the best kid all day long!"
- is playing by herself with her dolls or other toys and I see her being gentle and adoring with them.
- is playing with other friends and she treats them like the gold that real friends are.
But, she's challenging. She's five. Five year olds are challenging. Plus? I'm not too proud to admit that she's my mini-me in more than just looks. She's got my personality, too--which is great, because she's freaking hilarious and stubborn and feisty. Nobody is going to walk all over my Peyt. But it's also not great because she's sarcastic and...well, stubborn and feisty.
Sometimes when Mommy says to do something, she doesn't need the eye rolling and the gusty sigh.
So, don't get me wrong, Peyton is a beloved child in our home. But Chuck? Chuck is EASY. Feed Chuck and she's happy. Change her diaper and she's happy. Give her a paci and she's happy. Snuggle her and she's happy. It's really hard to find something that DOESN'T make Chuck happy--AND, she wakes up that way in the morning, just full of grins and joy. She's started reaching for people when she wants to be picked up--and she always reaches for me. Her face lights up with a thousand watt smile when she sees me--and that's ALL for me, not for anyone else.
Chuck is a baby, see. Babies are easy. They're little balls of chubby fluff and need. Fix what's wrong and they're content. Babies sleep, eat, poo and coo, and it's all adorable, all the time.
But, Chuck is nine months old now. In three months, she will be 1. One year olds are still babies. They still have major milestones to reach, they still have teeth to grow, they're still anticipating the first haircut. But it's a step in the sad direction of growing up. I know how things go from here, there's not much realm for surprise. She will talk and walk and for a while, I will still be the focus of her whole world.
And then she'll start being able to feed herself, and eventually dress herself. She'll take her first steps toward me, but the steps that follow will take her away. It won't be more than a few thousand heartbeats before Chuck's in school too. Before I know it, she'll be telling me that her name is NOT Chuck, it's CHARLOTTE.
Oh, I'm making myself weepy. It's intense stuff, this Mommyhood. I'm gonna go snuggle my babies while they'll still let me!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
A Big Pile of Whatever.
Apparently a lot has happened since my last post.
Eric went from telling me that he's considering getting two jobs so that we can have separate apartments, to buying me a new dress and shoes to go out on a double date with Claudia and her husband Jason, to telling me that it's OK that I drank two $11 martinis because I'm worth it.
I have to admit, the lightning speed with which he lets go of an argument leaves me floundering. I hold grudges. Mean grudges. LONG grudges. And when he lets go of it so fast, I also kinda feel like I got robbed of some of my indignation.
I'm trying to move on and get over it. But I'm feeling a little doubtful--not just of Eric, but of both of us. Harsh, mean things were said, and I don't really believe that people say things that they don't mean. Which means on some level, he's considering/has considered divorce.
I'm making amends in my own way. I've deleted all my notes off of Facebook because even though I thought he understood that sometimes I simply need to vent (as I expect he would, too), I did not ever once intend to hurt his feelings. The fact that I did is my fault, and all I can do now is apologize and remove the content that offended him. I think that's reasonable.
But at some point, I guess we both have to stop making the other apologize and finish with all the harboring ill will. Either we need to sincerely forgive each other (which I'm working on, but I'm wounded. Really wounded. I hate being characterized as the bad guy when I haven't done anything that I feel MAKES me a bad guy)...or we need to make a very tough decision.
Thankfully, though, today is not the day for such deciding. Things are evening their keel, and I plan to force myself to take advantage of that instead of second guessing at every step.
Eric went from telling me that he's considering getting two jobs so that we can have separate apartments, to buying me a new dress and shoes to go out on a double date with Claudia and her husband Jason, to telling me that it's OK that I drank two $11 martinis because I'm worth it.
I have to admit, the lightning speed with which he lets go of an argument leaves me floundering. I hold grudges. Mean grudges. LONG grudges. And when he lets go of it so fast, I also kinda feel like I got robbed of some of my indignation.
I'm trying to move on and get over it. But I'm feeling a little doubtful--not just of Eric, but of both of us. Harsh, mean things were said, and I don't really believe that people say things that they don't mean. Which means on some level, he's considering/has considered divorce.
I'm making amends in my own way. I've deleted all my notes off of Facebook because even though I thought he understood that sometimes I simply need to vent (as I expect he would, too), I did not ever once intend to hurt his feelings. The fact that I did is my fault, and all I can do now is apologize and remove the content that offended him. I think that's reasonable.
But at some point, I guess we both have to stop making the other apologize and finish with all the harboring ill will. Either we need to sincerely forgive each other (which I'm working on, but I'm wounded. Really wounded. I hate being characterized as the bad guy when I haven't done anything that I feel MAKES me a bad guy)...or we need to make a very tough decision.
Thankfully, though, today is not the day for such deciding. Things are evening their keel, and I plan to force myself to take advantage of that instead of second guessing at every step.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
That's NOT FAIR!
I'm still in the doghouse. I still refuse to apologize. This has gotten entirely out of control, and I'm starting to resent that he chose this "unnamed source" over me.
Apparently, what I said now classifies me as an "active" liar. Which apparently means I get to see his mean side all the time and makes it OK for him to tell Peyton "Unless Mommy told me one thing and meant another..." repeatedly.
I have a headache, and I've had one since this shit all started.
What I want to know is this: if the person who told him to spy on me just wanted to clue him in, then why didn't they tell him the nice things I posted--or all of the status updates I post on Facebook saying that I love my husband? Why didn't they tell the good things?
Ah, it doesn't fucking matter. He chose to trust someone else before he even talked to me. This is what it's like to be the very bottom of his list of priorities. I'm done defending myself for something I didn't do. He looks for any excuse he can find to think the worst about me, and I'm tired of always defending myself.
I'm done.
Apparently, what I said now classifies me as an "active" liar. Which apparently means I get to see his mean side all the time and makes it OK for him to tell Peyton "Unless Mommy told me one thing and meant another..." repeatedly.
I have a headache, and I've had one since this shit all started.
What I want to know is this: if the person who told him to spy on me just wanted to clue him in, then why didn't they tell him the nice things I posted--or all of the status updates I post on Facebook saying that I love my husband? Why didn't they tell the good things?
Ah, it doesn't fucking matter. He chose to trust someone else before he even talked to me. This is what it's like to be the very bottom of his list of priorities. I'm done defending myself for something I didn't do. He looks for any excuse he can find to think the worst about me, and I'm tired of always defending myself.
I'm done.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Honesty in Lies
I find myself in the marital doghouse again--usually, though, I can tell you why. Tonight I'm more than a little confused.
A while back--specifically on January 16 of this year, I posted a note on my Facebook page. Here, I'll post it for you.
Eric received a phone call, or an e-mail, or SOMETHING from someone in his family that told him to check out this specific note. Most importantly, to look at number 21.
To be very, very clear, I have no idea who told him to do this. But I do know two things.
1) Eric doesn't have his own Facebook account.
2) Someone's trying to cause drama, 'cause I don't post closely guarded secrets on the internet.
So, I get up this morning and Eric has left my Facebook page open with that passage highlighted. Gee! I wonder, do you think I was intended to see that? Hmmm. I've had a lot of time to think this over today, because Eric has been studiously avoiding talking to me. Completely. Like, won't even answer my questions, completely. And here's what I think.
I'm not sorry I posted it. I meant it. I have no intention of ever living in Indiana. I have, in the past, told Eric I would, and there are several explanations for that.
Me: "Have you ever lied to me?"
Him: "Yes".
Me: "Then what's the problem?"
Him: "Well, I didn't post about it on the internet!"
And now he says that "a lot of things are going to change" based on me posting that I lie to my husband on the internet. The completely stupid thing about this is that he already knew I don't want to move to Indiana. I've told him that before. But he's hung up that I posted about it on Facebook. FOUR MONTHS AGO. Also...I posted it on Facebook! It wasn't a secret!
And if things had progressed naturally and we decided that it was in our best interest to move to Indiana, then yeah, I would have let him know how upset I am about the thought of it. I would move there if I had to (although now it's going to be a lot harder to get me to feel good about being there, since it's seeming clear that someone has deemed me the bad guy and I'm getting a feeling based on new friend requests from his family that the story is making the rounds of the whole family. Great. That's an awesome environment. I'm excited just thinking about it.), but I won't like it. I'm sorry, but I've been to Indiana. It's full of things I don't like: corn, humidity, large mosquitoes.
And although he's being very careful not to mention this at all, let's point this out: he logged onto MY Facebook page to read this. Isn't there an old adage about being careful how offended you get when you learn something about yourself by eavesdropping?
I guess I just don't think that I've done anything this drama-licious. I told him that I wanted to move to Indiana. And then I changed my mind. Maybe I didn't feel the need to burden him with the concept that moving away from Denver leaves me feeling breathlessly depressed. It makes me cry. It makes me miss my Mama. I've never lived that far away from my family and I don't want to.
There are things to look forward to in Indiana. My best friend lives there, and it would be so much fun to be able to raise our oldest daughters together.
OK, so one thing to look forward to. But Indiana doesn't have mountains. Indiana has snow that lasts and lasts and lasts. Indiana doesn't have Dana or Erin or Claudia. It doesn't have altitude or dry climate. There's no Santiago's in Indiana. No Bent Noodle, no 300 days of sunshine, no Elitch Gardens and no Broncos. No Dry Creek Elementary School.
It doesn't have Nate, Katie, Heather and Ethan. It doesn't have my Mama.
And no offense, Eric, but God willing, Indiana won't have me.
A while back--specifically on January 16 of this year, I posted a note on my Facebook page. Here, I'll post it for you.
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.At any rate, it's been up there since January.
(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)
1. My favorite piece of clothing is the long-sleeved t-shirt.
2) I have two wedding bands and one engagement ring. The ring goes with one band, the other band is stand-alone.
3) Out of any given ten days, you can count on me not having gotten more than three hours of sleep on nine days.
4) I have to eat things like pretzel sticks, chips, candy pieces (things that can be counted) in pairs. Matched by size. Short with short, long with long.
5) My favorite color is pink. I can't stand hot pink or dark pink, though, just baby pink.
6) Socks have to match. SERIOUSLY, Jillian.
7) I have an unnatural obsession with ridding my ears of wax. I invest heavily in Q-Tips. And they have to be ACTUAL Q-Tips, not the generic ones.
8) I have two tattoos. I want more. The one on my back hurt the most, but I'm sure the one I want on the top of my foot will hurt a lot.
9) I don't really like pizza as much as I think I'm supposed to.
10) I'm co-admin of a parenting message board and I like to abuse my powers to retroactively remove pictures of clowns that might appear in my journal.
11) Oh yeah. I hate clowns.
12) I also hate corn.
12a) It disturbs me that Jerod changes his profile picture to whatever terrifies me at the moment. Jerod, next up can be a Tini Puppini.
13) For the record, I'm not overly fond of carrots, either. I don't think they're evil. Just gross.
14) I've formula fed both of my daughters. I don't regret that decision. I laughingly ask Charlotte if she's hungry for her next dose of poison. I also think it would be an awesome idea for formula to be dispensed by prescription only, because then my insurance would pay for it.
15) I like to engage in arguments with people I consider to be idiots--especially when they have ridiculous and extreme viewpoints. I like to bait them until I get bored. Then I check out without any notice.
16) I love chocolate. But even more than chocolate, I love Swedish Fish. But only the red ones.
17) I really adore movies about football. I've never seen a football movie that I didn't like. The cheesier, the better.
18) I use cloth diapers on my kids. Not because I want to save the planet or be trendy or out of any sense of self-importance or to be better than anyone. I do it because I have the rashiest kids on Earth, and they both had bleeding diaper rashes in disposables. To tell the truth, if Charlotte didn't just get over a terrible rash, I'd go back to disposables--landfills be damned!
19) I really like minivans. A lot.
20) I used to have my nose pierced. I want to get it pierced again, but I think that's a slightly ridiculous thing to do at 31.
21) I told Eric that I would be OK with moving to Indiana, but only because I know that he's never going to have enough ambition/motivation to actually do it. If he ever really DOES try to move there in a real way, he's going to find out one very important thing about me: I have no real intention of ever moving away from Colorado. I was born here, I will die here.
22) If something in a restaurant comes with cheese, I always order it with extra cheese. And then I ask for more cheese when they bring my order to the table.
23) I don't believe in low-fat margarine. In the same way I don't believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I think it's a myth they tell to fat people to get them to buy margarine that just tastes like crap.
24) I can't stand fried chicken. Or chili (red chili with beans, I LOVE green chili). I'd rather eat my own dirty toenails.
25) I didn't go to my 10 year HS reunion and I kinda regret it a little. Especially now that practically my entire graduating class is on Facebook!
Eric received a phone call, or an e-mail, or SOMETHING from someone in his family that told him to check out this specific note. Most importantly, to look at number 21.
To be very, very clear, I have no idea who told him to do this. But I do know two things.
1) Eric doesn't have his own Facebook account.
2) Someone's trying to cause drama, 'cause I don't post closely guarded secrets on the internet.
So, I get up this morning and Eric has left my Facebook page open with that passage highlighted. Gee! I wonder, do you think I was intended to see that? Hmmm. I've had a lot of time to think this over today, because Eric has been studiously avoiding talking to me. Completely. Like, won't even answer my questions, completely. And here's what I think.
I'm not sorry I posted it. I meant it. I have no intention of ever living in Indiana. I have, in the past, told Eric I would, and there are several explanations for that.
- At one time I would have. That time was before we had children.
- He's been saying for years that we should move to Indiana for financial purposes. He's never once made a serious move on it. It seemed a little easier to just humor him.
- At some point it might become financially impossible for us to live in Colorado. While I have no intention of moving to Indiana, at some point I might not get much of a choice. It seems rather silly for me to have been telling him this whole time that moving to Indiana makes me break out in cold sweat. If the decision has to be made for financial gain and betterment, I can't let my emotions get in the way of doing what needs to be done. I thought it would be easier if he didn't know.
Me: "Have you ever lied to me?"
Him: "Yes".
Me: "Then what's the problem?"
Him: "Well, I didn't post about it on the internet!"
And now he says that "a lot of things are going to change" based on me posting that I lie to my husband on the internet. The completely stupid thing about this is that he already knew I don't want to move to Indiana. I've told him that before. But he's hung up that I posted about it on Facebook. FOUR MONTHS AGO. Also...I posted it on Facebook! It wasn't a secret!
And if things had progressed naturally and we decided that it was in our best interest to move to Indiana, then yeah, I would have let him know how upset I am about the thought of it. I would move there if I had to (although now it's going to be a lot harder to get me to feel good about being there, since it's seeming clear that someone has deemed me the bad guy and I'm getting a feeling based on new friend requests from his family that the story is making the rounds of the whole family. Great. That's an awesome environment. I'm excited just thinking about it.), but I won't like it. I'm sorry, but I've been to Indiana. It's full of things I don't like: corn, humidity, large mosquitoes.
And although he's being very careful not to mention this at all, let's point this out: he logged onto MY Facebook page to read this. Isn't there an old adage about being careful how offended you get when you learn something about yourself by eavesdropping?
I guess I just don't think that I've done anything this drama-licious. I told him that I wanted to move to Indiana. And then I changed my mind. Maybe I didn't feel the need to burden him with the concept that moving away from Denver leaves me feeling breathlessly depressed. It makes me cry. It makes me miss my Mama. I've never lived that far away from my family and I don't want to.
There are things to look forward to in Indiana. My best friend lives there, and it would be so much fun to be able to raise our oldest daughters together.
OK, so one thing to look forward to. But Indiana doesn't have mountains. Indiana has snow that lasts and lasts and lasts. Indiana doesn't have Dana or Erin or Claudia. It doesn't have altitude or dry climate. There's no Santiago's in Indiana. No Bent Noodle, no 300 days of sunshine, no Elitch Gardens and no Broncos. No Dry Creek Elementary School.
It doesn't have Nate, Katie, Heather and Ethan. It doesn't have my Mama.
And no offense, Eric, but God willing, Indiana won't have me.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
I Was Going to Blog Tonight, But Instead I'm Going to be in a Pissy-Ass Mood.
Bah.
I'm grumpy. (And no matter what the clock says, this is still Wednesday to me. The day isn't over until I go to bed. That's right, I'm just that important.) I've been grumpy all day. And a lot of it stems from this: do people not understand that sometimes it's not WHAT you say but how you say it?
Neither Eric nor Peyton have any idea that tone of voice means something. Or that specifically, SHITTY tone of voice means something.
See, this is why sarcasm does not float well across the internet. Because the internet is devoid of tone of voice. Tone is important. Tone is key. Tone is the difference between "interesting" as something that is genuinely interesting, and "eeeeeenteresting" as something that you need to scrape off your shoe, posthaste.
It's key, tone of voice. It matters. And it doesn't matter how beautiful your words are if you're saying them in a dickhead voice, Eric. There's a lesson here. Learn it!
ALSO. This is the second time tonight you've started a movie without waiting for me to be there, Eric. You'd better be skipping it back to the front right now or tomorrow you're going to have to explain how you got a footprint in the middle of your forehead. I'm serious! That's some fucked up shit, right there! First, there was NO TEA, and now this? For the love, man, I'm only human--I can only be expected to take so much!
I'm grumpy. (And no matter what the clock says, this is still Wednesday to me. The day isn't over until I go to bed. That's right, I'm just that important.) I've been grumpy all day. And a lot of it stems from this: do people not understand that sometimes it's not WHAT you say but how you say it?
Neither Eric nor Peyton have any idea that tone of voice means something. Or that specifically, SHITTY tone of voice means something.
See, this is why sarcasm does not float well across the internet. Because the internet is devoid of tone of voice. Tone is important. Tone is key. Tone is the difference between "interesting" as something that is genuinely interesting, and "eeeeeenteresting" as something that you need to scrape off your shoe, posthaste.
It's key, tone of voice. It matters. And it doesn't matter how beautiful your words are if you're saying them in a dickhead voice, Eric. There's a lesson here. Learn it!
ALSO. This is the second time tonight you've started a movie without waiting for me to be there, Eric. You'd better be skipping it back to the front right now or tomorrow you're going to have to explain how you got a footprint in the middle of your forehead. I'm serious! That's some fucked up shit, right there! First, there was NO TEA, and now this? For the love, man, I'm only human--I can only be expected to take so much!
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Blog of Lameass Douchebaginess.
Do any of you read Blog of Man?
Wait. Let me backpeddle. Don't start reading Blog of Man if you haven't already started. It's stupid. But I'll link you anyway because I get the whole concept of morbid curiosity. It's fine, go look. No judgment.
Anyway, it takes a lot to offend me. I thought that one of the gentlemen (and I'm using that in a very broad, very general sense that should imply nothing about these boys but that they've got penises) made a very good point about larger women wearing pants with words splashed across the butt. I mean, if you've got a large ass, you don't really need to draw attention to it by positioning it as a billboard.
Personally, I'm waiting for lucrative sponsorship dollars to come through before I sell my ass for ad space. And BOY, what a space it is!
I digress. The thing is, the reasoning they post for starting this blog is sound--people DO get fed a lot of crap through the media and through other people. And I do enjoy people who tell it like it is when things really need to be said.
But...I'm really tired of guys who act like assholes just because they think it makes them original.
Point 1) It doesn't.
Point 2) Nobody likes an ass. Girls pretend to like asshole guys because on some level we think that guys who can afford to be cocky can also afford to buy us flashy jewelry. Once it's discovered that it's just attitude with no payoff, most chicks will run in the dead of night and leave no forwarding address. Seriously--you don't think that Donald Trump gets the chicks because of his stunning good looks, hmmm?
Point 3) Don't you think that it's hard enough to be a white male anymore without these douches furthering the belief that white men suck? Or do guys really LIKE to be cast as the half of the species which doesn't give a crap and can't even be bothered to church it up for the ladies? Gee. How....attractive. I suppose it does serve one end, though....assholes who don't breed become extinct.
So, in general, I just read the blog when someone bothers to point it out to me and roll my eyes. These guys act like they're cumulatively God's Gift to Women (I sure hope one of y'all has the receipt)....but then they post their pictures on their about pages which ends up being kind of a bad move. If you don't have the goods, don't make the claims. I'm just saying. From Dan's blog postings, I expected some blonde Adonis of a guy and...well, not so much.
ANYWAY. The point here is this. A friend of mine has a husband who is friends with one of these clowns (And really, he's better than this. He's a great guy AND he clued me in on the plot synopsis of General Hospital, so he's eternally in my good graces. Plus he just got back from serving in Iraq and I have a soft spot for military personnel, God bless 'em all.) and posted a link to one of their posts on Facebook. Here's the post.
Ouch. All she said was that he had an eye-catching smile. And he kinda does, see?
Oh. Wait. That's Snowflake the Albino Gorilla. Sorry, Snowflake.
(I kinda wanted to put this in here in loving memory of the actual Snowflake the Albino Gorilla. May you rest in peace, gentle, pale giant. As Claudia once said via Pidgin chat, "Thank you for your awesome albino-ness.")
But you can see how I'd be confused, right? Because this Dan guy is pretty similar on the attractiveness scale.
I'm lying again. Snowflake is way out of Dan's league.
However, there is a similarity that bears pointing out. I mean, look!
The brooding expression, the low, furrowed eyebrow ridge, the general pastiness of complexion...I dunno, kids. We might have found the missing link.
(Except that Snowflake's got beautiful white fur, and Dan looks like he fell face-first into a pile of hair clippings while covered with random, patchy spots of super-glue. And I'm just guessing here, but it's possible that he did so while channeling Dawg the Bounty Hunter pre-flea dip. That's just theory, though. It could be very possible that he's only growing face pubes to make himself look more like a man and less like a preteen moron who gets his ass beat every day next to the flag pole after school.)
But when you get down to it, what this huge long letter to this poor girl who had the misfortune to try to put herself out there and be nice to some guy she saw on MySpace tells me is that someone is protesting too much.
That's right. I said that, too. These guys who seem to think that they're the global standard for attractiveness are all secretly hiding behind a practiced sneer and an insincere laugh at one of his buddy's fat jokes when what they really want to do is run up to that fat chick they've mocked in front of their friends and hand her their phone number--and BEG for her to call them.
Because once you go fat, you know where it's at.
It's kind of cute in a way, because if you play around with Photoshop while the kids are asleep and put their pictures side to side...
C'mon! That's a totally cute couple right there. Dreamy! I don't think Dan is giving this girl enough of a chance. Let's just examine what their children would look like.
Look at that cute little dorky ass kid. We can note several points where this would be an advantageous genetic match for Dan. First of all, way to go on picking a chick with some natural coloring! And if she thought your smile was adorable on MySpace, look how endearing your son's smile will be! Why, that adorable little face will only get beaten up once or twice a week!
And really, if we put much merit into Dan's assertion that the woman is ugly, then he should go after her in a fast hurry. She likely won't know any different when he tells her that his penis really IS six inches long, and that's not just average, it's HUGE!
I really wasn't prepared for this to come out on Morph Thing with anything resembling a human being. It kinda needs a shave and a haircut (or for someone to wash the dirt off its face), but otherwise it's not too hideous.
I think science is telling us something here, Dan. Your repressed attraction to those women who society would consider unattractive is really working to your detriment. Obey your biological imperative! Ask her out! You're not getting any younger, buddy--those good looks won't last forever!
(I kinda threw up in my mouth a little.)
**********
I feel like I should point a few things out here so that when retaliation comes, should it come, nobody will have to read my entire blog to find things to mock.
1) I'm fat. Not overweight, not with a few pounds of vanity weight. I'm fat.
2) I don't care what you think about me being fat.
3) I'm conservative.
4) I have two daughters.
5) I have a husband.
6) I'm 31.
7) I've never been divorced.
8) I have enough self respect to not wear pants with words on the ass. I reserve the right to retract this statement the minute the check clears the bank from someone who would like to see their ad plastered on my ass.
9) I can laugh at myself....but I'd rather laugh at someone else.
10) I'm a genuinely nice person. I like being nice. I'll be an ass if I need to, but I'd rather be friendly.
11) I guess I am more motivated by justice than I said on Monday night, Claudia. Kohlberg knew what he was talking about! ;)
12) And I am WAY funnier than either of these ass clowns ever thought to be.
Wait. Let me backpeddle. Don't start reading Blog of Man if you haven't already started. It's stupid. But I'll link you anyway because I get the whole concept of morbid curiosity. It's fine, go look. No judgment.
Anyway, it takes a lot to offend me. I thought that one of the gentlemen (and I'm using that in a very broad, very general sense that should imply nothing about these boys but that they've got penises) made a very good point about larger women wearing pants with words splashed across the butt. I mean, if you've got a large ass, you don't really need to draw attention to it by positioning it as a billboard.
Personally, I'm waiting for lucrative sponsorship dollars to come through before I sell my ass for ad space. And BOY, what a space it is!
I digress. The thing is, the reasoning they post for starting this blog is sound--people DO get fed a lot of crap through the media and through other people. And I do enjoy people who tell it like it is when things really need to be said.
But...I'm really tired of guys who act like assholes just because they think it makes them original.
Point 1) It doesn't.
Point 2) Nobody likes an ass. Girls pretend to like asshole guys because on some level we think that guys who can afford to be cocky can also afford to buy us flashy jewelry. Once it's discovered that it's just attitude with no payoff, most chicks will run in the dead of night and leave no forwarding address. Seriously--you don't think that Donald Trump gets the chicks because of his stunning good looks, hmmm?
Point 3) Don't you think that it's hard enough to be a white male anymore without these douches furthering the belief that white men suck? Or do guys really LIKE to be cast as the half of the species which doesn't give a crap and can't even be bothered to church it up for the ladies? Gee. How....attractive. I suppose it does serve one end, though....assholes who don't breed become extinct.
So, in general, I just read the blog when someone bothers to point it out to me and roll my eyes. These guys act like they're cumulatively God's Gift to Women (I sure hope one of y'all has the receipt)....but then they post their pictures on their about pages which ends up being kind of a bad move. If you don't have the goods, don't make the claims. I'm just saying. From Dan's blog postings, I expected some blonde Adonis of a guy and...well, not so much.
ANYWAY. The point here is this. A friend of mine has a husband who is friends with one of these clowns (And really, he's better than this. He's a great guy AND he clued me in on the plot synopsis of General Hospital, so he's eternally in my good graces. Plus he just got back from serving in Iraq and I have a soft spot for military personnel, God bless 'em all.) and posted a link to one of their posts on Facebook. Here's the post.
Ouch. All she said was that he had an eye-catching smile. And he kinda does, see?Oh. Wait. That's Snowflake the Albino Gorilla. Sorry, Snowflake.
(I kinda wanted to put this in here in loving memory of the actual Snowflake the Albino Gorilla. May you rest in peace, gentle, pale giant. As Claudia once said via Pidgin chat, "Thank you for your awesome albino-ness.")
But you can see how I'd be confused, right? Because this Dan guy is pretty similar on the attractiveness scale.
I'm lying again. Snowflake is way out of Dan's league.
However, there is a similarity that bears pointing out. I mean, look!
The brooding expression, the low, furrowed eyebrow ridge, the general pastiness of complexion...I dunno, kids. We might have found the missing link.
(Except that Snowflake's got beautiful white fur, and Dan looks like he fell face-first into a pile of hair clippings while covered with random, patchy spots of super-glue. And I'm just guessing here, but it's possible that he did so while channeling Dawg the Bounty Hunter pre-flea dip. That's just theory, though. It could be very possible that he's only growing face pubes to make himself look more like a man and less like a preteen moron who gets his ass beat every day next to the flag pole after school.)
But when you get down to it, what this huge long letter to this poor girl who had the misfortune to try to put herself out there and be nice to some guy she saw on MySpace tells me is that someone is protesting too much.
That's right. I said that, too. These guys who seem to think that they're the global standard for attractiveness are all secretly hiding behind a practiced sneer and an insincere laugh at one of his buddy's fat jokes when what they really want to do is run up to that fat chick they've mocked in front of their friends and hand her their phone number--and BEG for her to call them.
Because once you go fat, you know where it's at.
It's kind of cute in a way, because if you play around with Photoshop while the kids are asleep and put their pictures side to side...
C'mon! That's a totally cute couple right there. Dreamy! I don't think Dan is giving this girl enough of a chance. Let's just examine what their children would look like.
Look at that cute little dorky ass kid. We can note several points where this would be an advantageous genetic match for Dan. First of all, way to go on picking a chick with some natural coloring! And if she thought your smile was adorable on MySpace, look how endearing your son's smile will be! Why, that adorable little face will only get beaten up once or twice a week!
And really, if we put much merit into Dan's assertion that the woman is ugly, then he should go after her in a fast hurry. She likely won't know any different when he tells her that his penis really IS six inches long, and that's not just average, it's HUGE!
I really wasn't prepared for this to come out on Morph Thing with anything resembling a human being. It kinda needs a shave and a haircut (or for someone to wash the dirt off its face), but otherwise it's not too hideous.
I think science is telling us something here, Dan. Your repressed attraction to those women who society would consider unattractive is really working to your detriment. Obey your biological imperative! Ask her out! You're not getting any younger, buddy--those good looks won't last forever!
(I kinda threw up in my mouth a little.)
**********
I feel like I should point a few things out here so that when retaliation comes, should it come, nobody will have to read my entire blog to find things to mock.
1) I'm fat. Not overweight, not with a few pounds of vanity weight. I'm fat.
2) I don't care what you think about me being fat.
3) I'm conservative.
4) I have two daughters.
5) I have a husband.
6) I'm 31.
7) I've never been divorced.
8) I have enough self respect to not wear pants with words on the ass. I reserve the right to retract this statement the minute the check clears the bank from someone who would like to see their ad plastered on my ass.
9) I can laugh at myself....but I'd rather laugh at someone else.
10) I'm a genuinely nice person. I like being nice. I'll be an ass if I need to, but I'd rather be friendly.
11) I guess I am more motivated by justice than I said on Monday night, Claudia. Kohlberg knew what he was talking about! ;)
12) And I am WAY funnier than either of these ass clowns ever thought to be.
Monday, June 01, 2009
The Tooth of the Matter
Chuck has teef!
OK, not real, full on teeth yet. But you'd be confused by that if you put your finger in her mouth, 'cause she bites, HARD, and now there's something behind it besides gummy pressure pain. Now there's sharp! Sharp baby razor teeth!
Baby teeth emerge weirdly. Right now, she's just got the inside corners of the two middle ones on her bottom jaw. The corners. I always expected that teeth emerged somewhat like they were pushed up on hydraulics, straight up through the tissue. I was wrong--they sort of rock into place, from the corners on out to the other corners. And somehow they end up straight.
Biology ain't for sissies, people.
Anyway, that means we're in full-on teething hell. Unless someone's holding her and she's dosed up on Tylenol, she's one pissy little monster. Adorable, but pissy. Woe betide us if we should run out of frozen washcloths, 'cause teething rings do not work on tiny little Chuck mouth. Woe, indeed!
So anyway, now when she smiles, she sticks her tongue out so she can feel the little new baby biters with the bottom of her tongue. And then she smiles super big, 'cause she knows she's well on her way to becoming a big girl!
My baby is growing up! Did I mention that she's about a breath away from crawling? We have up on all fours, rocking back and forth, and scooching backwards.
Oy. I'm in deep water here, folks. Soon, I'll have two movers on my hands. And there's just the one very slow me. And once Eric goes back to work (everyone start praying that happens SOON), it'll be just me and the two Pink Menaces (Although I really, really want the plural of that word to be Menacai. I'm going to refer to them as that. The Pink Menacai.), and I'll have to revert from man-to-man coverage to zone defense.
That's called Trouble. With a capital T--that rhymes with P and C and those stand for Peyton and Charlotte!
OK, not real, full on teeth yet. But you'd be confused by that if you put your finger in her mouth, 'cause she bites, HARD, and now there's something behind it besides gummy pressure pain. Now there's sharp! Sharp baby razor teeth!
Baby teeth emerge weirdly. Right now, she's just got the inside corners of the two middle ones on her bottom jaw. The corners. I always expected that teeth emerged somewhat like they were pushed up on hydraulics, straight up through the tissue. I was wrong--they sort of rock into place, from the corners on out to the other corners. And somehow they end up straight.
Biology ain't for sissies, people.
Anyway, that means we're in full-on teething hell. Unless someone's holding her and she's dosed up on Tylenol, she's one pissy little monster. Adorable, but pissy. Woe betide us if we should run out of frozen washcloths, 'cause teething rings do not work on tiny little Chuck mouth. Woe, indeed!
So anyway, now when she smiles, she sticks her tongue out so she can feel the little new baby biters with the bottom of her tongue. And then she smiles super big, 'cause she knows she's well on her way to becoming a big girl!
My baby is growing up! Did I mention that she's about a breath away from crawling? We have up on all fours, rocking back and forth, and scooching backwards.
Oy. I'm in deep water here, folks. Soon, I'll have two movers on my hands. And there's just the one very slow me. And once Eric goes back to work (everyone start praying that happens SOON), it'll be just me and the two Pink Menaces (Although I really, really want the plural of that word to be Menacai. I'm going to refer to them as that. The Pink Menacai.), and I'll have to revert from man-to-man coverage to zone defense.
That's called Trouble. With a capital T--that rhymes with P and C and those stand for Peyton and Charlotte!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
