Why I'm NOT reading 50 Shades of Anything

My mother-in-law recently asked me if I read 50 Shades of Grey (nope, I sure didn't add a link to the book there and yup, it was on purpose). I could probably do a whole post jsust on inappropriate things my MIL has asked me over the years.

Instead, let me explain why I refuse to read them.

First: 50 Shades is fan fiction based on Twilight. I did read all four Twilight novels after much urging by certain friends (whom I've since forgiven but will never ever trust to recommend books again), and I'll NEVER GET THAT WEEK BACK. Nor have I been able to scrub them from my brain. I don't need that again.

Second: I like good writing. I tried to read the first few pages while idling at Barnes & Noble one day and was immediately turned off by bad sentence structure, word choices, and imagery. As a reader, I count on being completely immersed in that story's world. If I'm thrown out of the story by crappy writing there's no point in trying to finish.

Third: If you're going to write something that's marketed as "erotica" it goddamn well better be hot. EVERYONE I've asked said they'd read hotter sex scenes in standard romance novels. That means the majority of readers are just titilated by the idea of the domination/submission aspect, and that bores the hell out of me.

I'm not offended by the fetish or up in arms in a feminist stance against the idea: in fact I'm a pretty firm believer that whatever two consenting adults want to experiment in is cool. But the older man/young innocent (ugh) woman domination thing is SO UTTERLY CLICHE it's just downright boring. It's as tired as the old bodice ripper versions of romance novels: it's been done...adding a ball gag doesn't make it new.

I unapolegetically adore romance novels. A group of friends has had a Dirty Book Club going on for quite a few years, which is where I discovered fabulous authors like Gena Showalter, P.C. Cast, and Kresley Cole. I HIGHLY recommend any of their novels for fantastic storylines, excellent worlds and hot hot hot sex scenes.

I'd buy any of their works, anytime...because when there's a long list of books to be read out there and a short amount of time it's worth reading the good stuff.

UPDATE: Yes, I'm aware the actual title is Fifty Shades of Grey. I'm lazy. Deal.

Hot Pink "Toys" are like Toyota Camrys: Yay Rainbows!

A sample of what I consider the "best of" from my inbox in the past two weeks, all from the same group of troublemakers *ahem* fabulously inappropriate friends. These three people are the best possible present I got as a karmic reward for not losing my shit while we all worked in the same company, and luckily they kept talking to me even after I escaped.  
Part of me thinks I should give background for this string of converesations, but really it's much funnier without. No topic is off limits in this group, and that's why they're so damn fabulous. These snippets are mostly from one particularly inappropriate conversation which just descended further and further into weird. Yay rainbows, indeed.

• "oh sure, sperm sack tongue lady makes you giggle. I've been sending you etsy GOLD all day long.I see how it is."
• "Okay guys... I know it's just HOURS until 3 o'clock and all but I had to tell you guys: This morning I drove past what appeared to be a hot pink dildo laying in the street by the stop sign by my house.I'm not sure if this is a good omen or a bad omen or what, but I think it means today's going to be weird."
• "I'd advise taking it door to door and see who is missing one.  Then tell them that everyone knows purple is the best sex toy color."
• "So yeah it would be funny to have a jesus butt plug but at the same time is that really what you want in the bedroom?  Or is it just really damn funny.  That being said, hot pink dildo to me is like a grey toyota camary, it's very vanilla really.  When someone say's dildo, a pink one is what comes to mind.  Rhinestones seem like they would hurt though."
• "I've got a serious problem guys...Now every time I drive to work and there ISN'T a pink dildo in my road I feel like my day starts out a disappointment. I'm pretty sure that means there's something wrong with me. Like... really, really wrong with me."
• "Mayhapse the dolphin one was designed by a disgruntled tattoo artist who got sick of putting dolphins on peoples ankles. So you think it's the trapper keeper design methodology applied to dildos? There are presumably unicorn dildos and such?"
• "And you know... Saw a freaking hot pink dildo in the middle of the road at 7:30 in the morning today. I sort of started out with ”well today's going to be outrageous, I may as well roll with it.” You know in an Elton John glitter suit outrageous sort of way... So I just sort of did. I thought to myself ”you know, fuck it, these people know I'm warped. They won't mind. Well Pat might. But that's okay.” Incidentally now that I think about it - thats another way pink dildos bug me - my brain goes to 'over the top like Elton John in concert.' I loves me some tiny dancer but that man is not sexy."
• "Having throughly researched all kinds of dildo's and strapons in the last few days, I can tell you that you can sign up and have amazon ship you a different one every month or week that can then be left in the street for you to see. This means you'd get a different one all the time, sort of a dildo of the week club(potential blog/podcast?). Get them sent to the office and then just throw it out the window on the way home so it is there the next day. This plan has zero flaws."
• "And I should get my Unicorn Farts lip balm in the mail today. So that kicks ass."

UPDATE: I saw two of these peeps at lunch today, and I have to say: Unicorn Farts lip balm smells JUST LIKE THIN MINTS. I'm so getting some of that! I tried to steal it, but I wasn't stealthy enough and got caught. Damn.

Encounters of the Weird Kind...

Random weird shit from Girls' Weekend 2012:

 

•  I may have been mistaken for a prostitute, but I'm not sure.
• Dinner at Dick's Last Resort in the Mall of America, where the servers are snarky and rude...and yet pretty damn hilarious.
• "I ate soup" was sent by one of the men in response to a "you should sext me" prompt.
• Filthy sexts received during dinner by one of the girls were shared with the group. Envy and giggles commenced.
• A possible zombie followed the group out of Starbucks on Nicollet Mall.* 
• Discovered a neat store on 9th and Nicollet, with random curiosities and a sleepy dog.
• Unfortunately, outside said neat store was a HORRIBLE trumpet player who repeated the same four or five notes with no semblance of melody. Even the kids walking by plugged their ears. I suspect this is what caused the dog's obvious depression.
• GODIVA HAS REWARDS and we all signed up. Now I get a free truffle once a month and some sort of incentive to buy more chocolate...as though any incentive is needed. Ha.
• The importance of having a clean hole was a theme. Said in reference to someone's teeth, which really only makes this statement sillier.
• "I have a boat but it has flat tires." Yeah, it was said in conversation, but I'm still baffled.
• "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to molest you now." Said to the pregnant girl as her belly is felt up AGAIN.
• A pushing match ensues between the two molesters attempting to feel the baby kick. The baby was apparently sleeping or terrified, because he didn't even wiggle, much less show alien-hand-movement in her belly.
• We as a group are no fun, according to the smarmy man in the Homewood Suites lobby who tried to charm us into either taking him with us to a bar somewhere or, possibly, some other sort of party. His British accent was fake and he carried four bottles of water for his group, so I'm not really sure what the hell he thought he'd get out of the five of us.
• Spent too much at Baby Gap for my impending nephew. The sales girl tried to get me to get a credit card...even though I have no spawn and told her so. Snort.

There was much laughter and wine for all (except the pregnant one, who was allowed laughing but not wine). GW was a success yet again, and the people who couldn't make it this year were missed.

*"Zombie" was actually a man who appeared to be carrying something in his shirt and was rather confused and wandering...unsteadily. He looked like he'd been in a fight: he followed us out to the street where there are many cops and Mpls community outreach people, so even though I felt guilty for not helping, I know he was picked up and helped by professionals. He was altered, and I'm not sure what he was carrying around under his shirt so was uncomfortable stopping. I must still feel guilty if I need to justify my non-action. Sigh.

Apple loves me. And so do random old men at the mall.

I often have odd encounters with random strangers: they like to tell me everything about their lives. I've counseled cabbies in Denver through their breakups and given sex advice to people on planes. I don't know why they tell me all their secrets, but it happens. A lot. I've never gotten a letter of devotion from a corporation OR been solicited by someone at the Mall of America though. I guess I can cross those off my "more weird shit I encounter" list.

AppleCare (Apple's customer service department, in case you're not part of the most fabulous cult on earth and I LOVE YOU APPLE...please don't kill my iphone because of this post) sent me a love letter. Ok, to be fair a charming person working on behalf of Apple sent me a love letter...anyway. I downloaded a fabulous Scottish CD The Speyside Sessions last Sunday and had some glitches with the download. So I sent a note to customer service letting them know what happened in case it was an issue, promptly downloaded the missing songs again, and forgot all about it.

Monday I had a form-letter-ish note from a man at AppleCare giving me all my options to delete and re-download the album. Honestly, since I'm inherently lazy and already had it working I didn't read the note closely. Tuesday I received this:
Hello again,

I wanted to send a quick note to see if you are still experiencing any difficulties with the iTunes Store. Resolving your issue is important to me, so please don't hesitate to reply if you need any further assistance.

Sincerely,

REDACTED to save Apple Guy's job in case Apple finds this post
iTunes Store Customer Support
Sure: still form-letter-ish but I figured the dude couldn't close out his support ticket until I responded. So I did, with a little form-letter "thanks for all your help man, it's all fixed, yay Apple!" email. What happened next was...odd.  Pleasant, but odd nonetheless.

Hi Jess,

REDACTED here again from iTunes Store Support.

I wrote again to say that you're very welcome. It has been my pleasure assisting you, and I always will.

I am very glad to hear that I was able to help you. Your dedication to the iTunes Store reflects my dedication to providing you with not only the service and support that you deserve, but that you have come to expect from Apple and the iTunes Store.

Nothing makes Apple happier than to hear that we have pleased our customers. I hope that you continue to enjoy the iTunes Store as well as the Apple Products.

I will now close this request, but do not worry, we are just an email away if you need any assistance in the future, Jess.

Have a nice day! Keep smiling and take care!

Sincerely,
REDACTED

He will always help me. Always.

In other news, last night at the Mall of America I think I was casually propositioned by an older man who repeatedly said he had money in his pockets. Sigh. I only think so because there's a slight possibility he was just bored and lonely and...sigh. That only supports the hooker case. I didn't really think of it until later: I originally thought maybe he was yet another person who figures I'll listen to anything they want to tell me.
I'm 99% sure I didn't look like a prostitute standing outside the Mall of America Barnes and Noble, but I could be wrong.  In any case, after casual chatting about what we do for work, living in MN vs California, and the amount of money in his pocket he eventually saw my wedding ring, Then he made a strange "I have a food baby" reference to his belly and walked away. I'm rolling my eyes as I write this post, FYI.

Just a little NICE to pass around. Go ahead and call me Pollyanna. Unless you're not old enough to know who I'm talking about...Sigh.

While not-working this afternoon (it's slow here this week) I found THIS act of sneaky goodness via the Huffington Post. Never let it be said, I guess, that the HuffPo only reports crap news.

I adore random acts of generosity. Both my husband and I enjoy the anonymity of giving that way: it's not about getting thanks or about having a certain reputation or about making ourselves feel better: it's about giving something back and, corny as it sounds, putting a little positivity out there. We've been what I consider broke (not enough money for the gas to get to work, paycheck still two weeks away, and nothing left on the credit cards) more than once in our decade together. My husband lived in his car at one time in his life (therefore his definition of broke is different than mine, and as such he's often able to give me valuable perspective on the relativity of wealth). We were unbelievably lucky: through friends or family we had enough of a safety net to get through everything and come out on the other side mostly unscathed, still in possession of our home and things, and perhaps a bit in debt.

Not everyone is so lucky. Not everyone has a network of help. Not everyone gets second chances when they make mistakes that fuck up their lives.

I figure if we pick up another person's tab at Perkins without them knowing we did it, maybe that made their day. Maybe it pissed them off (although I'll tell you, someone picked up OUR check at a restaurant once out of random kindness, and it didn't occur to me to think we looked like we couldn't afford dinner: I just thought what a nice thing to do, that totally made my day!). Maybe they'll pass on the little bit of nice to the next person THEY see.

I love that these 9Nanas were able to keep such a major secret for so long: what a fun and rewarding way to spend their time. What's better than giving someone else a little bit of happiness in this life, especially when they're down?

Filing this under "what the hell??"

Yesterday I saw this about the Norway Mass Killer trial, and all I can say is what the hell?

I don't understand the pervasive idea that someone who commits a truly disgusting, horrific, and awful crime is mentally ill. I think that is a disservice to the mentally ill and a dangerous underestimation of the criminal in question. This man made a conscious decision to intentionally kill every person he saw as a cold blooded example to his government/society. His reasoning? He disagrees with what he thinks is Norway's political direction. So far his lawyers have tried to blame video games (um, dude, I play World of Warcraft and I can honestly say I've never planned mass murder...sorry, but your correlation fails) and various psychoses. I'm no psychiatrist: maybe the dude does have something they can classify. Does that mean he's not capable of understanding that killing teenagers was wrong, and didn't realize that at the time? I don't think so. And to me, that's the definition of evil.

It's fascinating that paranormal horror and serial killer tv/movies/books are so popular when in reality we're determined to ignore that some people just DO BAD THINGS for no reason: we have to assign logic to an illogical act. Because they're lazy. Because they're overachievers. Because they were abused. Because they didn't get enough (or got too much) attention. Because manipulating others unnaturally excites them. Because they get off on pain and death.

Because their pants are too tight. Because today is Friday. How about because they CAN? Because for whatever reason they're missing the basic empathetic capability that allows one person to feel anything for another?

I'm not a religious person. At ALL. I was raised casually as a Lutheran and I'm well read on multiple world religions (I include mythologies in this category, FYI). I'm also not a psychiatrist/psychologist: I've read the basics for research but I'm 100% amateur and hey, I could be 100% wrong on all of this.

All I am is a person who is more shocked by society's willingness to excuse evil than being shocked that a human is capable of doing said evil. I suppose I should feel gratified that this dude in particular considers being locked away and studied in an institution for the rest of his life is worse than prison, but I don't. It feels like an insanity ruling is a cop out: recognize this guy for what he is and have the balls to say it. Evil is evil, whether it's child molesters, serial killers, sexual sadists, etc. There's no excuse for cold, calculating acts causing pain and suffering that can be dismissed as mental illness.
Nature is full of nurturing AND destructive forces. Humans are still a part of nature, even though we try desperately to convince ourselves we're superior, and therefore outside, the natural cycle. There will always be predators among us: grouping predators in with the mentally ill seems wholly unfair to the mentally ill.

UPDATE: As of today the defense argued he's sane and SHOULD BE ACQUITTED. Now, THAT may be some insanity happening right there. Unless Norway's laws are radically different from the US, I'm pretty sure you don't get to shoot an island full of teenagers because you disagree with the country's politics. What the fuck dude...are both sides of this trial on some fancy drugs? I'm moving on to less-depressing things today, since common sense seems to have left that courthouse.

Turns out I AM a slacker

Yesterday, the worst flash flooding in 40 years hit my hometown, causing likely tens of millions of dollars in damage to commercial buildings, roads, and homes in the area. See pics here. It's strange and awesomely horrifying all at once, and apparently my brain is avoiding worrying about my relatives up there (a few are trapped in their farmhouse right now because the water washed out the road on each side and the river rose to within 40 feet of the house) by focusing on stupid shit. It's selfish and dumb and there you go: if I think about the pics of my hometown too long I get teary eyed, so I do this instead.

For example: the current Mayor is only a couple years older than me...in fact, I went to high school with him. Now I was utterly unsurprised when he ran for Mayor, and even less surprised when he won. The man was class president and the poster child for a future in politics: he gave a shit about stuff going on in the community. I applaud him for that, because while I like to think I wouldn't panic in a disaster situation (I don't really know, to be fair), I'm pretty sure I'm not a good choice to lead a city through a disaster. Mayor Ness, however, seems to be doing a fine job so far: kudos to you dude!

That was the second reminder of my slacker-ness today. First was digging out my college transcripts for my current job, because apparently the background check doesn't actually go into the school records like everyone else does, so I need to prove I went to college. Sigh. It took me six hours of digging through papers to find the damn things.

And when I finally found them, I was slightly ashamed. I was a solid B student in college: not because I couldn't get A's...because I was lazy. Seriously, there's NO reason I should've gotten a C- in an English Literature class, or a C in Cultural Anthropology. Those were part of my majors, for Gods' sake...meaning I was relatively INTERESTED in them. Sigh. I never thought of myself as a slacking gen-x-er, but the proof is in the transcripts after all. If I could go back, I'd apply myself.

The way I'm applying myself now, to my current job, by writing this blog post. And pointing out that the Red Cross of MN always accepts disaster relief donations and I'll be watching for the offical call for volunteers when cleanup efforts begin.

Thank goodness the seals and polar bear survived. I wonder if they have counseling at the Como Zoo for them?

Flash Fiction: The Seven Deadlies - Envy

I debated for quite a while whether I should give some sort of background of each story as I post it, but that feels like I'm apologizing for posting my exploration of dark emotions AND it's not giving the reader any credit. So, here's the first in my series. Feedback welcome: the point of practicing is to improve, after all.

Succubus, Unbound

That face isn’t mine anymore. I didn’t mean to call her here; I tried to send her back. But it’s too late. Her grip is so tight, and I'm tired.

I shattered it today. The bathroom scale dented the wall and the mirror exploded. He didn’t notice.

She stared back at me from every damned fragment down to the smallest sliver… thousands of hateful green eyes gaping at me from the floor, blinking in silent malice. They started dripping and I crumpled, trapped in a sea of bleeding eyes on the bathroom tile, and cried.

She’s taking over now, inexorable. She’s in every shiny surface, every piece of glass. He’s been texting more, disappearing into his office for hours every day. I know what he’s really doing: escaping his crazy wife and talking to his girlfriend. I’m not stupid dammit! She came when I asked for help, promising he’d never hurt me again, he’d have eyes for me and I wouldn’t need to worry. I was low and petty. I believed.

The bitch is laughing at me, unblemished behind the glass. My hair is too far gone to comb, my body reeks, and my face is a greasy, gaunt mess. Worry knocked off the weight I’d gained since we were together, but he wouldn’t want me now even if I could be as perfect as her. I am, apparently, quite easy to set aside.

I sneer at her reflection: the marble and silk façade won’t catch his attention any longer. Even she’s lost to him now, trash on the roadside as he moves on to another stop. He hasn’t spoken to me in days. I wonder when the divorce papers will show up.

I’m so sick of it all, exhausted, done. I strip my filthy clothes and throw them in the garbage can: I refuse to go out like this. Standing under the hot shower, I can finally ignore her taunts and wash the scum from my body, the clotted grunge from my hair and face. The water runs red and swirls down the drain.

She’s laughing again. I tell her to fuck off and go away. I don’t need her anymore. I don’t need him anymore. I’m finished. The cold water is a good, firm slap.

For the first time in years I feel better. It’s time to move on, to be alone. I’m ready to tell him. I put on the robe he bought for our fourth anniversary and unlock the bathroom door, but she has a sly look about her. And her teeth are red.

Why are her teeth red?

I stare at a pink smudge on the tip of my finger. Her leprous eye blinks at me from the corner on the floor, winking in a shard, jagged and smeared. Outside his office on the floor, a trail of footprints stains the carpet.

He’s in his chair. I think he’s been there for a while now. I can’t stop screaming, and she rises from the bathroom glass to calm me. She takes my hand in one of hers and strokes my face gently with the other. Then she puts the silver splinter in my hand and smiles, beautiful and wicked, pink tongue peeking between her fangs.

I don’t feel the blade go in, but I know she’s won. She’s home, inside me, and we lie there. Together.

SMOTE by my own ill-timing!

Dammit!! Unicorn Fart Lip Balm is sold out, and I'd been waiting until my first payday at the new job to buy mine!!

I've already asked the shop owner if I can pre-order a whole batch (since they're so ridiculously popular she sells out as soon as they get posted), because seriously...everyone should have a tube of unicorn farts in their pocket.

Perfect for emergencies!

Flash Fiction Project (No, it's not porn)

I had this idea the other day to combine writing exercises with blog posts, but only one series (to keep from boring the crap out of anyone). I have this flash fiction* piece that was a finalist in a Women On Writing  contest a couple of years ago. I found it the other day and thought it'd be a neat beginning to a "seven deadlies" short story series. I'm doing a bit of light editing before posting it (likely tonight), and will follow up with the other six as they're finished.

Feel free to read and comment or, if short dark fiction doesn't tickle your bones, ignore. Feedback on a piece is always cool though: sometimes what makes total sense in my brainpan doesn't fit in everyone else's.

Ok...let's be honest here...USUALLY what makes sense to me confuses the shit out of everyone else. I'm ok with that, but I'd like my fiction to be mildly better than my mental state.

*Flash Fiction does not equal x-rated (flash-your-boobies-for-beads!), in case you're wondering. It's generally defined as a short-short story: usually 500 words or less (sometimes 750). I highly encourage any writers out there to give it a shot: it's a great writing exercise: the goal is to remove all unnecessary words (if the word isn't moving the story along, cut it), and being Chatty McChattypants I have a hard time with it.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say Out Loud...

...until I had dogs.

• THOR! STOP humping your brother!
• Who peed on the bathroom floor?
• Dude...it's a buttless, headless monkey (much beloved/abused stuffed animal)...gross.
• Chewy, I know you have to eviscerate stuffed animals, but do you HAVE to get the guts all over the floor?
• Chewy, seriously, poop THEN wander around. You look retarded.
• DON'T STEP IN IT!! GODDAMMIT!!!
• NO HUMPING!
• Thunder is not the sky barking at you. Shut up.
• That leaf is not out to get you. Shut up.
• No, you can't rip that squirrel apart. Stay in the house.
• Oh my god, stop bitching. Your bath isn't that bad.
• Don't sniff (insert any guest's name here)'s crotch!
• Seriously, go wipe your mouth, you ishy drool machine.
• NOT ON MY LEG!!
• What the hell?? Who peed on the kitchen floor?? What's WRONG with you?
• Dude...I wouldn't do that. He's gonna bite your face off. (To Chewy while he's tormenting Thor).
• Sigh. Told you so. Come here, let's see if you still have both eyes. (To Chewy, after Thor lost his temper).
• Belly rubs!
• Don't swallow that plastic/fuzz/paper/shoe!
• Stop licking your feet!
• Put your head out the window and shush (to Thor, in the car)
• Thor, why do you rip the ears off of every chew toy?
• Get off my foot, you fat cow.
• Oh dear, what have you done? (This is anytime I come home to two cowering, remorseful, hiding dogs instead of wagging-happy dogs).
• Don't eat barf!
• Did you DROOL in my shoe? You bastard!
• DROP THAT SOCK!
• Aww, snuggle-puppy

UPDATED: My husband commented on Facebook (NOT my blog: bad form dude, bad form) with the following:

You forgot "stop licking your brothers junk" and "no you can't have the bottle yet, it's not empty".

Touche Sir, I indeed forgot those two. Along the same lines: "put that away, nobody wants to see your junk."

They're Watching You...

So I currently have outlines/research going for 4 different books (of the "yes I'm writing a book" variety, not the "this is what I'm reading" variety). Sigh. The trouble with creativity AND a fascination with certain myths/cultures/religions is that crows are not to be fucked with...did I mention a touch of ADD?

For one of the works in progress I've done quite a bit of research on Morrigan (Morrigu, The Morrigan, etc), the Celtic goddess of war and death. I love her, since I'm tad bloodthirsty myself...ok, let's be honest here: I'm quite more than a tad bloodthirsty. When I was six I had a very (by 'very' I mean excruciatingly-long-and-painful-for-a-six-year-old-bladder) long bus ride to and from school...friends and I passed the time coming up with elaborate horror stories. One such story, still in the baby-box of random stuff kept by my parents for nostalgic embarrassment, featured a grizzly bear chasing us and ripping off arms in bloody splendor. Pretty sure that one had me on the teetering edge of seeing a child psychologist, but at the time I was blissfully unaware of any concern and continued with haunted houses and creature features as though they were totally normal.

What the hell does that have to do with crows, novels OR mythology and relatively obscure Irish goddesses? Nothing really, except that since I'm often fairly dark-minded and researching for a novel, I ran into quite a few myths/legends regarding crows, ravens and rooks. They're smart, busy, vocal, social, and usually associated with war and death in Irish legends. I suppose this is likely due to willingness to peck out eyeballs and innards whenever necessary...or available.

Therefore, I'm amused at crow vengeance-plots making the local news. And I say to you, sir: watch out for your eyeballs and don't piss them off. Seriously.

What the hell, Wednesday?

Random shit I've encountered this week:

• Started a mild flame war with an idiot on the Huffington Post who thinks women should stay home and have babies "because they have breasts." No, I'm not kidding. Jack. Ass.
• Taught bellydance with a possibly broken toe. As it turns out  my toe must not be broken, even though it's still mildly sausage-like and purple. I'm making this assumption because I made it through an hour and a half or so and can still walk today. Now...have to change my nail polish from blue to something less "dead toe"-ish.
• Random conversation with two of my friends/students about the hotness of some Wild players (that's MN Wild, for you fools non-hockey-fans out there). Somehow that devolved into a discussion of appropriate stalking maneuvers, which further descended the "this is NOT OK" scale into potential B&E and molestation of certain players.*
• Resigned my position on my townhome association's board after discovering a MAJOR financial decision was made without my input or vote. Said board is trying to convince me to stay, but I have no interest in being on the receiving end of a lawsuit, and while not everyone who knows me will agree, I DO have a few ethics.
• Received a fantastic picture of a nekkid butt. I responded that I feel inadequate just thinking about sending a pic of my own in return, and could I substitute and IOU until I've lost some weight and toned up?
• Started looking for a new place to live, because this week I've had strange people walking through the complex, neighbors accusing other neighbors of running a whorehouse in their townhome, and lost faith in the board.
• Dammit. Rent is high and our complex was hit bad by idiots (the old woman who sold her unit for $30k when it was worth $100k) AND foreclosures...yeah. No way we're getting out of there anytime soon...Sigh.
• Discovered that Holiday gas stations totally hose you on a regular sized package of M&Ms. I must be old...I had a dollar, thinking "ooh...chocolate for the afternoon." A non-king-sized (ie the smaller size) package is $1.19. SERIOUSLY? I suppose my cheap nature can now be commended for not adding another pound on my ass, but still...
• Had a long discussion with former co-workers about the pink dildo one saw on her street when she left for work this morning.
• No, it wasn't her dildo.
• Another friend had to stop on his way past her house to confirm said dildo was just lying there in the middle of the street.
• Speculation on whether the owner threw it out because it was pink, because it was terrible, or possibly because the dog thought it'd be a GREAT chew toy.
• Yes, it appeared to have a face, which began a whole extension of the original conversation about the inappropriateness of sex toys having faces. WHAT THE HELL, manufacturers? Explain WHY you think it's sexy to have fun naughty behavior with a Jesus butt plug, or a butterfly/dolphin/beaver (the animal) face on a toy?
• On second thought, please don't explain. I don't want to  know much about the fucked up mind that came up with that shit...my own mind is bad enough. There's no room for you in here.

Good Gods, it's only Wednesday people.

*Note to the authorities: there will be NO criminal activity against our beloved muscular athletes who play with sticks for a living...it was just speculation on whether one in particular would enjoy being tied up and used. and possibly something about mustache rides. Just you never mind.

Poking the Bear

I started a bit of a snark war on the Huffington Post yesterday. I read this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/barbara-hannah-grufferman/mommy-wars_b_1584446.html and saw a comment from a fool basically saying women need to stay home and make babies because that's the way it's always been.

Well, the historian in me couldn't take THAT, so I had to respond to the jackass's comment. As of this morning I've gotten FOUR replies from him, all in a very condescending, chauvinistic tone. I'm pretty amused: sometimes it's worth the effort to poke at insecure bullies just to see what happens. Snort.

I'm debating responding to his response, but since he essentially outed himself as a fool I don't think it's necessarily worth the effort. Therefore, I'm blogging about it instead.

UPDATE:

Yeah. I couldn't keep my mouth shut, so I DID end up responding. Sigh. Smart isn't always my strong suit, I guess, but sexist intimidation is so irritating.