All Or Nothing

Elsewhere, Again

I'm guest posting over at Julie's site today.  Come by for a visit!

Also - my best friend in the entire world is having her first baby this morning - a girl!  I will be with her and her husband in Dallas today so cross your fingers for a healthy birth and a wonderful day.

Elsewhere!

I am guest posting today at All The Wine.  Come see me there and say hello.

P.S. I wrote about boobs!

And The Abandonment Continues

I did actually write today, just not here.  I'm over at Aly's site today, as she's on vacation in PARIS.  And needed fill-in writers.

Don't you feel so sorry for her?

Anyway, check out the post!  It's an ode to Paris, of sorts :)

Blog Share Guest Post: Dear Mom

Dear Mom:

You’ve told me more than once that you adore a letter I wrote to you when I was in college. I don’t remember writing this letter, but you tell me it was full of apologies for being such a difficult child, teen, young adult. It doesn’t surprise me that I wrote this letter; I was difficult and I knew it. I guess that after I matured and gained some perspective, I felt the need to acknowledge it. I was probably hoping it would open a dialogue that might bring us closer.

Instead, when you talk about it you use it as a weapon in your arsenal. I wish I’d never written that letter. When you bring it up I feel bad about myself all over again. I’ve worked so hard to become a good woman and it only takes a few words from you to demolish it all.

I admit I was wantonly headstrong and willful and defied authority every chance I got. You had no idea how to help me refine those traits into something productive. I get it.

But more than that, I’m pissed off that you’ve never apologized to me. Have you forgotten that every counseling session you ever took me to ended with the counselor talking to you about parenting and we would never go back, even when I asked? Have you forgotten that you forced me out of the house a week before my 18th birthday without any concern for where I would go or what would happen to me? Have you forgotten that you slept with a boyfriend of mine and I caught you? Have you forgotten that you told me I could come home when I caught my husband cheating on me and then changed your mind the very moment I left him? Have you forgotten that you were an adult when you made these decisions?

Are you not aware that these things hurt me deeply? Can you take responsibility for them? I’ll never know the answers because you refuse to communicate in a meaningful way with me. Sure, we talk and we have a relationship, but only because I finally realized that if it was to be I had to act the way you think I should when I am with you. It was even harder to realize that sometimes it still isn’t enough.
All I ever wanted was for you to accept me for who I am. Why can’t you do that? Why do I have to walk on eggshells with you? Why do I have to tailor myself in order to have a relationship with you? I’ve been willing to do these things for a long time, but I’m not sure I’m up for it anymore. I question whether it’s worth it. It’s incredibly draining and I am running out of the will to do it.

Finally, at 38 years old I’ve reached to a point where I actually like me. Lots of other people like me, too. Why can’t you? Why can’t you let go of who you think I am and see me for who I really am? Why are you so predisposed to think that I’m an asshole? A couple years back I masochistically asked you how you described me to your friends. You replied, “I tell them my daughter is mean.” I am my own harshest critic and your words cut me to my core.

How could any mother say the things you have said to me? How could any mother do the things you’ve done to me? How could any mother not apologize for them voluntarily? I’m willing to accept responsibility for my faults and shortcomings. Why can’t you?

I don’t have the answers to any of these questions and I likely never will. If I am to have peace and other meaningful relationships, I have to abandon my need for your approval and understand that the only person I have to answer to is me. I’m working on it. I still love you, but I can’t need you anymore.

Me

I AM Productive

So, I'm sick.  I know, I know, it's SO unoriginal, getting sick in February, right when everyone ELSE gets sick.  Trust me, I tried my very best to avoid it, just so that I would still look cool.  Unfortunately, all my tactics failed and so here I am, laying in bed, playing online LOST trivia nonstop.  Hence the nod to productivity up there.  I've got like, 14000 points!  I'm a LOST Savant!  Speaking of, what is up with some of the questions on that trivia game?  What color was the third stripe on the fourth car to pass Jack in his flashback in the second episode of season two?  I mean, I know the answer's green, but really.  Is it imperative to the plot? 

Probably.  LOST is so confusing.

Anyway, as scintillating as all that was, I wasn't just logging on to tell you how I'm sick (boring) or all about LOST trivia (productive!).  Rather, I wanted to let everyone know that tomorrow is Blog Share day (as conceived and put together by the fabulous -R-) and so I will be posting anonymously on someone else's blog while someone else (do you see where this is going?) will be posting anonymously right here.  So, if you're out and about on the interwebs tomorrow and happen to stop by this site, you'll be reading Anon Poster!  Leave the AP comments if you like!  Give AP accolades and praises!  Or, if you REALLY want to stir things up, ask AP some LOST trivia questions.  I'd be willing to place a wager that AP wouldn't know the answer to that stripe question.

Rising In The Ranks

Why be a half-assed stalker when you can be upgraded to the real thing?

In honor of my undying love for and obsession with Finslippy's writing, I am going to post this entry from her archives in its entirety.  Yes, I was reading her archives.  See what I mean, with the stalking?  See?

This post made me laugh out loud, and I NEVER do that.  That's right, I am a mean, unhappy shrew, and this made me laugh.  I therefore feel completely confident that it will do the same for you.

 

"Henry has a couple of toys that, I'm sorry, are just really dirty. This could be my undertaxed imagination at work--or it could be a conspiracy led by a covert league of perverts.

My parents recently gave Henry a ring-toss toy that my nephews used to enjoy. The center of this thing, the object upon which the rings are tossed, is a large, flesh-colored stalk, topped by a red bulb with a smiley face on it.
My Mom hauls this device out, thwaps it on the floor, and calls out, "Henry! Come say hello to Mr. Penis Head!"

And that's my Mom who made that observation. My Mom, who once, completely innocently, asked Scott and me what a "boner" was.

Mr. Penis Head is a giant phallus, and I can't see how he can be viewed in any other way. I don't think he could look any penis-ier (I made up a word!). Not if his head squirted when rubbed vigorously. Etc. He's a penis.

Henry loves Mr. Penis Head. We snap pictures as he gums its smiley noggin, but I think I can't print them out without risking jail time. Even making such an observation is probably a federal offense. Hey, Feds--I'm just saying! Sheesh.

Also!

Henry has this pony. Not a real pony. A rocking-chair pony that we purchased from Toys 'R' Us. The wily people at Toys 'R' Us made the store very, very loud, so that we couldn't hear what the pony sang when his ear was tugged.

Then we got home, and we listened. And here it is.

I'm a pretty pony
Clippity-clop, clippity-clop
Such a pretty pony
Clippity-clop, clippity clop
I love to have my coat brushed underneath the old oak tree
So jump and run
We'll have lots of fun
When you come and play with me.

The lyrics are maybe not so creepy when you read them. (Although I think the phrase "I love to have my blank blanked" is going to be really dirty, no matter what you put in there.)
But they're intensely creepy when you hear them. They're sung by a breathy tenor whose voice positively trembles with anticipation. I can't help but picture the recording of this little ditty. The producer pushing Mr. Pretty Pony--a middle-aged, moist-palmed, slightly balding guy, with an eerily high-pitched giggle and a predilection for Hello Kitty paraphernalia-- for "more pedophile."

The pony's other ear, when tugged, elicits the following: "I like it when you brush me!" and "Let's go for a ride!" Strangely, these comments are purred by a woman, which either indicates that it was too creepy when the guy tried uttering the same comments, or that the manufacturers of this pony ride are suggesting that the pony is some kind of pansexual hermaphroditic love-beast.

Know what I just figured out? Know what? Do you? Bet you don't.

"Covert League of Perverts" = CLOP.

As in clippity-clop.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? I'll be up all night, trying to decipher what "clippity" could mean.

Anyway, Henry really likes his pony."

This post compliments of www.Finslippy.typepad.com

"Henry has a couple of toys that, I'm sorry, are just really dirty. This could be my undertaxed imagination at work--or it could be a conspiracy led by a covert league of perverts.

My parents recently gave Henry a ring-toss toy that my nephews used to enjoy. The center of this thing, the object upon which the rings are tossed, is a large, flesh-colored stalk, topped by a red bulb with a smiley face on it.
My Mom hauls this device out, thwaps it on the floor, and calls out, "Henry! Come say hello to Mr. Penis Head!"

And that's my Mom who made that observation. My Mom, who once, completely innocently, asked Scott and me what a "boner" was.

Mr. Penis Head is a giant phallus, and I can't see how he can be viewed in any other way. I don't think he could look any penis-ier (I made up a word!). Not if his head squirted when rubbed vigorously. Etc. He's a penis.

Henry loves Mr. Penis Head. We snap pictures as he gums its smiley noggin, but I think I can't print them out without risking jail time. Even making such an observation is probably a federal offense. Hey, Feds--I'm just saying! Sheesh.

Also!

Henry has this pony. Not a real pony. A rocking-chair pony that we purchased from Toys 'R' Us. The wily people at Toys 'R' Us made the store very, very loud, so that we couldn't hear what the pony sang when his ear was tugged.

Then we got home, and we listened. And here it is.

I'm a pretty pony
Clippity-clop, clippity-clop
Such a pretty pony
Clippity-clop, clippity clop
I love to have my coat brushed underneath the old oak tree
So jump and run
We'll have lots of fun
When you come and play with me.

The lyrics are maybe not so creepy when you read them. (Although I think the phrase "I love to have my blank blanked" is going to be really dirty, no matter what you put in there.)
But they're intensely creepy when you hear them. They're sung by a breathy tenor whose voice positively trembles with anticipation. I can't help but picture the recording of this little ditty. The producer pushing Mr. Pretty Pony--a middle-aged, moist-palmed, slightly balding guy, with an eerily high-pitched giggle and a predilection for Hello Kitty paraphernalia-- for "more pedophile."

The pony's other ear, when tugged, elicits the following: "I like it when you brush me!" and "Let's go for a ride!" Strangely, these comments are purred by a woman, which either indicates that it was too creepy when the guy tried uttering the same comments, or that the manufacturers of this pony ride are suggesting that the pony is some kind of pansexual hermaphroditic love-beast.

Know what I just figured out? Know what? Do you? Bet you don't.

"Covert League of Perverts" = CLOP.

As in clippity-clop.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? I'll be up all night, trying to decipher what "clippity" could mean.

Anyway, Henry really likes his pony."

This post compliments of www.Finslippy.typepad.com

Where Is Thomas Payne When You Need Him?

My brother's next post is up at Captain's Logos.

"Next to me on the plane was a guy who carried on two oars. Yeah, like oars. Like Talented Mr. Ripley to the back of the pilot’s cranium with medulla oblongata stuck to the paddle oars. Next to him was a lady who brought on a pool cue. So apparently bludgeoning is not a threat we are overly concerned with. Meanwhile I’ve got no soap and no toothpaste and I can’t seem to figure out how to open this Ziploc baggie to get to my cologne."

Why I Love Community College: A Guest Post

Professor: It’s very interesting to note that the human being is the most geographically   diverse creature on the planet. Does anyone know what the second most diverse creature is?

Asian Student: A cockroach!

Professor: No, that’s a good guess though. Actually it is a dog. A dog has been shown to survive almost everywhere including…

Asian Student: A cat!

Professor: (somewhat vexed) No, it is a dog, dog is the correct answer.

Guest Post: Ode To The Grammar Checker

Every once in a while, as I am surreptitiously tracking down all my stray thoughts and  trying (usually in vain) to put them down on paper, or rather on Document1 - Microsoft Word, I notice a little green squiggly mark underneath a word I have typed. Green squiggly mark eh? So Microsoft, you don't think my grammar has quite reached the ultimate standard of perfection that you have so graciously bestowed upon us with your grammar check feature that I can't, for the life of me, figure out how to turn off. Fragment (consider revising)… Maybe you should consider getting a life and minding your own damn business. Maybe I wanted it to be a fragment. Ever consider that, green squiggly mark? The thing that really gets me though is that I have become a slave to it; I must right click that word to find out what, oh what, on earth I could have done to cause this infraction. Maybe I used a comma and it should have been a semi-colon - in fact, any time you see a semi-colon in anything I have written, it is strictly on the recommendation of Mr. Green Squiggly because I don't know what the fuck a semi-colon is. Is it a comma on steroids? Is it a colon that is a little light in the loafers? Both of its parents were good colons and they always knew their firstborn would become a colon but things just didn't work out.

Usually I'll accept green squigglie's offer to replace my comma with a semi-colon because hey, he is a green squiggly mark, he's done this shit before. But sometimes I'll won't. "ENOUGH!" I will declare brazenly, "I don't care what you think anymore. A comma is what belongs here, a comma is what I put and a comma it will be, if the reader feels the need to pause for longer than the generally accepted length that a comma provides for, well then by God let him pause." However, these occasions are random and completely arbitrary and the next time I will sheepishly return to green squiggly with tail tucked between legs. A semi-colon eh? Yeah you’re probably right; a semi-colon really modifies this compound sentence structure. Click.

Why oh why must I return to bow down before this idol of indiscriminate grammatical justice? 25 WHY? WHYYYYYY?????? Fragment (consider revising)

Dennis Prager: Why Democrats are

Dennis Prager: Why Democrats are tagged as the party without values

According to The New York Times, Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano, reflecting on her party's recent losses in the presidential, Senate and House elections, asked: "How did a party that is filled with people with values -- and I am a person with values -- get tagged as the party without values?"

As one who was raised a Democrat and became a Republican only 10 years ago, I would like to answer Gov. Napolitano's question as honestly as she posed it.

Gov. Napolitano, your party does indeed have very many people with values in it. But the Democratic Party is no more representative of the average Democrat's values than the National Council of Churches is of the average Protestant's values. Both are far to the left of their membership.

Here is the Democratic Party as most Americans, including this John F. Kennedy liberal -- a New York City born and raised, Jewish, Ivy League-educated intellectual who lives in Los Angeles -- see it.

To most Americans, Michael Moore is a Marxist who has utter contempt for most of his fellow Americans, who goes abroad and tells huge audiences how stupid and venal his country is, and in his dishonest propaganda film, portrays the American military as callous buffoons. Yet, this radical was given the most honored seat at the Democratic Party convention in Boston, next to former President Jimmy Carter.

To most Americans, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton are race-baiting demagogues. Yet they are heroes to the Democratic Party. Most Americans do not see their country as the bigoted and racist nation regularly depicted by both black and white Democratic leaders.

To most Americans, a man who wears women's clothing to work is a pathetic person in need of psychotherapy. To the Democratic Party, he is a man whose cross-dressing is merely another expression of multiculturalism. The California legislature, which is entirely controlled by Democrats, passed a law prohibiting any employer from firing a man who shows up to work wearing women's clothing.

To most Americans, Eminem is a vulgar nihilist who poisons young Americans' minds. To John Kerry he was a man whose anti-Bush hate video was worthy of endorsement.

To most Americans, obscenity-filled evenings should be restricted to R-rated films or a Las Vegas comedy act, not a major party's fund raiser attended by its candidates for president of the United States. To Democrats, those who object to such evenings are regarded as judgmental, hypocritical and narrow minded.

To most Americans, Hollywood stars are regarded as terrific to watch in films but also as narcissistic ingrates when, between private jet trips to Cuba and Cannes, they express their contempt for traditional America. That the Democrats have a veritable monopoly on support from folks like Sean Penn and Robert "Castro-is-a-great-leader" Redford may give Democrats a heady feeling, but for tens of millions of Americans it merely reinforces their belief that the Democratic Party shares Hollywood's values. Even The New York Times, in a post-election analysis, wrote of "the possibility that activist entertainers' fervent endorsements might have cost Mr. Kerry the election."

To most Americans, the American military is not only heroic; it is regarded as more important to safeguarding freedom than any other human institution, including the ACLU, the United Nations or the university, to cite three major Democratic Party affiliates. To virtually the entire Left, which includes the Democratic Party, the military is, at best, a necessary evil. Otherwise, the overriding doctrine is "Make love, not war." That is why Harvard still refuses to allow ROTC training -- and it is unlikely that either of the Massachusetts senators even finds that wrong, let alone as reprehensible as most Americans do.

To most Americans, gays are fellow Americans who happen to be homosexual and who should be accorded the same respect any fellow American is accorded. But most Americans also believe that America should retain the millennia-old definition of marriage as man-woman. They regard liberal judges who take it upon themselves to redefine marriage with contempt. And these judges are identified with the Democrats.

Whatever their views on abortion and abortion rights, the vast majority of Americans view the abortion of a viable fetus/baby (partial-birth abortion) as immoral. The Democratic candidate and his fellow Democrats repeatedly voted against a ban on this practice.

Gov. Napolitano, I hope that this short list answers your question about how it is that your party has gotten tagged as "the party without values." Indeed, the real question, as this observer sees it, is how has this party retained so many people who have traditional American values?