tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11179434493535059812024-03-14T03:06:00.877-04:00I Am Not Mean, I Swear."Popular opinion is the greatest lie in the world" ~Thomas CarlyleTarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.comBlogger183125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-90859560853032123602010-11-16T21:18:00.005-05:002010-11-16T23:05:04.157-05:00Hi. Anybody Still Out There?<blockquote></blockquote>I laughed so hard today that I had to post something here. Honestly, where else am I going to put it??<br /><br />Further evidence that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Facebook</span> is the DEVIL.<br /><br />Back story: I went to high school with this guy who I honestly believe needs to be medicated. I sat behind him in homeroom for many many years - he was "Jo", I was "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ju</span>". He always kind of freaked me out a little. I heard he got arrested and served time after high school for shipping marijuana in a vacuum cleaner bag. I happily lost track...until <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Facebook</span>.<br /><br />There he was - HEY BE MY FRIEND. So being polite, I accepted. My high school has done this big group hug shit where people who I don't remember or maybe never spoke to have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">friended</span> me and I accepted. I've taken to hiding them all so I don't have to read their updates or see their sad faces.<br /><br />Yes, I'm a bitch. Moving on.<br /><br />So it turns out that he's a wacko conspiracy theorist. He starts sending me, and several other lucky recipients, propaganda videos. The government is lying to US ALL! They're trying to KILL organic farming. The war in Iraq was secretly started by Aliens. UFOs UFOs <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">AHHHHHH</span>!<br /><br />So again, I politely delete and move on with my life.<br /><br />Then it happened. So our boy genius learns how to tag people in his videos. So instead of using the share functionality, he tags us. Like I'm present somehow in his nutty rant justifying Michael Vick's dog ring by pointing out that "people in Asia" eat dogs. It's called "The Micheal Vick Show", "Animal Killer, or simply a misunderstood product of Black America?".<br /><br />Allow me to set the stage. It's him, dead center in the camera with a set of big ole headphones. He talks and talks, it's nonsense. I think the point he was attempting to make was that your idea of acceptable is based on where you grew up. Funny I don't know the part of the world where everyone brutalizes their dogs for sport. I digress. And I don't know how the product of black <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">america</span> thing was ever explained, but it's there in the title.<br /><br />So fast forward to today. <br /><br />So his video is insane and mildly amusing in its stupidity until my second cousin gets in on the action. Yes, she saw that I was "tagged" in a video and went on out to check it out. Thus ensued a 50+ comment long bonanza of crazy + right wing republican horse woman + stupid + people being funny + I'm not sure what. Here are some of my favorite comments...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Girl I went to HS with</span>:<span style="font-style: italic;"> "</span><span jsid="text"><span style="font-style: italic;">I would not allow my kids to play at a sex offender's home after he served time....just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sayin</span>'."</span> (I think this was alluding to the fact that someone said he did his time and now we should all just forget about it.) <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her later comment:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">"</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text">I would not let him walk my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">pitbull</span>, either ;)"</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Crazy Dude:</span> "<span jsid="text">Vick is someone we can all aspire to be. The All American Feel Good Story of the Year, MVP for Vick!<span style="font-weight: bold;">"<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">aaaaand</span> my favorite response to this...by some dude I went to high school with but don't know,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">"</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text">Acting as though Michael Vick has risen from adversity is like writing a story about someone that cut their own leg off only to rehab it and run a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">maratho</span><span class="text_exposed_hide"></span><span class="text_exposed_show">n as an amputee a year later. It makes no sense."</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The random dude as he rails on this idiot Denise who didn't stand a chance: </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />"</span><span jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-style: italic;">Thanks for posting that Denise. If anything you said before that point held any merit, it doesn't now. Nice work."<br /><br />and<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"</span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text">Denise I feel bad saying anything else to you. It is more and more apparent you are clueless and have no idea what you are talking about with every post. Hang in there though."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Denise's final hurl before disappearing into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Facebook</span> land to lick her wounds</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text">"Please don't insult my intelligence. With each post you all make it more apparent the color of the lens you're viewing all of this through. Good day!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Aaaand</span> right back between the eyes</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text">"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">LMAO</span> at insulting your intelligence. It was more the "lack there of" I was referring to. Thanks for the "good day" though. You do the same. Long live Michael Vick an American Icon!"</span><br /><br /><span jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here's someone else I don't know jumping on the heap</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">"...</span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;" jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">This whole post and video has made me physically sick to my stomach. How uneducated and misinformed you both really are. Funny how both Denise and 'Crazy Dude' both had to "leave" when the posts started questioning their facts."</span></span><br /><span jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>So what have we learned here:<br />1. I need to learn how to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">un</span>-friend and block people, especially the crazy ones.<br />2. Apparently anonymity is not necessary to hurl big rocks at people who probably live in your town.<br />3. One should find a way to get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Facebook</span> access at work for emergency <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">untagging</span> situations.<br /><br />The scariest outcome: my second cousin <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">friended</span> the crazy dude because she likes to quote "have lively debate". I am at a loss. I find the collision of unrelated areas of my life disturbing. It's like having a dinner party every hour of the day and letting everyone you've ever known meet. No good can come from that - especially when we're talking about crazy vacuum cleaner marijuana dude and the right wing cousin.<br /><br />Thanks for listening to my long pointless, probably not so funny to anyone but me, post. I'm out of practice....<br /><br />Tell me your bad <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Facebook</span> stories so I don't feel so bad. Please.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-69896965205474244322010-05-25T23:07:00.002-04:002010-05-25T23:14:36.123-04:00ThinkingI'm thinking, as if you haven't already guessed, that I'm going to take a hiatus.<br /><br />I've also been thinking that part of the reason I struggle with writing over the last 12 months is because I'm trying to write about something that I'm just not living anymore. (<span style="font-style: italic;">if you could see my draft bin you would <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bleaachh</span> all over the half written posts that litter the screen</span>)<br /><br />So I got to thinking some more (<span style="font-style: italic;">all this thinking...do you smell the burning of my brain?</span>) that I should start writing something new.<br /><br />I'm note entirely sold on this idea because I'm not sure it would be any different than this sad, sad excuse for a blog.<br /><br />So I think I'm going to try to think of a new format. (<span style="font-style: italic;">think....I just wanted to say it one more time.</span>) Something that's a bit more manageable. Maybe more on topic for my current life.<br /><br />Maybe I need to start using my Twitter account. I'm kidding. Maybe.<br /><br />Leave me alone while I'm thinking. Or alternately, give me good ideas.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-2399919746672386782010-02-14T23:41:00.000-05:002010-02-14T23:41:02.789-05:00There's a Fungus Among Us....Husband & I took the kiddo the ER this evening upon the direction of the on call nurse at her ped's office. In addition to spiking a fever of almost 105, she had shallow breathing and a wicked phlegmy cough. Presumably fearing some nasty RSV or flu, we were advised to hit the ER.<br />
<br />
Upon arriving one of us had to take her to the room and one of us had to check her in. She wouldn't let anyone but me hold her, so the choice was made for us. Eventually he joins us and the following transpires:<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me:</b> Sorry about that, I actually sort of wanted you to take her back because you can talk to these people (you know that being a doctor and all).</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Him:</b> Oh I wanted you to go because you know more about her.......Oh wait, I forgot you freak out in hospitals and forget to tell them anything.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>I didn't forget to tell them anything.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Him: </b>Ummm, you didn't tell them about the rash and you didn't tell them she had an eye infection this past week.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me:</b> Oh yea. That's right, I am bad in hospitals.</span></i></span><br />
<br />
After seeing about 342 medical personnel, someone comes in to take a look at a diaper rash that the first nurse had declared "just normal contact dermatitis". <br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>342nd Medical Personnel: </b>Oh that's a textbook fungal infection. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>Ok, we just actually bought some anti fungal stuff just in case, so we'll start using that.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">342nd Medical Personnel Leaves</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>(poke husband)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Him: </b>What was that for?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>I asked you if that was fungal and you said no.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Him: </b>How would I know I'm a Psychiatrist.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>Oh suuuure, you're "just a Psychiatrist" when it's convenient.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Him: </b>Umm yea, I really don't really see too many pediatric vaginas in my line of work.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Me: </b>Oh, right.</span></i> <i>I guess not.</i><br />
<br />
Several thousand dollars later we were released with instructions to pump her full of liquids and Tylenol and slather fungal cream on the nether bits.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-56509584971928796502010-02-09T20:39:00.000-05:002010-02-09T22:41:03.698-05:00Random Musings from Those Trapped in their HomesA few humorous items.<br /><br />1. My husband is trying to systematically freeze me to death. He has commandeered the thermostat now that our heating bill is the equivalent of a monthly payment on a mid size BMW. He has put it on a program where by I am cold for most of the waking hours in my home. He told me I should wear a sweater around the house. This is the worst kind of torture. I like to be warm and we now sleep in a freezer. That part I don't especially mind, it's the waking up and showering in the freezer that bother me. I showered in 60 degree weather. That my friends, sucks it. He has been put on notice that if the house isn't warm for my shower, he can sleep in the driveway and I don't much care because.....he can put on a sweater.<br /><br />2. Yet another old college roommate surfaces on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Facebook</span>. This one was one of my favorites. She was this cheese ball Italian Catholic (think Jersey Shore, minus the bad accent). She had these crazy long nails that she spent hours fussing and preening over. She drove a giant white Cadillac. Her parent's house was in the suburbs - hair salon the ground floor & marble entry way into the house. There were mirrors and glass furniture. If you can think of a bad Italian stereotype, she was it.<br /><br />She will never connect to me or my other roommate. We had a falling out over a busted up 50lb television that she refused to remove from the apartment after she left. We forced her brother to come carry it out. Apparently, requiring Princess to actually do some work offended her delicate sensibilities.<br /><br />Here's one of my favorite Italian Princess stories - I should start by telling you that my one roommate (the one I still like) is like a Jeopardy champion. Or at least the "knowledge bowl" high school version of it - which, coincidentally, was on tape thanks to her mom and we liked to show it to people. I digress. Anyway so the point is, she was the one who knew all manner of random trivia bits. Then there was Princess who frankly was a bit retarded....unless you count knowing how to polish nails. Oh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span>, I'll give her that. She had a bright future as a nail technician if she ever made it through her undergraduate psychology program.<br /><br />So the one day we have this discussion about this giant <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Tupperware</span> container of soup on the counter.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Princess:</span> You guys better get rid of that before it gets maggots.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Well, the lid is on so I think we're safe.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Princess: </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Nuh</span> uh, it can still get maggots.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Knowledge Bowl Champion: </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ummm</span>, actually it can't because maggots are fly larvae and if there aren't any flies then there aren't any maggots.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Princess: </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Nuh</span> uh, my brother and I knew this lady who died in her house and it was sealed up tight and no one found her for like....awhile and when they found her there were maggots all over her.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Knowledge Bowl Champion:</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Umm</span> yea, clearly there was a fly somewhere in the house before the windows were closed.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Princess:</span> You don't know that for sure.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Knowledge Bowl Champion: </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Ummmm</span>, yes I do. Remember that whole experiment with the meat and the netting that you learned about in science class? They kind of DID prove this one.</span><br /><br />This is also the same girl who told me that I would be struck down dead by Jesus for suggesting that Catholics should spend less money on Vatican City. <br /><br />So she has apparently bred. From the looks of it, there's a mini Italian Princess now. God help us all.<br /><br />#3 I would just like to quickly write a letter to the universe here.<br /><br />Dear Universe,<br />What's up? What did I ever do to you? I sort of understand the whole getting my period thing. I mean that happens every 28 days whether I like it or not. I even sort of understood the congested head & sore throat What I REALLY don't get is the double pink eye. I mean <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">seriously</span>? Two words. Not cool. <br /><br />So not cool.....Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-56168586376803792642009-12-30T10:03:00.000-05:002009-12-30T16:21:20.128-05:00Merry F'in Christmas PeopleI haven't written in a long time. I keep thinking of things to write about but then forget and/or don't have time. I would apologize, but I'm not that sorry so let's just move along.<br /><br />Let's see, what's new and exciting...<br /><ul><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Well it's the Christmas season and all my neighbors are Jewish. So there's not much in the way of parties in this neck of the woods.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">My child had a runny nose so I was blackballed from all family events.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">My husband was on call Christmas Day.</span></li></ul>Where did this leave me? Oh right. Home. Alone. with a cranky kid.<br /><br />On the upside, we're slowly adapting to the suburbs. I actually left the house a few times to run errands and didn't think about how it takes 100 times longer to get anything done around here. That's progress. On the downside, husband shoveled us out of the storm of the decade. 20 inches. Not fun.<br /><br />Admittedly I grew up in white bread suburbia so I know how this game is played. I spent years listening to my parents talk trash on the people who didn't take their trashcans in immediately or the people who didn't mow their laws or the people who didn't take down their Christmas lights (gasp!).<br /><br />So when every tree in this very old tree neighborhood dumped a metric tonne of leaves all over the place, my husband included the neighbor's driveway in his efforts with the leaf blower. (<span style="font-style: italic;">I should mention our driveways are attached. Different colored cement but fused together to make one large driveway that sits between our homes</span>) So when we had this massive snow dump last week, he began shoveling our driveway. Our neighbor is a single woman with 3-4 adult children. It happened that her son was visiting during the storm, so we assumed he would shovel her driveway and front walk.<br /><br />Needless to say there was still snow on her driveway until the day nature took care of it, no one touched her walk and I practically broke my ass multiple times trying to get around the ice patches on her side when putting my kid in the car. What kind of little shit leaves their single mother with a driveway full of snow?<br /><br />I sort of felt guilty when I looked at our homes side by side. There was our driveway...nicely shoveled, clear, safe. Then there was theirs, which is none of those things. So what do you all think? In this land of happy neighborhoods and smiley people, did we have any obligation to help out after her turd of a son left?<br /><br />They also have a daughter who babysits for us. She's quite nice but I believe she might be moderately stupid. I suspected this was the case when she put a diaper on my kid backwards. This in itself is not that weird, I mean unless you have done it before you might guess the tape closures could go the other way. She however works for a preschool taking care of 3 year olds. I'm assuming not every 3 year old is potty trained. Are they all over there running around with backwards diapers? The other day when we called to tell her she had left her car lights on for the second night in a row, she told me she got fired. Shocking.<br /><br />There's also this crazy dude across the street. I watched him yell out the door at his wife not to rake the leaves into the driveway. I've been warned that Bob is a flaming asshole, but that was the first time I saw it in action. I introduced myself to him in an overly chipper way, just to piss him off. He grunted and that was pretty much it. His kindness once again shone through as he shoveled the snow from around his car into the street instead of onto his lawn. It's ok Bob, I like when I hit a packed ice patch in the middle of an otherwise cleared street.<br /><br />So all you people out there, tell me, what do you hate that your neighbors do? Biggest pet peeve. We need to compile a list of Suburban Felonies.<br /><br />I'll start - my neighbor has a giant blue recycling trash can that she leaves on her front walk. Like you have to walk around it to get to her front door. That's klassy with a K.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-10432321328017187322009-11-19T20:23:00.003-05:002009-11-19T21:09:56.410-05:00Drive Time with HitlerWow - time flies when you are not having fun. I haven't posted since October 5th. It's November 19th. This is a whole new level of ass sucking.<br /><br />So let me bring you up to speed. Since my last post, my significant other and I have...<br /><br /><ol><li>Bought a house in the burbs.</li><li>Bought an SUV (<span style="font-style: italic;">technically a crossover, but they just call it that so you don't have to say you own an SUV</span>)</li><li>Bought a King size bed</li><li>Bought a leaf blower</li><li>Had an actual land line installed</li><li>Had a leak under the sink</li><li>Had a leak in the roof</li><li>Do not have an oven because it is broken and I am about to go postal with the oven repair company (I will save this for a later post because if I talk about it I might have to throw the computer across the room)<br /></li></ol><br />Aside from the obvious implications of all this (we're dead to our city friends and we can't afford to leave the house) we're getting along.<br /><br />The first week of my new commute into the city was a Septa strike. This means that every retard in the tri-state area was on the road attempting to cut one another off. It also meant that I had to spend upwards of 2 hours in a car with a screaming child. I tried feeding her the evening bottle to shut her up. That lasted about 2.5 minutes while she sucked it down with the efficiency of a Hoover then returned to the screaming.<br /><br />During the strike I drove several co-workers home over the week. The tiny crazy woman in the backseat was in rare form.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My co-worker: Don't you have any children's music or something?<br />Me: No<br />My co-worker: We should sing something.<br />Me: Like what?<br />My co-worker: You know, that song about the animals.<br />Me: What the F are you talking about?<br />My co-worker: You know that "ee i ee i oh" song<br />Me: Right, ok.</span><br /><br />Thus started the singing of some of the worst sounding Old MacDonald you have ever heard. We periodically stopped to consult one another on animal noises and argue about whether or not a cat was technically a farm animal and when we ran out, we sang The Wheels on the Bus. And when that gravy train ended... we listened to screaming.<br /><br />It was then that I realized that I did have children's music, by accident, on my iPod. The Husband's aunt sent us some German children's music. It was like turning off a light switch. The minute you put it on, the backseat is silenced. The only problem is it sounds like the Vienna Boy's Choir so I've taken to referring to it as the Hitler Youth Orchestra.<br /><br />So EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. I listen to this music. Then, EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. I listen to it again. I'm starting to hear this shit in my sleep.<br /><br />This one is particularly catchy and this kid does a pretty close approximation....<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HOMjZcJERcg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HOMjZcJERcg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Anyone who ever complained about children's music never had to hear that EVERY DAY, TWICE A DAY.<br /><br />Good lord, here's the actual CD on YouTube. Please take a listen - this is my commute.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/i9fiVHtWM18&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/i9fiVHtWM18&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I don't think I need to say any more. I accept cash donations to pay for the ear surgery I will surely need.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-82568477291982772202009-10-05T20:23:00.002-04:002009-10-05T21:14:34.103-04:00Put me out of my misery...So I'm looking at my cousin's daughter's pictures on Facebook and I realize I'm getting old. I think she's a junior in high school. I'm scared by this for a number of reasons.<br /><br />1. I vaguely remember her being born.<br />2. I'm not sure when/how she got this old becuase I swear she was 5 last summer.<br />3. Kids apparently add extra letters into words for fun. It doesn't make any sense to me and I can't figure out why they do it. Like "hiiiiii" or "Toollld yooooou". What is that? Please tell me.<br />4. She looks like a real person (see comment 2)<br />5. I think she might like baseball since every single post is about the Phillies...do girls actually like sports teams? (of course this question doesn't apply when you pretend to like sports for a boy)<br /><br />Speaking of feeling old....<br /><br />So it's almost official we are moving to the suburbs. This is good and bad. Bad because it's the suburbs and that's where people go to die. Good because I had an excuse to buy wellies. Not that I didn't have enough reasons with city puddles, but I bought a pair of Hunters with furry liners and I feel like I look like I'm ready to garden now. They're super cute and you and I both know they will never see a garden. I hate nature but I now need to have the appearance of nature. Plus, with the whole diaper bag I no longer buy bags so I have to satisfy my need somehow. If only these things came in orange, my life would have been complete.<br /><br />I look forward to living in the suburbs. I feel it might give me some new blog fodder. Of course this means I actually have to talk to my neighbors. I can't decide how I feel about that whole idea that people are going to knock on my door and introduce themselves. Someone may have to talk me off the ledge.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-50056849099966868212009-09-18T21:19:00.003-04:002009-09-18T21:22:20.946-04:00Freaky or Freakin Cool?All right. I just found this on my reader. Someone posted the video on youtube. This is crazy. Check out the pictures under lingerie. The chick in front of the fridge that's filled with pickles might be my favorite. I'm obsessing, I can't get over these pictures. I also can't tell if I'm disturbed or I think it's hilarious.<div><br /></div><div>http://www.hotmilklingerie.co.nz</div><div><br /></div><div>People, I need comments. Creepy weird? Totally cool?</div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-23335830544575623842009-09-09T20:08:00.002-04:002009-09-09T23:12:35.893-04:00Ewww Dirty BoySo another wacky & wild night was spent alone on the couch while child slept and husband took care of crazy people at the hospital. With nothing better to do I did some work, made myself dinner and watched back episodes of Burn Notice on the DVR.<br /><br />I was cooking listening to a random shuffle on iTunes when a song came on. I was dancing around the kitchen and suddenly I heard the words and had to go look it up because I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We'll get to that in a minute.<br /><br />So growing up, my mother would listen to our music in the car when she was driving us wherever we happen to be chauffeured that day and she would frequently ask, "What are they saying?? Did they just say...". And I would roll my eyes because more often than not, she totally misheard whatever it was and was repeating some nonsensical statement. For instance...<br /><br />The actual lyrics by Cutting Crew - "<span style="font-style: italic;">I just died in your arms tonight, it must have been something you said</span>"<br />My mother thought they were saying, "I just died in your arms tonight, it must have been something you ate".<br /><br />Aside from not making much sense (<span style="font-style: italic;">I died because of something you ate??</span>), it doesn't even sound remotely close to what they're actually saying. Considering this was probably some time in the mid to late 80's, it supports the idea that she's had a <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2007/09/ocean-handle-whats-ocean-handle.html">hearing problem</a> for many years.<br /><br />So fast forward to me dancing around my kitchen and listening to Jordan Knight. Yea I said it, go ahead, laugh away. That "Give it to You" song is a catchy tune. Anyway, the real problem didn't happen until I caught something beyond the chorus. Here's one of the verses:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I'm the place to be<br />and soon, you'll see<br />I don't care who leads<br />As long as we move horizontally<br />Anyone can make you sweat<br />But I, can keep you wet</span><br /><br />Two points for rhyming, but Eww. I can't sing along to that with a straight face.<br /><br />Here's to hoping that my kid has decent taste in music because unlike my mother, I have my hearing and I'm not sure I can handle much of what today's 13 year old girls listen to....Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-91652122442607381872009-08-31T21:52:00.004-04:002009-08-31T23:10:16.368-04:00Where's the Beav? Oh right, he doesn't live here because I am a shitty homemaker.Day 1: Leaving our vacation home. Friend says, "oh you should take some of this food since you're driving." She packs away some ripe bananas for me. Ugh. I hate fruit.<br /><br />Day 2: Look at bananas now sitting on counter. Looking at bit brown now. Channel my mother and think to self, "Self, you need to make banana bread so that food doesn't go to waste." Fail to channel self and recognize actual cost of bananas.<br /><br />Day 3: Bananas looking bad. Say to husband, "Husband, we need to make banana bread with these, they're going bad." Check the cabinet - shortening expired in 2006. Channel my mother again while I consider using 3 year expired food product. Good sense returns. Throw in trash. Add to shopping list. Discover expired baking soda. Add to list. No flour. No sugar. Add all to list. Husband shops. I procrastinate. Bananas get worse.<br /><br />Day 4: Bananas start to melt into counter. Get off ass to make bread. Combine all ingredients in bowl. Proud of self. Take hand mixer & bowl into bathroom. Mix with door shut as not to wake child. (This is what people in 1100 sq feet do.) Put in oven. Set timer for 1 hour.<br /><br />52 minutes later. Writing this blog post. Think to self, "I don't think I recall putting sugar into that bowl. Was sugar supposed to go in that bowl?" Check recipe. F*ck forgot sugar.<br /><br />So let's tally up the carnage:<br /><br />To save 3 melting bananas (that weren't even mine), I...<br /><br />1. bought a giant tub of shortening that will likely expire and collect dust in my cabinets for the next 4 years.<br />2. bought baking soda which is essentially useless unless you bake, which I clearly do not.<br />3. bought flour which I also rarely use and will likely be tossed in our next move.<br /><br />June Cleaver, I am not.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-39040080007939322922009-08-18T19:41:00.005-04:002009-08-18T21:21:54.794-04:00Party on Billy...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/Sos9eCxQH-I/AAAAAAAAA1s/I3nxlkMOGbQ/s1600-h/porcupine-main_Full.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 163px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/Sos9eCxQH-I/AAAAAAAAA1s/I3nxlkMOGbQ/s400/porcupine-main_Full.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371454566918266850" border="0" /></a>What's up with the porcupine you ask? I'll get to that in a minute.<br /><br />I <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2009/04/au-revoir-good-pregnancy-joo-joo.html">previously mentioned</a> the fact that I was shedding like a sheepdog in the summer. Well when I posted it, my friend Kajal emailed me to tell me that this was only the beginning and that pretty soon I would have really attractive spiky baby hairs all around my face.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/SotAlVCsSOI/AAAAAAAAA10/DnKU1FyctL8/s1600-h/big-hair2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 174px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/SotAlVCsSOI/AAAAAAAAA10/DnKU1FyctL8/s400/big-hair2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371457990617221346" border="0" /></a><br />I inquired if they could be fashioned into a classic 80's wave. She assured me they could not. Armed with this information I promptly forgot about the baby hairs. <br /><br />At some point I asked my OB/GYN when the shedding madness would stop. She told me it has a name (<em>telogen effluvium </em><span style="font-style: italic;">- in case you were wondering</span>) and it would stop soon. Basically instead of my hair gradually falling out over the previous 40 weeks, it stopped falling out entirely. Now post pregnancy, lacking excessive hormones, it all falls out in the space of a few weeks.<br /><br />Here's the problem. It all starts to grow back at once too. Enter the baby hairs.<br /><br />So take a long look at that porcupine and imagine a spray..nay, a fan of 1 inch baby hairs framing my face. I discovered these the other day when I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and found a mini mullet of sorts staring back at me from the mirror. At an inch long, they don't fall neatly to one side or the other, they just fly directly off my head. It's an awesome look.<br /><br />What can I say? I'm like the female version of the Achy Breaky Heart era Billy Ray Cirus. Business in the front, party in the back. <br /><em><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></em>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-75489517993127821332009-08-13T21:28:00.007-04:002009-08-14T22:15:28.645-04:00Tripp Trapp Paddy Whack, Buy Michael Vick a Bone....People, it's just a fact that I don't have time to write thoughtful humorous things anymore. It's for all the usual shitty reasons so I'll spare you the excuses. My life is insanity and not in the "<i>ironic, humorous, good blog fodder</i>" kind of way but rather the "<i>bad, exhausted, hating life way</i>". One hundred and ten percent of the reason for my bitterness is work related so it was an ideal time for my mother-in-law to show up. Seriously. I'm not being funny. She does some crazy shit, but I seriously do like her. She took care of my kid and my house while I was freaking out about powerpoint decks. Her timing couldn't have been more impeccable.<br /><br />She did decide that our feeding situation was unacceptable. The result was the procurement of a brand new $350 Swedish high chair and all the requisite accessories. So after working for the last week at breakneck pace, I kicked back and assembled a Tripp Trapp yesterday evening. <div><br /></div><div>She also came armed with a gift for our dear daughter. It's a 24" Kathe Kruse doll named Missi...that has human hair....and wears a drindl. It cost more than the Swedish high chair. I sometimes see Missi at night and think she's going to come into my room and kill me. I don't think I like her. I also wonder whose hair is sewn in her head. I find that mildly creepy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, here's something else that's really creepy. So I've <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2008/07/hugging-at-work-is-weird.html">previously expressed</a> my distaste over physical contact in the workplace. Please feel free to review the link if you need a refresher. A few mornings ago I wake up in a panic because I just had a dream. It was one of those dreams that's so real and vivid that you can feel it. I dreamt that I got drunk and hooked up with one of my co-workers.</div><div><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">One small point of clarification: I went to high school and college in the 90's and our definition of hooking up was not sex, so all you people out there thinking I'm having dreams about diddling my co-workers can just calm down. This was strictly PG.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I push this all to the back of my mind and go to work. As soon as I walk in the office I see him and I feel really weird and silly. He's trying to talk to me and I'm literally running away to hide in my office. I am disturbed that I feel so weird. <span style="font-style: italic;">(It was an honest to god physical reaction of pure nervousness. How totally insane is it that your brain can mess with you like this?)</span><br /><br />I'm trying to act normal but it's likely coming across as slightly retarded. In my head I'm wondering how he can act so normal. DOESN'T HE FEEL AWKWARD FOR GOD'S SAKE?? Clearly this is insane since our entire "incident" happened in the confines of the space between my ears. However, every time I see him I feel the need to run away.<br /><br />I truly hope this subsides by next week. Sitting around staff meetings, grinning like an idiot and averting my eyes can't be good for my career.<br /><br />Before I call it a night here, I just want to redirect everyone's attention to the fact that the Eagles just picked up Michael Vick. Douchebaggery like his is rare and special. I had really hoped that whole dog fighting ring business would have put him out of commission for good. I wanted him to rot in prison, if not for the dogs, then for being a complete idiot - he pissed me off enough to <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2007/07/michael-vick-what-dope.html">write about it</a>. That's a lot considering my general apathy toward sports. Here we are, two years later and lo and behold, my own NFL team decides to pay him millions. Bastards. The only possible up side to this is that I can't wait to watch the PETA freaks attack the drunks in the 700 level at the Linc. Game on Pam Anderson. Welcome to Philly.<br /></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-10471448735461751132009-07-24T12:00:00.002-04:002009-07-25T12:08:42.941-04:00Pumpin Drunk<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Ok I was a little "happy" while I wrote this one. So happy I forgot to post it. Well, better late than never - right?</span><br /><br />Yea, I said it. I'm pumping drunk. Cool your jets people, I'm not going to feed it to my kid. Since I haven't had a serious bender...well....since the night I got pregnant, I am a pretty cheap date. So I went to happy hour with a few co-workers. Before the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could pick up child at daycare. Check. After the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could feed her a bottle (it went something like "I am going to be hammered. Please feed her a bottle."). Then he texted to ask me if I wanted sushi.<br /><br />Good husband.<br /><br />Consumed more wine, walked home (which must have been humorous to watch - drunk lady stumbling home with a breast pump and a laptop). I get home and despite the fact that my kid now finds it amusing to bite me with those two little teeth of death, I continue to do some breastfeeding. I'm no martyr, nor am I a glutton for punishment. It's mostly because I need to GET. IT. OUT. On this fair evening I unceremoniously retired the pump at work so it's home with me. I decide I will pump and dump at home. So while husband is putting child to bed in the other room I am drunk, hooked up to a pump and posting to my blog. Sad, sad life I lead.<br /><br />Pumping drunk has its risks, namely getting stuff all over the place. First I realize too late that the containers are dangerously full...try to rectify, spills on my leg. Then I have no where to put it. Through one squinty eye I see the to-go coffee cup that I just pulled out of work bag. Dump containers and replace the lid on the to-go cup. Pump some more, stop. Unplug. Accidentally spill half of the container on leg. Curse. Grab to-go cup, dump remainder. Fail to realize the lid is on and closed. Curse again. Spill.<br /><br />Totally disoriented. I will be SO FRICKIN HAPPY when I never have to do this again.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-65007751360993446862009-07-18T22:58:00.003-04:002009-07-19T00:08:27.069-04:00It's Saturday Night Bitches!Saturday night! I'll bet you are wondering what this girl is up to. No? How about I tell you anyway...maybe it'll help you sleep.<br /><br />1. Laundry - nothing new there.<br />2. Cleaning up take out from the aftermath of my parents visit & "post house shopping" dinner<br />3. Occasionally picking up a screaming child to feed her more Tylenol (6 month vaccinations - whee!)<br />4. Made Kale chips per <a href="http://shamuthegoldfish.blogspot.com/2009/07/bet-you-cant-eat-just-one.html">Kajal's recipe</a>. They remind me of what the leaves look like in the fall as they spiral lifelessly from the trees. However, these are edible and salty. I think I made them a little too salty. A word to anyone else who attempts this - Kale cooks fast and burns faster. Keep an eye on those suckers.<br /><br />You might be asking yourself, "Why is she eating Kale chips?". Or, perhaps you aren't, knowing I grew up eating cardboard and tofu with my hippie mother. Either way, I've decided to remove the 15lbs from my ass that has decided to set up camp. I had hoped I would be like Gwyneth Paltrow and all like, "Oh la la la, I did nothing but breastfeed and somehow it all just fell off of miraculously". Clearly that did not happen since my pants still don't fit. Technically I can't even blame the baby, I need to blame my poor poor non-smoking metabolism and the fact that I ate a <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2008/06/pleasant-unpleasant.html">metric tonne</a> of pretzels over the first 12 weeks of my pregnancy to keep from puking all over my shoes.<br /><br />I'm not bitter. Just fat.<br /><br />Me being on a diet means my other half is not allowed to eat bad stuff either. He isn't so fond of this rule which would explain why I found him squirreling away M&Ms late in the evening. Some men hide their porn, my husband hides his chocolate.<br /><br />If you want to make a miserable girl more miserable, throw house shopping in the mix. A word on this whole business. First, I entered into this exercise without realizing that there was some sort of $8K rebate from the government. Apparently I am the only person in the free world that 1. didn't know about it and 2. isn't going ape shit over it. Why do people suddenly feel the need to blow hundreds of thousands of dollars to get 8 for free. To make matters worse, it's July and we're headed into a busy home buying period which is whipping the retards out there into a frenzy.<br /><br />My father is convinced that our realtor is out to get us. I know this will surprise you all, but we don't agree on this point. She will tell you why two seemingly identical houses are priced differently, she will tell you why a house is sitting on the market for 200 some odd days, she'll even tell you if she thinks you shouldn't go see a house because it's a train wreck. His big beef is her saying things like, "well, this one is priced at $x because it's in such and such a zip code rather than this other home that's not." or, "People are willing to pay for center halls and first floor family rooms.". There's no judgement, she's just pointing out why people have priced their homes a certain way. My father believes that she would tell you a pile of shit in the street were nice if it were on the main line.<br /><br />If you know anything about the Philadelphia suburbs, you know that the main line has an odd collection of homes. There are million dollar mansions, there are shacks and everything between the two. But shack or mansion, it's got several things going for it - reputation & one of the top two school districts in the tri-state area. Personally we're seeing two things out there. People who purchased at the top of the market, renovated, took out home equity loans, put almost no money down and want to recoup all that plus their closing costs. Then there's the old people sellers, God forsaken wall to wall carpeting, mothball smelling, carpeted kitchen havin, last re-decorated in the 70's stylin' nightmares. These people are the funniest - they probably bought the house for $30K in 1960 and think they're going to get the same price as the fully renovated joint down the block. Someone needs to remove their Blublockers and cruise line branded sun visor and smack them upside their cotton heads.<br /><br />Frankly, I'm getting to the point where I'm going to call it a day and continue to rent. Or at least I may take a break until this rebate feeding frenzy goes away.<br /><br />Anyone out there have an opinion? Realtor = good or evil? Rent or own? Skinny Girl or More to Love?Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-90137789825315013712009-07-02T20:14:00.002-04:002009-07-02T20:19:31.839-04:00Dear Facebook,Why do you think I might know <a href="http://www.facebook.com/posted.php?id=608405707&share_id=124656356998&post_id=124656356998&comments=&share_footer124656356998=#/profile.php?id=801527563&ref=pymk">this guy. </a>I most certainly don't know anyone who wears a superman belt buckle. And, I really don't know any man who wears a shirt like that.<br /><br />I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.<br /><br />Love,<br />MeTarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-32189465919034904102009-06-29T21:14:00.002-04:002009-06-29T21:20:31.908-04:00Stupid NewsSome of the best reading is in the <a href="http://www.tcpalm.com/news/2009/jan/08/visitor-defecates-fort-pierce-womans-porch/?feedback=1#comments">comments sections</a>....Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-50472520873363863042009-06-17T21:03:00.004-04:002009-06-17T21:51:06.997-04:00Good Facebook / Evil FacebookThis is a really long way for me to explain why I'm not sure Facebook is such a good thing....<br /><br />I had a roommate in college. To be clear, she wasn't really a roommate in the traditional sense but our one and only foray into the world of subletting. My dear roommate from Seattle was my roommate for 3 years. She and I had the longest tenure in #5. This might explain why we were close to killing one another at various points. Then again, we could just as easily chalk that up to being female and our constant alcohol consumption. Anyway, some time in those 3 years she went back to the happy state of Seattle for an internship. We were sad to see her leave, but she came back with good stories and she had met a boy (who she later invited to her wedding, who I later got drunk and hooked up with, which I later found out she planned, who then interpreted my "if you're ever in town, look me up" as an actual invitation and invited himself to my beach house that summer. In retrospect perhaps that wasn't such a good use of her 6 months, but you know what they say about hind sight...I digress). So while she was off hooking-up with my future hook-up, myself and the other occupants of #5 had the distinct pleasure of living with the Sasquatch. <br /><br />She was called Sasquatch because she had incredibly large misshapen feet. Feet are not easy to hide but she sure tried hard. Like many things, if you aren't a person of reasonable intelligence, your ideas generally don't materialize as planned. She would wear extra long jeans and let them hang down over her toes to hide her feet. As you may have guessed this didn't work very well and probably succeeded in drawing more attention, not less, to her feet. So now we've establish she's a bit backwards. Let's move on to flaky.<br /><br />She also told us, almost immediately upon move in, that her nickname in high school was 31 flavors. Curious, but not alarming until she decided to elaborate. You see she was given this nickname because of the number of guys to which she had given head. <br /><br />Hmmmm. Special.<br /><br />Seeing her always made me think of <a href="http://www.killerclips.com/clip.php?id=97&qid=1037">this clip</a> from the movie Clerks. Over the next few months we all had varied interactions with her. I thought she was an idiot but found her moderately entertaining. It was like sport trying to pimp her out to guys. At the bar where I worked I introduced her to the owner's son. He was a man whore and this meant she immediately disappeared to his home in NJ for a weekend of fun. I seem to recall this being the cause of a fight between her and our other roommate (who I'm sure will chime in when she reads this because she never forgets anything).<br /><br />Another time I pawned her off on a guy we all knew well. He had to call us and ask that we come retrieve her after she overstayed her welcome. She had a nasty habit of turning the "morning walk of shame" into "the following evening walk of - I'm too stupid to be ashamed".<br /><br />Then there was the time I made a bet with one of my guy friends that I could just mention to her that he was asking about her and she would be at his doorstep in under an hour. He took that bet and lo and behold she showed up. He couldn't get rid of her so he offered to walk her home. She accepted (but was likely confused about why he was offering considering she didn't want to go). Then as they were standing outside #5 she momentarily went upstairs at which point he begged me to help him get rid of her. I told him to run. He ran. Fast. That part was funny. The bizarre thing was her reaction. It went something like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her: </span>Where did Jeff go?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Who? (<span style="font-style: italic;">feign ignorance</span>)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her:</span> Jeff<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me: </span>Oh. He had to go.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her: </span>Oh. (<span style="font-style: italic;">blink. blink.</span>) Ok.</span><br /><br />So it was no big shocker when we heard she finally got knocked up our senior year.<br /><br />Fast forward 10 years. Against my better judgement I join Facebook. 372 friends later she connects to me. Apparently she started and couldn't stop. I count 4 children.<br /><br />I email our other roommate.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Guess who connected to me...31 flavors. You know she's going to find you next and connect to you.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her: </span>Why on earth would you have ever accepted her?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Meh...she's 31 flavors...she's harmless. Stupid, but harmless.<br /></span><br />So now we've established harmless. Let's talk about not harmless.<br /><br />So for all my brother-in-law's ranting about putting my daughter's website up, I had to think of him when this happened. One day my mother called (as she always does when someone my age gets arrested in my hometown) and said, "Do you know a guy named Mike D.?". Of course I do (I graduated with just over 100 people). Well he was arrested for having 6 gazillion pictures of naked kids on his computer.<br /><br />Awesome.<br /><br />Guess who is on Facebook. Where I post pictures of my kid. Where everyone posts pictures of their kids. Where creepy pervert dude who looks at kiddie porn is connecting to everyone.<br /><br />Ick. Evil Facebook.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-55666462468284839262009-06-01T10:07:00.000-04:002009-06-01T10:08:09.744-04:00When it Rains, It Pours<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'>I think the media is out to poo on my parade lately. Keep this up and I may need some blood pressure meds. <o:p></o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'>Here is a perfect example of why I hate religious zealots…I totally get that they believe abortion is murder, but seriously how can they possibly justify killing this man by saying it isn’t homicide but “stopping him in his tracks”. Has anyone ever seen Gattaca? I truly hope that someday there’s a way to ferret out these wingnuts and put them in a padded cell before they hurt the rest of us. <o:p></o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/01/AR2009060100612.html?hpid=topnews">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/01/AR2009060100612.html?hpid=topnews</a><o:p></o:p></span></font></p> </div> Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-64914028410926439482009-05-31T16:29:00.003-04:002009-05-31T17:17:04.547-04:00I'm an Angry Woman and I Don't Care if You Like Me<div>*steps onto soapbox* </div><div><br /></div><div>Stop reading now if it drives you nuts when I get up here and rant. I'll warn you in advance that I don't give a shit if I get flamed for this because it's my blog and I'm taking it and going home. So there....</div><div><br /></div>I stopped being passionate about things a few years ago because I realized that at the end of the day I didn't accomplish anything and only managed to upset myself. Yes, I recognize this is an apathetic approach to life but it keeps me sane. To quote my father, the master of the cliche, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and most of the time they stink</span>". <div><br /></div><div>Indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's my problem. Lately I've acquired this child and the fire burning beneath the surface has reared its ugly head. See I may have become apathetic about things that impact me, but I have a really hard time being apathetic about things that impact her. I'm not political or religiously inclined, but I take exception to people who want to control my body or put my health at risk. So all the usual suspects piss me off - the status of healthcare, the influence of big pharma, the abortion debate and the latest addition to my personal club of hate ...the vaccination drama.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everybody's gotta point the finger at someone when something bad happens. My husband likes to shit all over Americans for being so litigious. He likes to say things like, "you know, sometimes people just die and that's the way it goes and it doesn't mean you're entitled to turn around and sue the doctor just because they happened to be in proximity". Actually you are entitled and that's part of the challenge - you are entitled to point the finger whether it's right or wrong. The right to point the finger is the cornerstone of our society. It levels the playing field - all people rich or poor can fight when they've been legitimately wronged. Legitimately is such a subjective concept.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yea I know, there's a big old conspiracy out there trying to mislead the sheep. We shouldn't trust big pharma, be an informed consumer of medical advice, blah blah blah. I get it. But here's the deal, some people aren't smart enough to to digest and make an informed decision. They are the reason why there are warnings on plastic packing material that tell you that it poses a suffocation hazard. These people are not smart enough to consume, digest and then choose a course of action. They are the very same people who don't understand that shit just happens sometimes and it doesn't give you the right to poison the well for everyone else.</div><div><br /></div><div>Baaa.</div><div><br /></div><div>So who gets the venom today (aside from all the vaccine haters out there) - Pennsylvania. They let unvaccinated children mingle with the vaccinated ones. I stab my kid in the legs every few months to build immunity. I can live with the crying and crank ass she becomes because I'm taking one for the team. I know that she's healthier for it and so are the rest of the kids who can't be vaccinated for actual medical reasons. I'm also taking one for the kids whose parents probably spent too much time with plastic bags over their heads as children because no one told their idiot parents that oxygen deprivation causes brain damage. Good thing for those warnings these days...</div><div><br /></div><div>I keep my fingers crossed that my kid makes it through the vaccination schedule without coming into contact with some child of an ill informed fanatic who happens to be carrying something she has yet to be vaccinated against. In the mean time I will do my part to make sure that she stays well. </div><div><br /></div><div>*steps off soapbox*</div><div><br /></div><div>PS - for anyone who thinks I'm being mean, please know that I refrained from making a comment about Darwinian theory. Ooops, I guess I didn't.</div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-23017195935156622452009-05-21T23:21:00.003-04:002009-05-22T00:03:49.407-04:00Today, Yesterday, Random Stuff....My dentist is the bestest ever. Aside from being the nicest guy you could ever meet, he likes to sing little songs without words while he works on your teeth. It's a bit like humming with an occasional be bops or boos. His staff is also nice, talking to his receptionist is a bit like mainlining sugar. This is not an exaggeration. <br /><br />So why you ask would I be yammering on about my dentist (especially since my cleaning isn't scheduled until the 29th)? He and his wife sent us a baby gift. She (I'll give his wife credit for this one) sent a little set of socks and a gorgeous crocheted hat. All found at one of my favorite neighborhood boutiques - www.shophelloworld.com. Their website is crap right now, but worth a visit if you're in the Philadelphia area. Last I was there they carried <a href="http://www.patricialocke.com/">Patricia Locke jewelry</a>...love it.<br /><br />Anyway, I digress. So aside from being a really nice guy, he's a good dentist.<br /><br />It's also a good night because I guilted my husband into writing 3 thank you notes. Yes that's right people - 3 whole thank you notes. I think I beg him on a daily basis but apparently tonight the planets were aligned. Why you ask don't I just suck it up and write the notes myself. Simple - if they wrote to us in German, they will be thanked in German. I think that makes perfect sense. If he didn't want to write these thank you notes then SOMEONE shouldn't have sent out birth announcements. Mmmhmmm - yes, I'm talking to you husband.<br /><br />The big news lately is that our kid has started rolling from her back to her stomach. Tonight I found her screaming in her bed twice after we had put her down. The first time she rolled halfway over and got stuck on her side. Clearly this made her unhappy and so she screeched until we came to fix it. About 30 minutes later she managed to roll over, wedge her arm between the crib bars and then thwack her head into the bars while yelping at us. I can tell already this mobility thing is trouble. No good can come from a wildly unstable human being jerking around - just ask my dear friend in London. I seem to recall an evening after polishing off a bottle of Jose Cuervo...it involved a front flip, shot glasses in both pockets and the need to lock someone in their own home. <br /><br />Speaking of accidents...the poop in this house is reaching a critical level. The other day she came home from "school" with a note that said she was changed because of extreme excrement.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />1. You have to love anyone that uses the word excrement. I tend to think that only applies to rodents and other small creatures. Apparently it also applies to my kid.<br />2. At least said child is smart enough not to have extreme excrement at home most of the time. It's almost like she saves it up for them. She's a smart kid - poop on the people we pay, not your mother.</span><br /><br />Ok and this is where I'll renew your faith that I'm still a nasty bitch. There's a mother here in our building that I reluctantly met one day in the lobby. Our kid's are roughly the same age. I can't be sure but I think she may have been in the remedial classes in school. The conversation was reminiscent of a conversation I recently had with cafeteria lady in my office. Aside from that she wears sweatpants in public and asked me if I would be interested in a play date. Seriously? For 4 month olds? It's times like this that I thank my lucky stars I get up and go to work every day and don't have to take stroller power walks with elastic waist pants chick.<br /><br />Ok enough. Here's my parting gift to you all, a little something to entertain you for hours. Thanks JR - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Three-T-Shirt-Available-Various-Sizes/product-reviews/B000NZW3IY/ref=dp_top_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1">this</a> is a real gem. Read the comments. One word. Awesome.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-54216627779740205762009-05-17T14:20:00.011-04:002009-05-17T15:49:39.374-04:00Small Town or 7th Circle of Hell?I grew up in a town of roughly 20K people. We used to joke that there were 3 families that lived there and they basically continued to breed amongst themselves. Seriously, everyone in the town had one of three last names. If they didn't have one of those last names, they were a cousin of those people. This is not an exaggeration.<br /><br />There has to be something in the water. The whole place breeds unusually attractive men. Unfortunately these men are dumb as rocks, but nonetheless hot. (<em>In college we had a name for those boys. It's not nice enough to put in writing...even for this blog</em>).<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBfekdFWKI/AAAAAAAAAn8/omYvKWB9vTI/s1600-h/Copy+of+camera.Tag+117.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336870537220413602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 269px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 179px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBfekdFWKI/AAAAAAAAAn8/omYvKWB9vTI/s400/Copy+of+camera.Tag+117.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBfekdFWKI/AAAAAAAAAn8/omYvKWB9vTI/s1600-h/Copy+of+camera.Tag+117.jpg"></a><br />The town broadcasts the local beauty pageant on public access television. All the girls have "a talent" but unfortunately they don't have any "talent". This is the same public access channel that produced the non-Emmy award winning show, Telemart that I mentioned <a href="http://i-am-not-mean.blogspot.com/2008/03/telemart-telemart-tel-tel-telemart.html">here</a>. Do you think they forced them to wear those colors or was that voluntary? Which brings me to the next item...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBck2uuQEI/AAAAAAAAAn0/j23PsPjIhX4/s1600-h/Copy+of+camera.Tag+128.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336867346670567490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 140px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 201px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBck2uuQEI/AAAAAAAAAn0/j23PsPjIhX4/s400/Copy+of+camera.Tag+128.jpg" border="0" /></a>Despite the fact that this place is only about 30 miles west of Philadelphia somehow bad taste mutates and proliferates. I couldn't quite get the camera out fast enough to catch this one from the front, but I think you get the picture... The acid wash, fade from light to dark is awesome in it's hideousness. There were also a plethora of short shorts on fattie fats. Those were usually strategically paired with really tight tank tops (<em>spaghetti straps mandatory</em>).<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBh4sVcg_I/AAAAAAAAAoE/HHcz-JTVx18/s1600-h/Copy+of+camera.Tag+048.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336873185035715570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 262px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 183px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YL7qIhiZ1ag/ShBh4sVcg_I/AAAAAAAAAoE/HHcz-JTVx18/s400/Copy+of+camera.Tag+048.jpg" border="0" /></a>People also have an obsession with their cars and the speakers in those cars. If the speakers are loud enough to rupture eardrums and make small children cry then it's considered a good start. This might explain why this was part of the parade... <br /><br />These are the same people that you see hanging out at the car wash on a Saturday night. What on earth do you do at a car wash?<br /><br />What a silly question...the car wash is where you drink your 40 of Old E, with your cousins, in your acid washed jeans.... duh.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-43222677290293934662009-04-30T19:18:00.004-04:002009-04-30T19:33:42.162-04:00Relish in the Stupidity of Others<div style="text-align: center;">http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/<br /><br />Hours of entertainment at the expense of others. My favorite!</div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-13556838588757728612009-04-29T12:58:00.000-04:002009-04-29T12:59:39.293-04:00I Heart Pennsylvania<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face=Arial><span style='font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Arial'>Just when I think that government offices are devoid of all technology (<i><span style='font-style:italic'>have you ever seen the inside of city hall? It’s like stepping into the 70’s…</span></i>) I uncover something like this. <a href="http://www.readynotifypa.org/">http://www.readynotifypa.org/</a> Basically you build a profile of where you live and work (or whatever) and then indicate what you want to receive notices about (road closings, amber alerts, severe weather, SWINE FLU (hello!)) and they either text you or email you. Simple. Useful. How elegant!<o:p></o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face=Arial><span style='font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Arial'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face=Arial><span style='font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Arial'>People, this is further evidence that <st1:State w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:State> is superior when compared to the near bankrupt state of <st1:State w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:place></st1:State> (yes yes, glass houses, rocks, I know). However, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Gloucester County</st1:City>, <st1:State w:st="on">NJ</st1:State></st1:place> is also included. Probably because we’re nice like that. <o:p></o:p></span></font></p> </div> Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-58687499966139369532009-04-28T13:01:00.001-04:002009-04-28T13:01:47.414-04:00Wanna Know if Your Neighbor has Swine Flu?<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size: 12.0pt'><a href="http://lifehacker.com/5229560/google-maps-mashup-tracks-swine-flu">http://lifehacker.com/5229560/google-maps-mashup-tracks-swine-flu</a></span></font><font size=2 face=Arial><span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial'><o:p></o:p></span></font></p> </div> Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1117943449353505981.post-67725577650100415012009-04-27T00:02:00.003-04:002009-04-27T00:03:38.269-04:00I love quizes<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >I love a good online quiz....<br /><br />I think some of these guys have worked in our IT department. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;color:#0000ff;" ><strong><span style="font-family:Arial Black;font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: 'Arial Black';"></span></span></strong></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial Black;"><a title="http://www.malevole.com/mv/misc/killerquiz" href="http://www.malevole.com/mv/misc/killerquiz" target="_blank">http://www.malevole.com/mv/<wbr>misc/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">killerquiz</span></a></span></strong></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><strong><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">I got a 6 out of 10 - how did you do?</span><br /></strong></span></span>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08859414991224649839noreply@blogger.com4