Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Do They See Themselves As Pan Or Hook?

The Boy Lovers are back with their unique combination of self-pity and Peter Pan obsessions. I linked to them almost a year ago and joined a campaign to have their blog taken down. If you don't spew whatever meal you may have just consumed immediately upon viewing, you might want to take note of their attempts to pretty themselves up with the pedantic language of college sophomores. It's still a pig in lipstick. And I hope that phraseology doesn't turn them on.

But I have news for you fellas. No matter how many big words you use, no matter what your sparkling fantasies of Ancient Greece are, and no matter how many youth league soccer games you have been allowed to coach, no one sees you as healthy or sane. Sure, you may pick off the odd Democrat like John (my daughter's godfather touched a 14 year old) Kerry, and Jimmy (let's pardon the sexual offender) Carter, Gerry (I'm going to screw a minor on the taxpayer dime and get re-elected. Take that homophobes) Studds, and the entire Kennedy (do we really want to go there) Clan, but the rest of the world, including the most irritating, sanctimonious, soy wallowing liberal types, believe there is something wrong with you. Basically, nobody likes you, everybody hates you, and you should go eat worms. From e-coli laden dirt. And you should stop thinking about young boys. They don't want you to think about them. All the abuse that children suffer at the hands of sexual predators begins with a desire to have sex with them. That means you. So pardon the ignorant, church-going breeders for their caution.

However, I have changed my mind about wanting your blog removed. I think that when you inevitably convince yourself that a troubled boy, starved for affection, actually desires your sexual advances, law enforcement needs to be able to find you as quickly as possible. So blog away.

I'd also like to take a minute to remind you of what happens to child molesters in prison and to point out that prison inmates are the least likely individuals on the planet to make a distinction between "boy love" and "child rape."

But above all, you need to recognize that you are ill and find someone to help you. We all have burdens to carry in this life, and your burden is that you can never, EVER touch the object of your affection unless they are over 18 and consenting. The liberty of "just being yourself" does not extend to you when your desires have such great potential to harm the most innocent of human beings. It's a heavy cross to be sure, but you have no choice. We have willed it thus.

Monday, February 26, 2007

More From Ayaan Hirsi Ali

Listen to this woman. She is brilliant.

But better yet, she makes Bill Maher look like the smarmy, cheap, sophomoric little asshole that he is. And the two morons sitting on each side of her are priceless as they wallow in their complete and utter ignorance.

*Background: Ayaan Hirsi Ali was a Muslim woman who immigrated to Holland to escape an arranged marriage. She was one of the victims of female circumcision, and saw firsthand how Arab Muslims treated black Africans (Muslim or not). She apostatized from Islam once in Holland and became a vocal opponent of the intolerance and violence of Islam especially against women. This earned her a death sentence from the mullahs across the Middle East and Europe. She collaborated with Theo van Gogh (descendant of the famous painter) on a documentary detailing the abuses women suffer under this oppressive religion. He was slaughtered by a Muslim fanatic on the streets of Amsterdam. She was forced into hiding.

Our own media does its level best to ignore her, which is all the more reason we need to pay attention to what she has to say.

H/T: Little Green Footballs

Thursday, February 22, 2007

I'm Not A Racist. That's What's So Insane About This.

Yeah I know it's been awhile. I've been working on my real estate classes. They are extremely boring, but now, thanks to the ethics portion, I am able to tell the difference between right and wrong. Except when a non-white person complains. Then I become automatically wrong and I need to shut the fuck up and be grateful that I'm white. This is going to make arguing with Jethro somewhat less fun than it has been in the past.

Now I'm not one to quibble, but I am really getting tired of being called white. I am pink. PINK, dammit. And red in some places. With blue and green poking through. Acknowledge.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Hey There

I've come to the conclusion that I am tired of tickling balls for nothing but debt. I'm no knock-out, but I have huge tits that can defy gravity with the right amount of sturdy, underwired encouragement, and that has to count for something.

So I've decided to whore myself in a constant, persistent, hopefully non-homicide-inducing fashion to the idea of Jethro's Practice.

We can bitch and moan all day about his boss and her inconsistencies, tirades, baffling business decisions and utter lack of fashion sense (three words: Pleated, Tapered Pants. Belted far above the waist. And when I laid that line on someone, Jethro muttered, "That's nothing. You should see her Pleated, Tapered Jeans). But when it comes right down to it, it's her business, and she can call all the shots. If she wants to alienate her employees, inconvenience her patients, soak Jethro for as much work for as little money as possible, and dress as if she drives a Delorian [updated link]; it's her incontrovertible right, and I will not dispute that.

As we say in blogworld, "If you don't like it, start your own."


So everything else is going well. I am in a very upbeat, positive place. I think I might be on the cheerful side of a manically depressive mood swing. Or maybe I'm just feeling better from my kidney infection.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Dribs and Drabs

I have a kidney infection. I could probably use that as an excuse for not blogging, and in fact, I think I will. It hurts to sit up for too long and it hurts to lie down for too long. If I curl up a certain way on the couch, it doesn't hurt quite as much. I am taking antibiotics, but they make me nauseous, so I just have to suck it up (or down as the case may be).

I've also been tied up with family. I've come to the conclusion that I can't really do anything for my mom, but I can work on my relationships with my sisters. Now that we're all in the same state it should be easier. I feel as if my relationships with them have really suffered throughout the years and I see more hope in repairing those than I do in repairing my mom's life. One sister in particular is going to be a challenge. She has been severely damaged by events in the past and I am hoping she is not too bitter to help repair our family.

Anyway, none of this is life-threatening, but it does put a damper on my blogworld. So to tide you over until my next riveting post, check out this website courtesy of Jim Treacher at Blowing Smoke.

Methinks Gooch will particularly enjoy this concept.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Because You Need To Know

I was tagged again (in the bloglical sense) to name some more weird things about myself. Happily, I have a limitless supply.

1.) Fairly recently, I realized that I'm in the habit of holding onto my earlobe while I sleep. I sleep with my face on my hand and my earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. I don't know if this is recent or if I've been doing it for years, but I noticed it just after I posted the last list of weird.

2.) Since we're on sleeping arrangements, I must also confess to sleeping like Peter Pan, with one knee raised almost to my chest and the other leg flung outward. I'm a weird sleeper.

3.) When I was pregnant with both girls, I had a bizarre craving for foam. I didn't want to swallow it, but I would take bubble baths with a lot of soap and swish the suds around in my mouth. The foamier I got the better I liked it. Brushing my teeth was almost orgasmic. I would sit in the bathroom and scrub my teeth, making sure to generate as much foam as possible. I'd lean over the bathtub and let it drool out, but I wouldn't stop brushing. One time I brushed my teeth for over 30 minutes.

4.) I have a very hard time standing up and speaking in front of a group of people, even if they're all my friends.

5.) I used to claim I didn't like cauliflower when I was in grade-school because I thought I was weird for having almost no distaste for any kind of food. I figured I could give up cauliflower for the sake of appearing normal - a completely useless endeavor, I might add.

6.) I told my sisters an ongoing story when we were little. It was about 3 sisters and their little brother. The oldest girl was named Wendy and she was the hero. The second sister was named Clara and I made her such a priss, much to my second sister's irritation. The third sister was named Anastasia. She was kind of whacky. I didn't really have the stamina to develop her personality very well, so I made her a combination of first two to the point of schizophrenia. Three and a half days a week, she would be an adventurous tomboy just like Wendy, and precisely at 12:00 noon on Wednesdays, she would transform into a snooty little goodie-two-shoes just like Clara. The little brother was named Thomas and he was borderline psychotic. I didn't have any brothers, so I didn't really know what boys were like. I went with evil and violent.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

You're Such An Idiot, Dad. God.

I never dreamed I would feel in any way badly about the death of a person such as Anna Nicole Smith. But to my utter astonishment, I do. I'm going to miss all the crazy. She made me laugh if at nothing else, then the utter inanity of the human species. Sometimes we take ourselves too seriously.


Anyway, we finally got to have a little birthday party for Emma. Oh. My. God. This is the last birthday party I'm having for them. I'm no stickler for etiquette beyond just a general sense of politeness and tact, but I'm going to have to bitch for a second.

We had Emma's birthday at a little pastry shop close to our house. It's has a very cutesy decor with a giant inverted cupcake on the ceiling, and some very professional decorating. All the kids get to make their own cupcakes, which is cute. It's a great place for a little girl's birthday party.

A gentleman dropped off one of Emma's friends from school, then proceeded to tell me that the place was not very manly and he was going to take off and do manly things for awhile. Then he asked if he could leave his older daughter there. I wasn't terribly happy. First he insults the party and then he wants me to pay extra so he can leave his other daughter there and go pretend he's a man? He lives in the suburbs. It's not like he's going to suddenly grow a pair.

I'm not one to be rude in front of children so I smiled and said that I thought we had an extra place for his daughter and if we didn't she could share with her sister. He eventually ended up taking his daughter, but not after saying that the party wasn't really her thing. No duh, brain surgeon. She was in 4th grade and the party was for Kindergarteners. But what a thing to say.

I saw him again today while we were picking our kids up from another birthday party for another kid in Emma's class. He had managed to dump his older daughter off successfully at this one. I noted with a sense of smug satisfaction that he had food all over his face.

Good manners aren't for ladies and little girls. It doesn't make your dick shrink to act like a gentleman. And just because fathers/husbands are portrayed as fat, slow, simpletons in pop culture, it doesn't mean you are required to enforce that particular stereotype.


Anyway, that's about all. There is something wrong with my computer, so I have to use Jethro's laptop and I'm still congested from my cold, so it's difficult to give him the blow jobs that are required to use it.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Back In The Saddle

Okay, Phlemfatale beat me to all the funny observations, but this has to be the best story to come down the pipes in years. I mean it has it all: love, obsession, attempted murder, travel .....diapers?! I mean, if I was going to murder the lover of my obsession, I'd want to do it after I'd soiled myself. I'm just sayin'...


I've been sick again, so I haven't felt like doing anything except feeling sorry for myself lately. I still have a bad case of laringitis. Even Bobcat Goldwaithe has abandoned me to dulcet tones of a dying seal. It makes for an intersting love-making experience. I sounded like a badly dubbed anime porn character - male.

Perversely, I've needed my voice more than ever these last few days.

Jethro's job situation is looking tentative. I refuse to see this in a negative light. He needs to go out on his own. It is time.

My family situation, to which I have been alluding, but haven't actually blogged about, came to a head also. My mom, after many agonizing months and mind-numbingly excruciating thought processes (sparing me exposure to not the minutest detail), has finally filed for divorce from my Stepdad. Whether she will go through with it remains to be seen.

I have a million things to blog about, not the least of which is a little gift I received in the mail from a total pervert and his total pervert fiancee. But I outperved them. Oh yes I did. The details will have to remain forthcoming until I find the time to do them justice.