If You Disagree With Me, You're WRONG

On the storage capacity of the Ariel lamp

I am not a neat person.  I'm really not.  I have an end table on my side of the bed that is always filled with random shit.  Right now it's got 3 large Webkinz (a monkey, a bunny and a parakeet), a pot holder, a fraction of a bottle of cranberry juice, a mostly empty cup of Diet Dr. Pepper from Chick-Fil-A, an empty Nalgene bottle, an empty 1/2 gallon container of Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, a large cup of formerly ice water now just water, and a plate of smoked turkey leg balanced on top of said cup of formerly ice water now just water.  Along with various and sundry odds and ends such as a highlighter and eraser and apparently a tube of Spongebob Squarepants toothpaste.  And, of course, an Ariel lamp.  You know, from The Little Mermaid?  The shade of the lamp is a little wobbly, but it has a fairly large open top which balances things surprisingly well.  And, right now, there is a large plate with a small piece of yellow cake with chocolate frosting balanced on top.

I've been picking at the turkey leg, since that's the equivilent of my dinner, while searching through romance novels looking for quotes ("Ivory Vagina Expander"  *snort*).  Well, I sort of wasn't paying attention and the turkey leg bonked into the Ariel lamp, setting off a chain reaction of the plate of cake falling, then hitting the Nalgene bottle, which nearly fell off the table.  I saved the cake from toppling off entirely, then, naturally, put it back.  Which, for some reason, despite its former stability, seemed to anger the spirit of the lamp and it flung said piece of cake back at me.  I barely caught it a second time.  However, I am a determined kind of person.  The cake was then properly balanced on top of the Ariel lamp once more.

Or, rather, it WAS until I tried to take a picture of said lamp, which angered the spirit of the lamp once more, and the cake then fell , hitting the bottle of cranberry juice (thank god for lids), and the cup from Chick-Fil-A with some Diet Dr. Pepper in it, both of which gracefully dove off the table, somehow landing upright without actually spilling anything.  You will be happy to learn that all is now in harmony, merely reassembled in a slightly different position.

Uncle Walter has advised me that some would take this as a sign that cleaning was in order.  Me?  I know better.  I know that I merely have to appease the night-stand gods with additional offerings, just in different flavors.  Apparently they are tired of cake, cranberry juice and stale Diet Dr. Pepper.  I can't imagine why.

Okay, you've caught him. Now what? Otherwise known as How The Wife and Uncle Walter Met Part 2

Ha!  $750?  That was just HIS share!  I had my own $750 phone bill to contend with!  And while Uncle Walter was a fairly well-paid computer guy, I was a gas jockey earning slightly more than minimum wage.  So, yeah, it was a lot of money.  But it was a lot more for me.

When Uncle Walter asked to come down to see me over New Year's, I was... happy.  Okay, okay, fine, yes I squeed.  But I've never done it before or since!  And given that I am a girl and yet have abstained, you must cut me some slack.  I was visiting with my mom when the call came through, and when she heard my cheerful cry she was immediately curious.  In a rare bout of maternal interest, she asked me some questions about what UW liked.  Please keep in mind... this was maybe about two weeks after he and I had met.  I didn't really know much about him!  Telling my mom he was a hottie in the sack isn't quite what she had in mind.  Wracking my brain, I came up with the fact that he liked bread and he liked potatoes. (This will make more sense in a bit.)

Fast forward a couple of days and UW gives me his arrival information.  Now, I never went to high school.  Never had much in the way of standard education beyond the barest whiff of 6th grade.  But even I knew that Orlando was in central Florida and Tallahassee... was not.  That, however, was where UW was going to fly in.  Oh joy.  And to top it off, I was able to snag Wednesday, New Year's Eve DAY off, but NOT the night before.  And UW's flight was arriving at 9 a.m.  Great.  So I had to work a 9 hour shift and then drive 4 1/2 hours to pick him up.  But I'm a trooper!  I did it with only a teeny bit of aggravation!  (Read:  I bitched him out half the trip.  Please note, I did not have a radio in my car!  That is one hell of a boring ride at 3 a.m., by yourself, pre-cheap-cell-phone-rates, without even the distraction of music.)

I finally make it to the airport.  There I spent an hour or so in the parking garage doing what every person does just before New Year's: writing Christmas cards.  Eventually, though, I realized that I was going to have to get in there and find a comfy bench so that I could pass out.  See, I hadn't flown in YEARS.  Like a decade or more.  And I'd never been to the Orlando airport.  I just knew that he would come through the main area.  So, I found a bench and dragged my butt and my blanket over to it, and eventually fell asleep.  I woke at about 8 a.m.  I read the paper.  I drank some coffee.  Come 9 I started getting antsy.  Where WAS he?  Had he stood me up?  How the heck was I going to find him?  I didn't have any of the flight info.  I just knew what time he was arriving and from where.  Fat lot of good that would do me when the freaking airport is like a mini city!  And, even in that pre-9/11 atmosphere, they wouldn't tell me his flight details.

Wait!  What's that I hear?  A page over the loud-speaker?  I wander wearily toward the terminal he's supposed to be arriving from, hearing my name once more.  I have my newspaper tucked under one arm.  I am dragging a large afghan.  I am wearing my Phantom of the Opera t-shirt so that he'll recognize me.  I am bleary eyed and have gotten about 2 or 3 hours of sleep over the last 48 hours.  And there he is!  I think he was wearing a white shirt of some sort.  But honestly, I'm not sure.  I stumble toward him, thrust out my mass-o-keys (yeah, it was about 20 key chains and 4 keys).  My greeting for my future husband?  "You're driving,"  Before I turn around and stumble back off toward my car.  He followed.

I can't remember if I told him we were going to stop by and see my grandma before then.  I mean, it's only about 1 1/2 hours out of the way (round trip), so it wasn't a big deal.  Now, my grandma lived in this teeny-tiny town near Eustis and Crow's Bluff.  How tiny is tiny?  It has a stop sign and a flashing yellow light.  My brother lived there with my grandma, and there were some relatives visiting.  One was a young man who had a watch JUST LIKE Uncle Walter's prized calculator watch, AND he spoke Klingon!  Oh goody!  Someone to entertain him!  In an effort to impress one of the few respectable men I've ever been seen with, my grandma makes us lunch.  Hm...  What do I know about what UW likes?  Oh!  He doesn't like mayonnaise!  So I make sure Grammy knows that.  Fine, look, I get it -- Tuna Fish is DRY without mayonnaise!  Sheesh.  Sue me for trying to be thoughtful!  He liked the chocolate covered pretzels at least...

Somehow we made it through the visit and were off again (this time with me driving).  We arrived in town, making a quick stop at my mom's apartment.  She, for some reason, is not there.  Now... remember when I said that she'd taken an unusual maternal interest?  Yeah.  Thing is, her way of showing that interest was to stock up on things that UW likes.  Like the nice, fresh-baked loaf of bread.  Awesome!  And... a freezer full of frozen mashed potatoes.  I mean FULL of them.  Stacked wall to wall.  Not just frozen mashed potatoes, but VERY CHEAP frozen mashed potatoes.  I'm pretty sure UW's face was stuck in this weird combination of shock/fear/disgust for about 5 minutes.  Needless to say, we took the loaf of bread and left the potatoes.  We finally made it back to my place.

My place was a very small 2 bedroom mobile home in a trailer park out on the very edge of town.  I shared said mobile home with a good friend, who also happened to be an ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be an occasional friend with benefits.  In the year or so since the beginning of the disasterous breakup with the long-term ex and the REAL breakup (ie when we stopped screwing around on the side), which was just before I met UW, I was rooming with my friend and enjoying those benefits.  Yes, yes, fine, I'm a tramp.  Whatever.  I own it.  Thing is, while I saw it as a fringe benefit of friendship, I think he kind of had expectations.  I didn't think of it, or realize it, but looking back on it, he did seem kind of upset about my hook-up with UW.  He didn't let on, however, and the meeting was only slightly awkward.

Fast-forward through most of the night: we go back to my mom's, discover that cheap non-alcoholic fake champagne does NOT have a cork to pop, learn that the tiny loaf of bread my mom made was supposed to be SHARED (oops), and then head back to my tin can abode.  Where we very happily "ring in the New Year" in the best way possible.  For every time zone.  For HOURS.  I was walking a bit funny the next day.

Over the next couple days, Uncle Walter got to meet every single member of my immediate family -- lest one randomly placed sister -- (and there are a LOT of them), go to work with me every day (for 8+ hours at a gas station no less), and get lost looking for Radio Shack.  He also ate a great deal of Pringles.  Aside from the times I'd lock the store and we'd have bouts of sex in the back room, or the endless nights of sex at the trailer, that's most of what we did.  That and talk.  We talked a lot.  About everything.  And that really, really strong like?  The one that made me want to spend more than just one night with him?  Continued to grow.  And pretty soon we both kind of realized this was a good thing.

Sunday morning comes, my day off, day four in our current saga.  Uncle Walter is set to leave on Wednesday.  He was going to fly away, and we had no idea when we would get to see each other again.  I was dead broke and he'd maxed out his credit cards and used up his savings (not to mention his vacation time) coming to the wedding and down to see me in the first place.  What to do, what to do?  Uncle Walter realized what he'd have to do.  And when he asked if I would move in with him, I could only say yes.  That night I called and quit my job.  The following day we packed all of my stuff that we could fit into my Geo Metro.  We stopped by to see all of my local family one last time.  Everyone gave me heartfelt, but pleased, good-byes.  And then we made the 16 hour drive.

Well, this seems like a good enough place to stop, don't you think?  Stay tuned for the next installment:  Meeting the Parents!

If you can't reduce, then reuse and recycle -- the ultimate conservationist use for breastmilk...

What  do you do when you have more breastmilk than you know what to do with?  Well, first choice is to donate it, but that is a long process, and in the meantime, it's easy to run out of space for it all.  Throwing it away is one of the most horrifying things that someone could possibly do to the most nutritious food on the planet.  One couple, who seem like some of the coolest people on the planet, have found an awesome use for it.  Daniel Angerer is making cheese out of his wife's extra milk.  Too bad it's not available for sale.

Yeah, I know this grosses people out.  But when I say that it's the most nutritious food, I mean it.  There is nothing better for the human body than human milk.  It is designed to give a person everything they can possibly need for their health (it's just usually not in sufficient quantities for an adult).  And while the cooking process will remove a lot of those nutrients, just the way cooking any food will, it's still an amazing way to help a growing boy or girl to stay healthy long past weaning!  Especially if you never breastfed at all.  And more so if your child has extreme allergies and will react to dairy products.  Which happens a lot.  'Cause, you know, COW MILK IS MEANT FOR BABY COWS, not baby humans, and it's almost amazing that humans can drink it at all.  It's from a different SPECIES, people.  That would be like suckling directly off a dog.  And yes, I use dairy.  I have no moral or ethical problems with it.  But I do resent the fact that breastfeeding is treated as a privilege, not the right it is, but forced milking of a cow is big business.

Why would we not flinch at eating cheese made from cow's milk, but hesitate to eat cheese made from human milk?  I'd rather something be MEANT for a human, rather than yanking the milk out of an ANIMAL and calling that "food."  Wouldn't you?  If you're like most people, no.  But there are some of us who find the whole process of eating cow's milk to be a little gross -- even if we still do it.

And besides, this can support a family!  No extra costs to house and feed the animals.  Just a gourmet dish made from the healthiest stuff on the planet.  I'd buy it!  Right now, breastfeeding has little public support pushing for its use.  There's no money in it, since it's provided to children for free. THIS however, may provide a way for making money -- and thus allow for breastfeeding lobbying and support.  And maybe will encourage others to use the milk that they were built to use, rather than the animal milk that some company sells us with the lies that it's as good as human milk -- or even close.

So KUDOS, Mr. and Mrs. Angerer.  For what it's worth, you have my support and my respect.  Good for both of you!  And yay for little Arabella/Caroline for getting the nutrition she needs and deserves.

And, just 'cause it's me: To anyone who thinks there's something wrong with this: Screw you.  As the name says, if you disagree with me, you're wrong.

I really don't give a crappity smack if I hurt your feelings...

You know, hard as it may be to believe, I get really tired of trying not to offend people.  I hate feeling as if I have to placate people just because they're uncomfortable with themselves and their decisions.  What, you may ask, am I talking about?

Well, let's say... for just a random example... I post something extolling the virtues of breastfeeding.  Obviously there's nothing about that to argue with:  breastfeeding is better for a baby.  Formula is a far distant second.  Keeping that in mind, if you choose not to breastfeed, you should be comfortable with your decision.  Or, if for some reason you feel that you were *unable* to breastfeed, then you also need to be comfortable with that.  I mean, if *I* had been unable to breastfeed, I would at least rest easy knowing that I'd tried my damnedest to do so -- as should anyone else who's done their best (and yes, I DO know some people who've been unable to nurse).  I might feel sad, but I sure as hell wouldn't feel defensive.  What's there to defend against if you gave something your all?

But what if, say, you DIDN'T give it your all?  What if, despite knowing how much better breastmilk is, you tried but in a half-hearted attempt?  Or didn't try at all for purely selfish reasons?  Well, then you WOULD feel pretty defensive eh?

You know what?  THAT AIN'T MY PROBLEM.

What IS my problem is when said people feel the need to clutter up my space with their political correctness bullshit.  NO, I *don't* have to also add that NOT breastfeeding is okay, too.  No I DON'T have to say that it's okay to make whatever choice you're comfortable with.  No I DON'T have to suck up to you just to make you feel better about your own decisions.  If you're that insecure about it, then deal with it on your own.  I'm not your fucking therapist.

This isn't actually a rant about breastfeeding.  This is about the stupid need some people feel to qualify their opinions.  Fuck political correctness.  Either feel good about the choices you make, or shut the fuck up when I think you're wrong.

And just for the hell of it, here is the image that appeared when I did a search for "politically incorrect" images:

 

Justice delayed is justice denied...

As I'm sure you all know, Roman Polanski, confessed and convicted child sex offender, has finally been detained after 32 years on the run.  Why did he flee?  Because he was going to have to serve up to 48 DAYS in prison for drugging and raping a 13 year old girl.  You see, he thought, by his plea agreement, that he would only "suffer" the 42 DAYS that he'd already served, rather than have any additional punishment. How horrendous!  What a terrible castigation for the defilement and abuse of a child!  So unfair!  He was famous!  He was respected!  He was... a rapist.

Angelica Huston, present at the party where the rape took place, concurred that the victim looked older.  Therefore... um... what?  She must have asked for it?  So if she'd been older, it would have been okay to drug her with quaaludes, ply her with alcohol, and have sex with her when she was unable to give consent?  Oh yeah, that makes sense!  Good 'ole Angelica!  She sure knows right from wrong!

Instead of being horrified by this man's actions, instead of reviling him, he's been admired by his peers.  He's won an Oscar and was only arrested because he was going to Switzerland to be honored at the Zurich Film Festival.  If this were any other person, any other man who was a convicted sex offender, he would be ostracized.  But because he has talent, he is allowed to live his life as if he'd never traumatized a young girl?

At what point do we become ashamed of ourselves?  At what point does our own tolerance of abhorrent behavior overtake our desire for justice?  30 years ago this man was offered what amounted to a stern dressing down, but couldn't even accept that.  Now he's spent 30 years in exile (in luxurious exile).  Oh yes, THAT was better than 90 days in jail.  In the meantime his victim has had to come to accept that she will never receive justice.

Even if his victim has come to terms with this and is willing to put it behind her, *I* am not willing to accept this.  I'm not willing to feel comfortable with this.  I can't think of an excuse that makes his behavior, before or after, acceptable.  So I won't.  I hope, when he comes to the United States, that Roman Polanski is sentenced to jail time.  I hope he is punished, if not for the rape of a child, then at the least for fleeing the country rather than serve his time.  I don't care that he felt as if he was misled about the plea bargain.  A child rapist deserves more than this man was ever going to get.

Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way.  He's rich and famous and the best case scenario is that he gets to plea to time served and has the conviction on his record  Anything more and they risk interfering with his career.  The horrors! Sometimes things really are black and white, not shades of gray, and a 40 something year old man drugging and raping a 13 year old girl is one of those times.

I'm sorry that his wife, Sharon Tate, and unborn child were murdered.  No one deserves that.  I'm sure that he was going through a hard time.  It had only been a few years, after all, and drug use is a common way to mask pain.  But that doesn't excuse the rape of a child.  Nothing does.  And until we realize that, rapists will continue to receive inappropriate punishments -- and children will continue to suffer.

52 weeks of sexual stupidity, otherwise known as how to disgust your lover

I like reading books about sex.  Cause, you know, I like HAVING sex.  I like to get ideas of new things to do and new ways to pleasure Uncle Walter.  So for some reason I picked up this book.  I'm not sure why.  It was probably a freebie from Adam & Eve when I was buying some toys.

This book is rather what you'd expect.  It's a book of suggestions on how to keep your sex life exciting.  Does it live up to that claim?  Well... let us take a look at some of these suggestions, shall we?

"Aphrodite's Morning Elixer"
Especially for Him with love from Her
An often unconcious turn-on for men is your personal womanly scent.  Yes, the aroma of your vagina is the elixir of the gods to the average male! [Really?  The aroma of my vagina?  That sounds so... not sexy.]  If you dab some of your secretions behind your ears and on your neck, you will suddenly be more alluring than ever, although he won't know why.  [Because of course what you want to do is smell your own "secretions" all day.]  Be sure to give him a good long hug before he leaves in the morning so that he gets a nice long whiff. [And he can wonder about the stench. "Honey, I think it may be time to take out the garbage."]
Better yet, dab your scent on his pillow, his handkerchief, his collar, wherever his nose might be, and he'll think of you all day with desire on his mind.  [Or he'll hate you because while he's at work he has to expose everyone else to your stank.  And he can't even wash it off!] Of course, whether or not you want to fess up to your little plan is strictly up to you (wink!) [Who's he going to THINK did it???]
If you want to make it especially romantic, find time to call him during the day and tell him you've been thinking of HIM all day.  You can bet this is one night he will NOT work late! [Of course not!  He's going to be in too much of a hurry to come home and change his clothes!]

Look, I'm not one of those people who thinks that women inherently stink.  I'm not going to make some "fish" joke.  But, well, it kind of screams for one, doesn't it?  Say it with me:  Eeew.

That's not all, folks, not by a long shot.  Let's look at some others:

Popover Surprise
Especially for Her with love from Him
Men, have you ever thought about ravishing your partner like one of those hunks in the romance novels?  Well, here's your chance! [We've read The Blog we know what that's REALLY like.  Trust me, most women don't want that.]
Hide yourself in a closet or the bathroom and wait for her to walk by (or you can call her to come to you if need be).  When she reaches where you are, grab her arm and pull her gently inside. [Yeah, because all your woman wants is to be grabbed and raped in a closet.] Kiss her passionately like a boy who's never kissed before, and press your erection against her. [What, slobber all over her and ram your tongue into her mouth? Oh yes, that's some sexy!] And remember, this is illicit love that must be accomplished fast before you get caught!  [So hurry the fuck up!]  Grind against one another fully clothed.  Go ahead and finish in your pants -- make a mess! [Show her that you're a Sir Speedy AND that you don't care about her pleasure.  Two for the price of one!]
Of course, if you are both daring enough, you can try this scenario in the bathroom at a party, club or restaurant. [Just make sure she knows -- otherwise you may find yourself in a sticky situation, getting arrested for attempted rape and all.] The stakes will be much higher, and you will, of course, in this case want to reach your climax OUTSIDE your pants! [Better to leave a mess for a stranger to clean up -- or your host when s/he gets a surprise in their coat closet.]

But that's not all! There's surely SOMETHING worthwhile in this book.  Something that won't get you arrested or gross you out!

Hot Cross Buns
Have you ever wondered how the other half live?  Well, now is your chance! [Do you see where we're going with this yet?] Make plans to go our for a special dinner, but trade underwear before you leave. [Oh, yes, they DID go there.] He wears hers; she wears his. [Just in case you couldn't figure it out.] Make sure the underwear you bring to the evening will be reasonably comfortable for your partner. Better to skip the tiniest thong and the baggiest of boxers.  [How considerate!] Knowing you're in each other's skivvies, you will both be grinning all through your meal [Let's just hope there aren't any skid marks and those weren't her period undies.]
If you are a woman, this is also an opportunity to practice some creative flashing.  [We're back to trying to get arrested, eh?] If you wear a button down blouse, see if you can get a table where you can unbutton and give your man a quick glimpse of cleavage when you lean toward him.  As you excuse yourself to the restroom, let your dress creep up to show him just a hint of his underwear on your body. [Because whitie-tighties are a total turn on.] If you are REALLY daring, try the foot on his crotch routine under the table, or ask him to pick up your fork under the table only to give him a peek under your dress. [Oh yeah, after flashing, this is REALLY daring.] You certainly do not want to get kicked out of the restaurant, but if you're discreet no one will notice what you are doing.  You can eat your meal seductively, licking your lips and fingers while gazing into his eyes.  You can even "accidentally" brush your nipple erect through your blouse as you reach for your wine glass.
After all of this teasing, you will want to skip dessert and make your own!  One of you should excuse himself or herself to the restroom. [Who WOULDN'T want to have sex in a dirty public restroom?] (Stake it out ahead of time so that you know exactly which one you will visit.)  After a couple of minutes, meet your parter in the restroom, and treat yourselves to a "must have you right here, right now!" quickie (with lubricant assistance, of course).  [I thought you were supposed to be all hot and bothered all ready?]  Switch your underwear back to their rightful owners, and leave the restaurant the happiest couple in the room. [Definitely happier than the poor sap who has to clean up after you.]

Now...  Don't you feel much better?  Completely turned on?  Totally horny??  Well, find you some secretions, get your cross-dressing ass down to a public restroom and rape someone!  Pronto!

Why do drunk old men want to talk to me???

Seriously!  It seems that no matter where I go, some old guy wants to chat about random shit.  And it's *stupid* shit, too.  Do they really think I care??  I know I look or seem somewhat approachable.  And I don't mind it so much when it's a hot-chick or a dreamy guy.  I totally mind it when it's a drunk old man with gleaming red eyes.  Demon drunks!  Ack!

Today some guy starts talking to me about Hannah Montana breakfast cereal.  Huh?  WHY???  Is this what people think about when they're drunk?  I've never been drunk before, so I just don't know.  I've been around enough drunk people to know that they talk about some weird stuff, but how does one even GET to the WalMart if they're that drunk?  And what are they doing going shopping anyway?

Trust me, the guy wasn't stoned.  I know stoned when I see it.  This guy stunk of beer, too.  And he had no whites to his eyes, they were all red.  If I hadn't had my son with me, I probably would have followed him around (surreptitiously) and then called the cops when I saw him get into his car.  As it was, I just wanted to get my kid away from him, because The Boy was staring up at him in fascination.  I'm not worried, though -- The Boy is currently enthralled with his own crap.  :D

How do I put up some barrier against drunk old men, without putting up barriers against everyone?  I like people, and I like talking to random people.  Gives me a sense of society, of what people are like.  And I've made some good friends by talking to strangers.  But at some point I have to say that I don't want to deal with this anymore, and might I have something different thrown at me for a while?  Ugh.