Mitt Romney is a carny.
Now before anyone wants to jump down my throat and argue across party lines or tell me I don't know what I am talking about, let me give you some information. I am the daughter of a carny so I know one when I see one. This has nothing to do with gender, age, race or political alliance. It has to do with the fact that the man could have a brilliant career on the side show circuit.
See here's what any good carny will tell you is the key to a successful pitch--a good bally and then distract the marks! Yes sir, yes sir, step right up and see the giant! Nine feet ten inches tall (never mind that the guy is six foot six). Then they'll be pointing out the fine quality stuffed bears on the top shelf that you could win--yessiree!--with their right hand while they are setting the rig on the game with their left foot. Engage the mark with enthusiasm and promises and then distract them so you can set them up and send them home with empty pockets.
And here's what Mitt Romney did.
In the first debate he went after PBS. And then for good measure threw in Big Bird. It's a brilliant bally! Take something that you know the liberals will flip their wigs over (public television) and throw in an icon. Now watch the marks tripping over themselves to get onto facebook and kvetch about it.
The reality of this is that the federal government is not a major source of funding for PBS. It is however, a major source for Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Well, major for them. In terms of annual federal spending the amount they get is a blip. And Big Bird doesn't work for either of them. He works for Sesame Street. Granted they are all connected but please don't suggest to me that if public broadcasting disappeared tomorrow, that Nickelodeon wouldn't jump on the chance to syndicate Sesame Street. And they would make a boat load of money on it.
The internet was on fire!!!! No one was talking about any of the issues. No siree Bob! It was all about Big Bird. No conversations on the monetary value of pre-school preparatory education that shows like Sesame Street provide. How many children, I wonder, have started school already knowing their numbers, their letters and having a good running start on learning how to read because of Sesame Street. An analysis of the actual value of federal dollars spent is the real point. Big Bird is a puppet--he'll be fine.
Distraction at its finest.
And last night's show was even better. Distract distract distract! "I have binders full of women" is the debate equivalent of "Come see the living headless body!" It's a mirror trick. There is no such thing as a living headless body. And so far, there is no such thing as any significant female presence in the Romney campaign or cabinet planning. It's a trick. A sleight of hand. And it's all anyone can talk about today. Truth be told, I'm having a really hard time stopping myself from making binder jokes. It's really fun!
Here's the part where this gets political. I blame the Republican Party for building this midway. In 2008, the Palin family was trotted out like the Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky of the election. At the time, I believed that the Palin's were there so the party could have a scapegoat when they lost. But it turned out, the Palins fired the country up. The result--an even larger gap between the Democrats and the Republicans. The rhetoric of the past four years has been outstanding. From the birthers to the Tea Party and everything in between the lack of focus on real issues and real accountability has been profound. And the party seems to have decided that "Step Right Up" is the new campaign slogan. And this year we are getting an even bigger and better show.
Our current administration did not start the bailouts but I have lost count of the number of times that President Obama has been blamed for them. The wars were already going full force. The economy was already in the crapper. I could go on but I won't.
What we got from the Republican Party was a series of sideshows. So often information was either misleading (the famous man eating chicken gag) or patently false (the girl into a gorilla gag). And Governor Romney, who claims to be an intelligent man, allowed himself to become the pitch man for this hot mess.
Which is the main reason why I don't like him. He believes that we are all willing marks who will fall for any trick or gag that they come up with. It's insulting, it's dangerous and it reeks of hubris.
I am proud to be categorized as a liberal based on my values and my beliefs (actually, my uncle called me a screaming pinko liberal when I was in seventh grade but that's a story for another day). A huge part of my value system is respect for other people's opinions, values and beliefs unless I find them illegal, hateful or immoral. For most conservatives, that is not the case. They are simply good people who see the world differently than I do. And I am fine with that. I like living in a country where we are all allowed to be different and to share our differences.
As proud as I am of being a liberal, I am equally proud of the people who share my values of acceptance, mutual intelligence, discourse and tolerance regardless of their politics. I wish our political system would do the same.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Dodge Ball
I have always hated the game dodge ball. As a matter of fact, I used to do my best to get myself intentionally knocked out of play early on in the game so I wouldn't have to deal with it at all. I can state with extreme confidence that I suck at any kind of sport (except volley ball which I am oddly and freakishly good at) but I can't think of another sport that I actively loathe as much as dodge ball.
Actually, I think that more specifically, I am bad at any sport that involves catching a ball. For whatever reason, I always shy away from it and end up getting slammed with the ball. Taking into consideration the fact that the entire point of dodge ball is to slam your opponent with the ball, it was really a double whammy for me during those torturous years when I was forced to play. Those fabulous Catholic school gym uniforms were long enough to be totally uncool yet short enough to leave a good long stretch of bare, naked, white thigh just begging to be slammed into with a red rubber ball. And everyone knows there is nothing prettier than having that star pattern from the ball burned into your tender young flesh.
Right now I have a motherless whore of a cold that I am calling the Great Dodge Ball Cold of 2012. Because I didn't catch it. It was thrown at me and slammed me a good one. Much like that one kid in the class who was really good at dodge ball, I've been dancing around happily while those around me have been dropping like flies. The hubris! Yesterday I got dropped by a big red star patterned rubber ball of a germ and I am paying the price.
So I've made a few new rules that we will all have to live by (you all do live by my rules already don't you?).
1. I don't care how much you love him. You have to pay attention and remember not to kiss the man with the cold. At least don't kiss him on the lips.
2. If you feel too crappy to get up and find that lace shawl you are knitting do not even consider pushing yourself to do it. You will screw up and you may cry. And let's be honest here. You already look awful. Crying is not going to help. Opt for a plain sock. You should always have one of those within arms reach anyway and if you fall asleep halfway through a row it won't matter.
3. Do not--under any circumstances--let go of the black car key on the black clicker in a purse with a black lining that is filled with black yarn. You might as well just lay down on the ground right where you are because you are not going to find that key any time soon.
4. A hot toddy really will make you feel better.
5. Two hot toddies will put you right to sleep.
6. WARNING WARNING WARNING Three hot toddies will make you feel even worse.
I'm going to lay on the couch until I feel better. Which right now feels like that may be never. But at least I don't groan like someone else who is on the couch right now. I have the courtesy to suffer in silence.
Actually, I think that more specifically, I am bad at any sport that involves catching a ball. For whatever reason, I always shy away from it and end up getting slammed with the ball. Taking into consideration the fact that the entire point of dodge ball is to slam your opponent with the ball, it was really a double whammy for me during those torturous years when I was forced to play. Those fabulous Catholic school gym uniforms were long enough to be totally uncool yet short enough to leave a good long stretch of bare, naked, white thigh just begging to be slammed into with a red rubber ball. And everyone knows there is nothing prettier than having that star pattern from the ball burned into your tender young flesh.
Right now I have a motherless whore of a cold that I am calling the Great Dodge Ball Cold of 2012. Because I didn't catch it. It was thrown at me and slammed me a good one. Much like that one kid in the class who was really good at dodge ball, I've been dancing around happily while those around me have been dropping like flies. The hubris! Yesterday I got dropped by a big red star patterned rubber ball of a germ and I am paying the price.
So I've made a few new rules that we will all have to live by (you all do live by my rules already don't you?).
1. I don't care how much you love him. You have to pay attention and remember not to kiss the man with the cold. At least don't kiss him on the lips.
2. If you feel too crappy to get up and find that lace shawl you are knitting do not even consider pushing yourself to do it. You will screw up and you may cry. And let's be honest here. You already look awful. Crying is not going to help. Opt for a plain sock. You should always have one of those within arms reach anyway and if you fall asleep halfway through a row it won't matter.
3. Do not--under any circumstances--let go of the black car key on the black clicker in a purse with a black lining that is filled with black yarn. You might as well just lay down on the ground right where you are because you are not going to find that key any time soon.
4. A hot toddy really will make you feel better.
5. Two hot toddies will put you right to sleep.
6. WARNING WARNING WARNING Three hot toddies will make you feel even worse.
I'm going to lay on the couch until I feel better. Which right now feels like that may be never. But at least I don't groan like someone else who is on the couch right now. I have the courtesy to suffer in silence.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Cluster F&%k
I'm working on a really pretty piece of knitting. The pattern is amazing, the yarn is beyond gorgeous and I am having such fun just tootling along on it.
Until row 58.
Suffice it to say that row 58 can suck it. Big time. In the very middle of the row the instructions say this:
Purl 7 together leaving them on the needle.
Yarn over and then purl the same 7 together again.
Repeat this 3 times.
Do you have any idea how effing hard that is!!!!!!!!!!
Earlier I had emailed the designer to ask her if the cluster was part of the engineering of the lace pattern or if it was there just to be pretty. It was really a curiosity--not my inner child screaming please don't make me do this!! She very kindly answered quickly that it was just for show and I could skip it if I wanted to. Please note that I say she said it "kindly". Not sarcastically or smarmily.
My answer to that was "oh yeah--IT'S BEEN BROUGHT". There was no way I wasn't doing the stupid cluster now.
At this time, I would like to share with you the email that I sent to the group for this project::
So I tried the cluster. And then I tried it again. And again. And again. I was starting to feel like Liz Taylor going back to Richard Burton even though I knew it wasn't going to work but I kept on trying.
Then I got a really small needle and a really small crochet hook and I actually succeeded in creating a cluster. And it was so tight the yarn was actually screaming! Tight like my Aunt Geraldine at an afternoon wedding. Tight like Jordache jeans in 1983. Tight like Richard Burton that last time he married Liz.
So I ripped it out. And I swore. The nicest thing I said was "motherless whore". I won't get into where it went from there because it's pretty embarrassing. Brian actually took the knitting away from me and sent me to bed with a glass of wine and a cheap mystery novel.
I avoided my knitting this morning. I actually vacuumed instead of knitting. I went to work and pretended that it wasn't sitting at home mocking me. By the way, at this point I would like to thank all of you who posted pictures of your gorgeously and perfectly executed clusters. I have now forgiven all of you for your fabulous talents but last night I was googling all of you and planning out a road trip that involved a serious set of double point needles and a producer from "48 Hours". I had murder on my mind and fire in my eyes and not a single one of you were safe.
Until I realized that I could totally reverse engineer the whole thing. I got a darning needle and Brian's big yellow work light and did the whole cluster backwards and it worked like a charm. Took a minute to get my groove on while I was doing it and I had to apologize for barking at Brian "can you please shut up because I think it's really obvious that I am purling 7 stitches together backwards to make this cluster stitch and I can't do it if you keep talking to me and by the way talking with your hands right in front of the huge bright light that I brought over to help me with this is also really not helping because the fact that you can make a shadow puppet of a bunny rabbit talking to a chicken does not help me get all these stitches to do what I want to without calling them a motherless whore yet again".
Yeah--it was that kind of fun. And I had to do the little bastard again on row 78.
Which actually worked out just fine because I used my totally cock-a-mamie backwards method and I loved it.
First I put the 7 stitches on a smaller double point.
Yes my double point is a little bit bent. I occasionally have the claw of death when I'm trying to fiddle with something and I have no problem forcing my will on my needles.
Then take the working yarn and thread a loop through the eye of a blunt darning needle.
Instead of bringing the working knitting needle to the yarn, I brought the yarn to the working needle. Slide the darner along the stitches on the double point and place the loop onto your working needle. Yarn over and do it again and SHAZAAM!!! before you know it you have a pretty little cluster.
P.S. I know my photos suck but the light wasn't good and it been sitting around waiting to be photographed for so long that I finally just sucked it up and did the best my little camera could do.
Until row 58.
Suffice it to say that row 58 can suck it. Big time. In the very middle of the row the instructions say this:
Purl 7 together leaving them on the needle.
Yarn over and then purl the same 7 together again.
Repeat this 3 times.
Do you have any idea how effing hard that is!!!!!!!!!!
Earlier I had emailed the designer to ask her if the cluster was part of the engineering of the lace pattern or if it was there just to be pretty. It was really a curiosity--not my inner child screaming please don't make me do this!! She very kindly answered quickly that it was just for show and I could skip it if I wanted to. Please note that I say she said it "kindly". Not sarcastically or smarmily.
My answer to that was "oh yeah--IT'S BEEN BROUGHT". There was no way I wasn't doing the stupid cluster now.
At this time, I would like to share with you the email that I sent to the group for this project::
So I tried the cluster. And then I tried it again. And again. And again. I was starting to feel like Liz Taylor going back to Richard Burton even though I knew it wasn't going to work but I kept on trying.
Then I got a really small needle and a really small crochet hook and I actually succeeded in creating a cluster. And it was so tight the yarn was actually screaming! Tight like my Aunt Geraldine at an afternoon wedding. Tight like Jordache jeans in 1983. Tight like Richard Burton that last time he married Liz.
So I ripped it out. And I swore. The nicest thing I said was "motherless whore". I won't get into where it went from there because it's pretty embarrassing. Brian actually took the knitting away from me and sent me to bed with a glass of wine and a cheap mystery novel.
I avoided my knitting this morning. I actually vacuumed instead of knitting. I went to work and pretended that it wasn't sitting at home mocking me. By the way, at this point I would like to thank all of you who posted pictures of your gorgeously and perfectly executed clusters. I have now forgiven all of you for your fabulous talents but last night I was googling all of you and planning out a road trip that involved a serious set of double point needles and a producer from "48 Hours". I had murder on my mind and fire in my eyes and not a single one of you were safe.
Until I realized that I could totally reverse engineer the whole thing. I got a darning needle and Brian's big yellow work light and did the whole cluster backwards and it worked like a charm. Took a minute to get my groove on while I was doing it and I had to apologize for barking at Brian "can you please shut up because I think it's really obvious that I am purling 7 stitches together backwards to make this cluster stitch and I can't do it if you keep talking to me and by the way talking with your hands right in front of the huge bright light that I brought over to help me with this is also really not helping because the fact that you can make a shadow puppet of a bunny rabbit talking to a chicken does not help me get all these stitches to do what I want to without calling them a motherless whore yet again".
Yeah--it was that kind of fun. And I had to do the little bastard again on row 78.
Which actually worked out just fine because I used my totally cock-a-mamie backwards method and I loved it.
First I put the 7 stitches on a smaller double point.
Yes my double point is a little bit bent. I occasionally have the claw of death when I'm trying to fiddle with something and I have no problem forcing my will on my needles.
Then take the working yarn and thread a loop through the eye of a blunt darning needle.
Instead of bringing the working knitting needle to the yarn, I brought the yarn to the working needle. Slide the darner along the stitches on the double point and place the loop onto your working needle. Yarn over and do it again and SHAZAAM!!! before you know it you have a pretty little cluster.
P.S. I know my photos suck but the light wasn't good and it been sitting around waiting to be photographed for so long that I finally just sucked it up and did the best my little camera could do.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Today
I woke up this morning thinking of this poem. It's my favorite poem because it speaks so beautifully of loss. And yet, it makes me always covet, rather than mourn, the things that are gone. And it always makes me remember the things that others are still experiencing that have become a part of my past. I find a deep and profound beauty in seeing someone experience magic while knowing that eventually it will become mundane.
So today, I decided that I just wanted normal back. Whatever that means. I was going to reclaim my past.
This is my normal.
We get up very early in the morning. Actually, I should rephrase that--I get up very early in the morning. And then I spend a half an hour waking my sweetie up. And he bitches about it. And that's just fine because it's our normal morning.
We stop at the corner store and he runs in and gets a bagel or a sandwich or a roll. It doesn't really matter. Suddenly the car smells like coffee and the man in the seat next to me gives me bites while I drive.
Driving at dawn here in the Y.O. will take your breath away. You come over the tops of really high hills only to be greeted by the most amazing dawn light that you've ever seen. This time of year it is golden (it will turn bluer and bluer until we reach the deepest of winter) and it takes my breathe away.
We shoot down the east side of Manhattan. I have the alarms on my phone set to make sure that we are on time. From 106th Street to the job site is (at the most) 12 minutes. I do that math. I count the minutes to make sure we are on time.
Around 6:20 the phone starts to ring and I start calling people into work. Brian helps. He answers the phone and he calls people back and he is just terrific.
Just past 15th Street there is a hill in the right lane and if you hit it just right and you go fast enough it's like a roller coaster. I hit it just right and give a very quiet "woo hoo". Brian always laughs a little bit at me when I do it but I think he likes it.
I drop him off at the job and I always check to be sure that the two grey haired guys (turns out they are ceiling guys) are still standing outside drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. If they are there, then we are on time. This morning, the younger one had gotten a hair cut.
And then I turn around and go home.
The sun is always blinding by now and the traffic gets thicker and thicker but it's all on the other side of the FDR so I breeze up the river. I try to ride in the right line so it feels a little bit like I'm in a boat.
Over the Willis Avenue Bridge and there is this stunningly beautiful billboard. In all shades of orange it says "GRATITUDE".
And I started crying.
I didn't cry a lot. I got home and did my little bits of housework and took a shower and left for work. I had the car radio on and was listening to the news and the children's choir start singing the national anthem and I lost it.
I'm a sucker for the national anthem (actually--any national anthem--it doesn't have to be ours) on a good day. But, man, if you give me children singing like angels on September 11th you might as well just kick me in the shins. I was weeping.
I tidied up, got to work, and did my morning check. And the Yarn Harlot had this. Scroll down to the entry about the wedding flash mob. Remember John? The guy who died? He loved a flash mob. So I lost it again.
My day that was supposed to be about normal had beaten me down and become all about loss and grief. Turns out that I don't actually have as much control as I think I have.
I always really hate a column or blog post that ends with some sort of pithy phrase so please accept my apologies now.
I'm still trying that figure out what the gratitude sign wanted me to do. I think I know but I do wish that it given me more specific instructions.
So today, I decided that I just wanted normal back. Whatever that means. I was going to reclaim my past.
This is my normal.
We get up very early in the morning. Actually, I should rephrase that--I get up very early in the morning. And then I spend a half an hour waking my sweetie up. And he bitches about it. And that's just fine because it's our normal morning.
We stop at the corner store and he runs in and gets a bagel or a sandwich or a roll. It doesn't really matter. Suddenly the car smells like coffee and the man in the seat next to me gives me bites while I drive.
Driving at dawn here in the Y.O. will take your breath away. You come over the tops of really high hills only to be greeted by the most amazing dawn light that you've ever seen. This time of year it is golden (it will turn bluer and bluer until we reach the deepest of winter) and it takes my breathe away.
We shoot down the east side of Manhattan. I have the alarms on my phone set to make sure that we are on time. From 106th Street to the job site is (at the most) 12 minutes. I do that math. I count the minutes to make sure we are on time.
Around 6:20 the phone starts to ring and I start calling people into work. Brian helps. He answers the phone and he calls people back and he is just terrific.
Just past 15th Street there is a hill in the right lane and if you hit it just right and you go fast enough it's like a roller coaster. I hit it just right and give a very quiet "woo hoo". Brian always laughs a little bit at me when I do it but I think he likes it.
I drop him off at the job and I always check to be sure that the two grey haired guys (turns out they are ceiling guys) are still standing outside drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. If they are there, then we are on time. This morning, the younger one had gotten a hair cut.
And then I turn around and go home.
The sun is always blinding by now and the traffic gets thicker and thicker but it's all on the other side of the FDR so I breeze up the river. I try to ride in the right line so it feels a little bit like I'm in a boat.
Over the Willis Avenue Bridge and there is this stunningly beautiful billboard. In all shades of orange it says "GRATITUDE".
And I started crying.
I didn't cry a lot. I got home and did my little bits of housework and took a shower and left for work. I had the car radio on and was listening to the news and the children's choir start singing the national anthem and I lost it.
I'm a sucker for the national anthem (actually--any national anthem--it doesn't have to be ours) on a good day. But, man, if you give me children singing like angels on September 11th you might as well just kick me in the shins. I was weeping.
I tidied up, got to work, and did my morning check. And the Yarn Harlot had this. Scroll down to the entry about the wedding flash mob. Remember John? The guy who died? He loved a flash mob. So I lost it again.
My day that was supposed to be about normal had beaten me down and become all about loss and grief. Turns out that I don't actually have as much control as I think I have.
I always really hate a column or blog post that ends with some sort of pithy phrase so please accept my apologies now.
I'm still trying that figure out what the gratitude sign wanted me to do. I think I know but I do wish that it given me more specific instructions.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
I Can't Believe It's Not aFull Moon
Because I'm usually only this annoyed when the moon is full.
So in the spirit of community and sharing, let me tell you some of the things that pissed me off today:
1. The Tree that Dripped Sap on My Windshield. Okay tree, let's talk. You dripped sap on my windshield. You bitch! You knew what you were doing. You knew it wouldn't come off. You knew that as soon as it started to rain on the FDR Drive at 5 am it would turn into superglue and I wouldn't be able to see a damn thing. You better be on the lookout for me tree because I'm really seriously thinking about chopping you down. Watch your back tree because, yeah, I'm looking at you.
2. Pretending that it's only the Republicans who treat women like shit and act like we're stupid. Umm, okay Bic, did you really think that marketing a ball point pen for women was a good idea. Unless it doubles as a tampon or comes with three speeds, it's just a pen. A pen. Really? For women? Good God, I don't even know where to go with this. And can someone explain to me why the Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial starts with the phrase "okay ladies". It's cartoon cinnamon squares eating each other in a bowl of milk. What the fuck does that have to with women. And these aren't even the overt sexist things that happen every day. Women--can we please stand up and say enough!!!!! Don't act surprised when your rights are taken away when you give them up in a thousand tiny ways every day. (You can thank me later for stopping now and keeping this relatively clean because I can go off on this shit for days.)
3. Note to everyone in the world--I couldn't find my shoes is not an excuse for being 2 1/2 hours late for work. Ever. And if you really really can't find your shoes, you might want to think about calling. Just sayin'.
4. Rick Santorum. Dude just irks the living shit out of me. The tree from number 1 has a Rick Santorum face on it. And a sweater vest.
5. Don't touch my knitting with chocolate on your fingers. EVER!!!!!!
6. Having to put ice in my wine because SOMEONE (okay me) forgot to put it in the fridge. If I wanted water in my wine I would just go to church.
7. If you can't loosen up enough to accept the fact that the movie Ted is really funny, you should probably go find a retreat house somewhere and spend some time meditating on the fact that you really need to lighten up. I've done it and it's the only thing that stopped me from saying "lighten the fuck up" instead of just "lighten up". Ohm.
8. I'm am absolutely rip shit pissed at the barometic pressure and the goddamned butterfly that flapped its wings in China and is now causing another hurricane to slam head on into New Orleans. These poor people have really had enough and, honestly, I really should have started this post out with number 8 because, when you think about it, I really have nothing to complain about.
9. Rick Santorum again. I know, I know, I shouldn't complain but man, he irks me.
So in the spirit of community and sharing, let me tell you some of the things that pissed me off today:
1. The Tree that Dripped Sap on My Windshield. Okay tree, let's talk. You dripped sap on my windshield. You bitch! You knew what you were doing. You knew it wouldn't come off. You knew that as soon as it started to rain on the FDR Drive at 5 am it would turn into superglue and I wouldn't be able to see a damn thing. You better be on the lookout for me tree because I'm really seriously thinking about chopping you down. Watch your back tree because, yeah, I'm looking at you.
2. Pretending that it's only the Republicans who treat women like shit and act like we're stupid. Umm, okay Bic, did you really think that marketing a ball point pen for women was a good idea. Unless it doubles as a tampon or comes with three speeds, it's just a pen. A pen. Really? For women? Good God, I don't even know where to go with this. And can someone explain to me why the Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial starts with the phrase "okay ladies". It's cartoon cinnamon squares eating each other in a bowl of milk. What the fuck does that have to with women. And these aren't even the overt sexist things that happen every day. Women--can we please stand up and say enough!!!!! Don't act surprised when your rights are taken away when you give them up in a thousand tiny ways every day. (You can thank me later for stopping now and keeping this relatively clean because I can go off on this shit for days.)
3. Note to everyone in the world--I couldn't find my shoes is not an excuse for being 2 1/2 hours late for work. Ever. And if you really really can't find your shoes, you might want to think about calling. Just sayin'.
4. Rick Santorum. Dude just irks the living shit out of me. The tree from number 1 has a Rick Santorum face on it. And a sweater vest.
5. Don't touch my knitting with chocolate on your fingers. EVER!!!!!!
6. Having to put ice in my wine because SOMEONE (okay me) forgot to put it in the fridge. If I wanted water in my wine I would just go to church.
7. If you can't loosen up enough to accept the fact that the movie Ted is really funny, you should probably go find a retreat house somewhere and spend some time meditating on the fact that you really need to lighten up. I've done it and it's the only thing that stopped me from saying "lighten the fuck up" instead of just "lighten up". Ohm.
8. I'm am absolutely rip shit pissed at the barometic pressure and the goddamned butterfly that flapped its wings in China and is now causing another hurricane to slam head on into New Orleans. These poor people have really had enough and, honestly, I really should have started this post out with number 8 because, when you think about it, I really have nothing to complain about.
9. Rick Santorum again. I know, I know, I shouldn't complain but man, he irks me.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Are You There Todd Akin, It's Me Margaret
Dear Todd Akin,
I am so happy that someone finally acknowledged that we girls have magical powers. Honestly, we've been trying to convince you fellas of this for generations!!! Since you're on that science committee and all, now we know it's true. Girls are magic and boys are not. Ha!
About that science thing. I'm trying to figure out a really good 2013 Spring Science Fair project based on your amazing abilities. I think I can win it if I can only figure out all the logistics. The only problem is that my Mom says our health insurance won't cover it so she won't sign the permission slip. She said that I should figure out a project that involved baking soda, white vinegar and abstinence but none of those things sounded like much fun.
Since we're talking about this (okay, Todd Akin, I know we're not really talking but I do believe that you read all my letters) there are a few things that I have questions about.
What's with the whole it's okay for victims of rape or incest thing? Now I know that you said that if it was really rape, a girl wouldn't get pregnant but I'm still confused. Doesn't being pro-choice actually already cover the women who are raped either by a stranger or a family member? And now that I think about it, isn't a woman who chooses not to have an abortion also covered by being pro-choice. Now that I think about it even more, doesn't being pro-choice protect everyone's personal decisions. Remember that girl that I told you about in my last letter? The one with the big boobs who went behind the A&P and made out with my friend's brother and his friend Moose? Isn't she also covered by being pro-choice. I'm starting to think that what the people who want to say that certain pregnancies are okay and others are not are really saying that women who have healthy sex lives are really just sluts. My aunt told me sex is a really nice thing but my Mom told me not to listen to her because it's not covered on our health insurance.
I'm also confused by the whole "legitimate" thing. I read in the paper that you said that you didn't mean to say "legitimate rape" you meant to say "forcible rape". Last year my English teacher spent a whole semester (snore) on good grammar so I know what the word redundant means. She tried tripping us all up with a pop quiz but I got all of the redundancy questions right. I also got all the oxymorons right (jumbo shrimp--hahaha).
I have one last question and it's kind of a different topic. I heard on the news that everyone's really worried that a hurricane is going to hit the Republican Convention. And all the newscasters said that this would be really really terrible. One guy even said that it was the worst thing that could happen. Now we learned about primaries and all those political things in Social Studies class (my Mom says that polite people don't talk about politics) but since the only real candidate that you've put forward is Mitt Romney why are you all even bothering to have a convention. It sounds like a really expensive really big party to me. Don't get me wrong, I really like a big party. My Mom has promised that she'll get a six foot wedge for my Sweet Sixteen and we can make onion dip from scratch (I never even knew you could do that :)
If a hurricane is coming, can't you all just stay home. I heard that Chris Christie is going to speak but he's from New Jersey so he can just stay home and go out for coffee with Theresa from the Real Housewives (my Mom doesn't know I watch it so let's keep that between you and me). Or maybe you could all go to Florida and help all the people who live there put masking tape on their windows so they don't get cut if their windows blow out.
Thanks for reading my letter, Todd Akin. And please let me get my period really really soon. I don't want to be the last girl in my class who has a bunch of stupid white men trying to stuff their boots up my snatch.
Love,
Margaret
I am so happy that someone finally acknowledged that we girls have magical powers. Honestly, we've been trying to convince you fellas of this for generations!!! Since you're on that science committee and all, now we know it's true. Girls are magic and boys are not. Ha!
About that science thing. I'm trying to figure out a really good 2013 Spring Science Fair project based on your amazing abilities. I think I can win it if I can only figure out all the logistics. The only problem is that my Mom says our health insurance won't cover it so she won't sign the permission slip. She said that I should figure out a project that involved baking soda, white vinegar and abstinence but none of those things sounded like much fun.
Since we're talking about this (okay, Todd Akin, I know we're not really talking but I do believe that you read all my letters) there are a few things that I have questions about.
What's with the whole it's okay for victims of rape or incest thing? Now I know that you said that if it was really rape, a girl wouldn't get pregnant but I'm still confused. Doesn't being pro-choice actually already cover the women who are raped either by a stranger or a family member? And now that I think about it, isn't a woman who chooses not to have an abortion also covered by being pro-choice. Now that I think about it even more, doesn't being pro-choice protect everyone's personal decisions. Remember that girl that I told you about in my last letter? The one with the big boobs who went behind the A&P and made out with my friend's brother and his friend Moose? Isn't she also covered by being pro-choice. I'm starting to think that what the people who want to say that certain pregnancies are okay and others are not are really saying that women who have healthy sex lives are really just sluts. My aunt told me sex is a really nice thing but my Mom told me not to listen to her because it's not covered on our health insurance.
I'm also confused by the whole "legitimate" thing. I read in the paper that you said that you didn't mean to say "legitimate rape" you meant to say "forcible rape". Last year my English teacher spent a whole semester (snore) on good grammar so I know what the word redundant means. She tried tripping us all up with a pop quiz but I got all of the redundancy questions right. I also got all the oxymorons right (jumbo shrimp--hahaha).
I have one last question and it's kind of a different topic. I heard on the news that everyone's really worried that a hurricane is going to hit the Republican Convention. And all the newscasters said that this would be really really terrible. One guy even said that it was the worst thing that could happen. Now we learned about primaries and all those political things in Social Studies class (my Mom says that polite people don't talk about politics) but since the only real candidate that you've put forward is Mitt Romney why are you all even bothering to have a convention. It sounds like a really expensive really big party to me. Don't get me wrong, I really like a big party. My Mom has promised that she'll get a six foot wedge for my Sweet Sixteen and we can make onion dip from scratch (I never even knew you could do that :)
If a hurricane is coming, can't you all just stay home. I heard that Chris Christie is going to speak but he's from New Jersey so he can just stay home and go out for coffee with Theresa from the Real Housewives (my Mom doesn't know I watch it so let's keep that between you and me). Or maybe you could all go to Florida and help all the people who live there put masking tape on their windows so they don't get cut if their windows blow out.
Thanks for reading my letter, Todd Akin. And please let me get my period really really soon. I don't want to be the last girl in my class who has a bunch of stupid white men trying to stuff their boots up my snatch.
Love,
Margaret
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Really? A month?
I can't believe that it has been over a month since I last posted.
It's surprising--if I'm talking, you can barely get me to shut up. And
here, in blogville, you would think I would ramble on and on with glee.
Not sure what my problem is because I certainly have plenty to ramble
about.
I'm at work right now trying to avoid obsessive compulsively hitting refresh while I wait for a file to finish processing so I can't write a whole post now but I will leave you with the two questions that have been really bothering me:
1. What kind of good excuse can I come up with for not blogging?
2. Where the hell was Elton John at the Olympics?
I'm at work right now trying to avoid obsessive compulsively hitting refresh while I wait for a file to finish processing so I can't write a whole post now but I will leave you with the two questions that have been really bothering me:
1. What kind of good excuse can I come up with for not blogging?
2. Where the hell was Elton John at the Olympics?
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