Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The 1st of my critiques of Mommy Blog/Pinterest crapola

Found this wee gem of poo on Pinterest today:

Not 1 person? How about, oh, I don't know... Dick Cheney? How about Hitler? No? Stalin? Rapists? Child molesters? You could really love everyone, just 'cuz you read their sad-ol' story?

I'm sure whoever thought this up & posted it had the best intentions, but those kinds of intentions pave some of the DARNED-est roads, let me tell you. So... no. You can go ahead & try to be Jesus-y & love EVERYONE no matter what, but that doesn't mean some people aren't assholes at best, & real live devils otherwise.

I do GET IT. We should try to understand where everyone's coming from & act accordingly.

But we still should hold people responsible for their actions.

I'm not providing the link to where I found this, because my aim is not to shame the poster; indeed, this kind of poubelle gets posted & reposted all over the internet, especially in the female-dominated internet ghettos of Mommy blogs & Pinterest, so I wouldn't want to make anyone to feel singled out for my annoyance.

We should debate this shit, though. So many feel-goody quotes making the rounds. Discuss!

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Back, Backy McBackerson!

Thank you, Google gods & gods-esses, for restoring my blog to life! It's not my fault I was hacked! I am some kind of real person! Yes! It has been confirmed!

I will give someone an imaginary gift in thanks!

Perhaps tonight I will pour out some liquor-like substance into my throat & on my clothes to celebrate!


Friday, May 30, 2014


"Oh, I just love, love, love actual humans."
"Yes! I adore them."
"Aren't there some coming out next week?"
"Oooo, we'll have to get ready! Max has got a great hiding place."
"OK! I'll bring the booze."
"Oh, good! And we have all the guidebooks and equipment there already."

Monday, May 19, 2014

An Acute Tickle

    You walk in the front door. Dead ahead, there's a hallway that will always be dim. But it's like a split screen and just next to the way down the hall, there are stairs going up. There will always be an old green argyle carpet running up and down those stairs. So: left side of the screen is stairs, right side is hallway. You know, a floor that goes out in front of you and leads toward the back. A wood floor. But the walls are white, just the floor is wood. Got it? Help me next time I ask.

    No one was home, so I wandered off. I probably wanted to go shopping. Some people wander in search of answers or experience, but I...
    I got lost. This isn't too hard to do. There are too many roads and not enough numbers. And the signs don't all make sense.
    Not in my part of the country.

    I think if I stick my hand in my ear, blood will come out. And if I stick my ear in my hand...

    I was a little in the boondocks and I wanted to get on a freeway so I could go home. I and my car were off road. Excuse me-- my car and I. I wanted to get on the freeway from the dirt. I was sure I could do it if no cars were coming...
    Yeah, I thought it was a freeway I was getting on, but it dead-ended in some more boondocks with shitty, dirty hills all around. (You know about shitty dirt-- makes a lot of dust, gets everywhere, not good for much that I've discovered yet, unless you think it makes your clothes look "cool." I wouldn't know about that.)
    I would take any freeway right now, I thought. Even if it was going the wrong way, I could make it go the right way. Just give me a chance...
    But there was no one to give me a chance, because there never is, and I was in a shitty, boondocky area and you know how it is when nothing goes anywhere. You must know, because I sure do.
    I was dressed kind of nicely, for me. To be in a shitty dirty hilly place with dead ends for roads, I was up to something kind of nice that day. I thought I might even be Spiffy. A long white skirt and some pointy white shoes, like you might wear to a wedding of crummy, low-standards people with no-account friends. I never wear white and I never wear long skirts, to my knowledge. No one wants to see me in white or in a skirt. So what was so funny about today that I had to go and wear a long, white skirt? I don't know what must have come over me. You know when people ask, "Did you get dressed in the dark?" I do everything in the dark.
    I parked in some more dirt by a gas station that looked closed, since that's what there was. I thought if I walked a little bit up the hill from the gas station, something freeway-like might appear to me. Some other wimmins were parking and getting out of their cars, too, but they talked together all chum-chummy like they already knew each other. Nothing has happened and I'm already feeling left out, as usual. But it's not like these other women knew where they were going, either. They just had friends to be lost with.
    I overheard one woman ask the other something about "get back to the road."
    I called out to them as I started walking, "I'm sure if we go up this way--" I wanted to say, "I'm sure we'll see something," but I could tell they weren't listening. It was like when you want to say something to someone in a dream and then you wake up talking to air. "Should I keep talking anyway?" I always think. This happens a lot, and I'm usually awake.
    The 2 women started following me, even if they didn't know it and probably would never admit that they thought I might know where I was going. That's just not how it works. If anyone asked, I'm sure they would pretend it was their idea to walk up that hill by that abandoned gas station, and if it worked out, they would get all the credit in the end.
    There was more road up above the gas station. It may have even been part of a freeway at one time. There were shards of big white numbers painted on chunks of lanes, that might have once showed you what lane to be in to get off onto another freeway.
    I turned around. The women were a little behind and below me, still pretending I wasn’t there. I have followers!, I thought. Just not the kind anybody wants.
    I kept climbing up the hill. I thought my little followers would appreciate that, me continuing to lead them somewhere.
    “I’m sure what we’re looking for will just be a little further,” I said loudly. I knew they still wouldn’t acknowledge me, but still, still...
    I heard two gigglers giggling behind and below me. And they still murmured to each other. I could only catch the bittiest snatches of what they were saying, and yet I knew they weren’t trying very hard for me not to hear. I could have sworn one of them said something about “a cuticle in the space station,” and this made them both laugh loud and hard.
    I felt like I’d been kicked in the guts. Even now, just thinking about it, I don’t want to breathe because it still hurts and I have no Mom to hug me. “A cuticle in the space station.” It had to be about me. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I bet other people have said it about me, too. All my life, people have been saying terrible things about me, and now I know everything.
    “A cuticle in the space station.” It’s the worst thing in the world.
    And that’s why I should never leave the house.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Ocean Spittle

"This is a pair of shoes worn by someone who was on the Titanic!"
"Oh! Were they wearing these shoes when it sank?"
"OK. Well, Did they have these shoes on board the Titanic with them?"
"OK. Well, then, did this person own these shoes already when they went on the Titanic--"
"--& they just left them at home?"
"No. After they got home from sinking on the Titanic, then they bought these shoes."
"Oh. So they bought 'em right after they got home?"
"No. They went home, and then they bought these shoes some time later. But they never went home. Or maybe they did. Anyway, it didn't mean anything one way or the other, so don't worry."
"Stop talking to me. It's all for nothing. I don't look at shoes."

And there you have it. Just don't look at shoes.
Unless they were already owned by someone involved in a famous maritime disaster at the time the ship went down.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

"How do you get motivated to run?"

I recently watched a video in order to earn some pretend money from the internet, a video called something like "How do you find the motivation to run?" But I already had lots of answers, and maybe some of them can help you or others. (There are others, aren't there?)

 --Go run out in one or more busy streets, preferably where the moving vehicles are moving.
 --Commit a crime in front of a cop. Go, go! You're getting in shape now!
 --Speaking of violent people, find some violent people who are fast on their feet and work on making them suddenly unhappy.
 --Get some people really angry at you, maybe by taking something of theirs... while they're watching, of course.

This is too easy. Maybe people should pay me extra money to come up with these useful tips for life. I take cash, direct deposit, and even fakey internet "bucks."

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

"This Is The Story, and It's Never Right"

"I have ingested another woman's spirit, and now I am never alone."

"Ingested? Are you sure?"

"And now I'll never be alone again."

"OK, but... I don't know if that's the right word for it."

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Candy Death, Pastry Tombs

It's an Easter thing, see? You bake them with a marshmallow inside.


When they're done... the "tomb" is empty! Because "Jesus" was a marshmallow, and he miraculously melted in the oven. Yum yum GHOST.

These actually sound good to me, but of course I'll eat 'most anything.

Mis-appropriated from www.catholicicing.com

Have I failed again? Or just most of my non-Maren co-Americans?

It's Washington's birthday and I have everything to wear!

But no present to give 'im. And I haven't even started getting the appliances needed to make him his lucky stew.

"But he's dead," you might say. And we could debate on that.

But whether you choose to start a rumour as to Washignton's still being alive or not, dead people need to be paid tribute, too. And very famous dead people need costly, sparkly gifts.

So this Washington's Birthday, I won't just be pouring out frothy alcohols for this non-living man. I will be making excuses for not having presents for him. Real, non-symbolic presents, like socks, and maybe some hammers.

...OR we could all pretend things are OK just the way we want to do them. And that none of us are wrong.

[Please don't try to read anything deep into this. It might give me a headache thinking about how you might be giving yourself a headache.]