Category Archives: Uncategorized

No Time for That F’ed Up Shit!

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Earlier, I had to do something out at our reception desk. While I was there, I caught part of #Outnumbered on Fox. The panel was discussing the TG bathroom issue. Herman Cain said, “What I don’t want is some pedophile, some guy with a beard, putting on a dress and saying ‘I’m going to go into the ladies’ room today.’ I don’t want my 17 year-old granddaughter around that.” The ladies were immediately (thankfully) all over his shit.

I’m so agitated right now, I can’t even think. This discussion has been going on for a little while now; obviously, not long enough to resolve the issue, but long enough that stupid comments like these shouldn’t still be coming out of otherwise (supposedly) intelligent human beings’ mouths. Yes. I said stupid. If this is your rationale, it is stupid. No, it’s more than just stupid. It’s fucked-up stupid. Please note: I didn’t say “you’re stupid”. I said that rationale is crazy, fucked-up stupid. Okay, originally, I didn’t say “crazy”. But yeah, it is that too. It’s also ignorant, nasty and just plain wrong.

Why? Because you’re not targeting the people who are going to do harm to children. If you were concerned about that, there would be a lot fewer pedophiles on the streets, in our schools, our churches, our CONGRESS…no, you dont’ care about the children. You just think you do because that’s comfortable. Hey! Newsflash. Life ain’t comfortable!

So, here’s my question for all of you concerned parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, pastors and congressmen: what if it was your family being hurt? No, not by the bad man with a beard, wearing a dress lurking in the stall next to your kid.

What if it WAS your kid? Your scared, lonely kid, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with him/her; getting picked on, bullied, even beaten up in school on a daily basis; never fitting in with anyone and having absolutely no idea what they did to deserve this living hell; wondering how hard would it be to just go to sleep and never wake up. What if it was your child? Would you turn your back on them? Because every transgender adult was a transgender kid at one time, and it was even worse for them because this wasn’t even a discussion when they were younger. At least now there’s hope. Some of us, many of us, dare I say, *most* of us, are fighting for those kids and the adults they have and/or will become.

So, if you’re one of those folks with the misguided notion that the Boogeyman is suddenly now going to be able to put on a dress and hide out in the ladies’ room (because before there were *so many* laws stopping them), please stop and think before carrying on with your misguided crusade of hatred. Educate yourself and stop talking out your ass.  You don’t have to approve or even fully understand.  Just accept the humanity and move on with your life.   Some of us would really like to be a tolerant, respectful nation of human beings, just trying to look out for one another.

Finally…and truthfully…if you are one of those perpetuating this crazy, stupid, fucked-up rationale for denying individuals their basic human dignity, get the hell away from me. I don’t care who you are, I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Believe me, my (our) lives are better without that shit in it.
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Remembering

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March is rough.  Come mid- to late-February, I start dreading March.  It gets harder and harder each day, until the 19th passes and I can start to breathe again.

They say grief eases with time, and it’s somewhat true.  It’s not the daily struggle to just get out of bed like it was the first year. It’s more like an aimless wandering of thoughts and emotions, some high…some low.  Unless you’ve been through what I have, it’s hard to understand.

Today is March 3, 2016.

It’s been 30 years since I lived what was probably the best period of my entire life; a charmed existence teens dream of;  a seemingly endless stream of concerts, parties, and tightly knit friends. Work was mixed in there somewhere, if you can call it work.  It was too much fun to be work.  Whatever it was, I first started developing into the person I am now right there and then.

It was amazing.

I had no clue.

Man, I wish I could go back, just to revisit those kids and tell them.

Not to chose a different path.  Just to make the one I was on a little different, maybe a little easier?  Maybe a little longer.

I wonder how that would have worked out.

 

What’s the secret password?

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I am so tired of having to have complicated passwords.  Why do I have to have one capital letter and one number for the password to my grocery store account?  If that actually got hacked, what is at risk?  My penchant for SmartOnes frozen lunches?  OMG, they may steal my gas points!!  I mean…seriously?  That’s the worst that’s going to happen.

Years ago, I tried to simplify my life and create three levels of passwords for online activity.  I had one simple password for all my non-critical interactions; one more complicated password for email, etc.; and one very cryptic password exclusively for my bank account.  Then shit got complicated and websites started putting more demands on me.  The problem is that their level of importance didn’t fit into my nice, neat password boxes.  So, I met the criteria by capitalizing the first letter and adding a number at the end.  Problem solved, right?

Not even close.

They added punctuation.

Sigh.

Okay, so I added a random punctuation mark in the middle of my now capitalized password with the number at the end.

At this point, I’m up to about 85 passwords to remember – my email password, my bank account password and 83 variations of the cheap, useless password, which were supposed to be easy to remember.  Okay, I can do that.

New problem.  They don’t tell you what the password format is for each individual website.  This starts a whole game of “guess which fucking password you used the last time you shopped at Target.com you dipshit you”.

Username: Shenanigans@hootmail.com – OK.

Password:

“sparkle” – NO

“Sparkle” – NO

“Sparkle9” – NO

“Sp@rkle9” – NO!

DAMMIT!!!  RESET PASSWORD!!

Secret answer:BiteMe!

New Password:

“sparkle”You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sparkle”You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sparkle9” – You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sp@rkle9”You cannot re-use a previous password.

FINE!!!

“Sp@rkle98”Password has been changed.

Username:

Grrrrr………Didn’t I already tell you this?

Shenanigans@hootmail.com

Password:

Oh. My. God.  Seriously????

At this point, I throw my phone.  Because of course, I was trying to do all this on a teeny-tiny touchscreen and I now not only need a break, but also an Advil and a very strong drink…at 10 a.m.

And then I get a text message from my kid.

“Mom I’m out of lunch money.  Can you put some on my account?  I’m going to lunch now.”

*sigh*

www.kidzlunchmoney.com

Username:

Shit.

P.S.  The thing that I failed include in this entry is all the times that I ran through the 82 possible password variations, clicked on the link for my “forgotten password” reminder and discover that I simply had a typo the very first time.

P.P.S – I also failed to mention all the times that I forgot my username, because your username can’t be your real name, email address or anything that you could even remotely identify with.

P.P.P.S. – Oh, I forgot to mention the variations of my secret question because of a phase I went through where I got tired of trying to answer secret questions and just answered everything “blue”.  This regularly has me screaming at the computer “YES THAT IS THE NAME OF THE STREET WHERE I GREW UP!! YOU DON’T KNOW ME MOTHERFUCKER!!” “Oh, sorry…it’s “blue”.

P.P.P.P.S. – This doesn’t even begin to cover my work email, where you have to change the password every six months.

P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my husband’s accounts.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my kids.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. –  I need a nap.

 

 

Mayonnaise is Not a Vegetable

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I got tired of listening to the hubster complain about how I make our son’s lunch, but not his.  So, this morning I made his lunch. Hubster came in the kitchen just as I was finishing.

Me: “Mustard okay on your sandwich?”

Him: “Nooo!  Mayoooh!  Who the hell puts mustard on turkey!?”

Me: “I thought you did.  Okay, I’ll take it off.”

Him: “YOU CAN’T TAKE IT OFF!  YOU’LL WASTE HALF OF IT!”

Me: “Yes I can…see?”  (Scraping mustard off the cheese)  “I only wasted one piece of bread.  You’re good.”

Him: (muttering) “Mustard on turkey…that’s just wrong………..”…blah blah blah….

 

Then this afternoon, I got a text message:

Him: “Where the hell is my dessert?!?!?!”

Me: “You got yogurt.  You ate all the cookies.”

Him: “That was my fruit.”

Me: “Yogurt can be fruit and dessert.”

Him: “Yogurt is fruit dammit!”

Me: “And dessert.  Yogurt and pudding would be redundant.”

Him: “The hell you say!”

Me: “Tomorrow you can have blueberries and pudding.”

Him: “I hate you.”

 

I figure another few days of this and he’ll be demanding to make his own lunch.  🙂

I’m Sorry, You Have the Wrong Number

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The past couple of days, I’ve received notifications regarding comments on old blog posts.  Very old.  Like back to the beginning.  I would like to think, “Hey cool! New readers!” However, the comments are very strange and have absolutely nothing to do with the content of my blog.  It seems like somewhere there’s a link on another website that directs comments to my blog. I’ve reported them as spam, because I guess that’s what they are.  But it’s still weird.  

Is anyone else having this issue?

Hey, Man…I’m With the Band

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Let me start this post off by saying that in high school, I was not in band. I hung around with a lot of band kids and they seemed to have a great time.  A lot of them were and are still very cool and I remain friends with them today. I didn’t know many of their parents though, so take this with a grain of salt.

That being said, I do not remember high school band parents being a particularly cool lot of folks.   Kids who are in band are referred to as “band geeks” (pretty much for a reason) and their parents were just older versions of band geeks.  Or were they…?

My daughter has been in band since elementary school and due to that perception of the band population as a whole, I never really got involved in it.  Last summer, she moved up to the high school and had to go to daily band “camp” over the summer.  I was only working part time then, so I volunteered to serve snacks to the kids one afternoon.  I also checked off a lot of boxes on the volunteer survey at band orientation, figuring I’d get a couple of additional gigs as a volunteer.  I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to it, but I thought it would be a good opportunity to be involved in something with Liz.

At band camp, I met a few moms who, little did I know at the time, are waaaay involved in band (read: they pretty much support the entire volunteer program).  They were very welcoming and friendly.  Before I knew it, I was signed up to do two other things…things that required meetings.  Ugh.  I hate meetings.  Again…all for my kid.

Meetings turned into more volunteering.  Volunteering turned into co-chairing an activity committee…which turned into more volunteering…which turned into volunteering for a board position…which turned into being nominated for Vice President of the Band Parents’ Association.

Wait, what??   How the hell did that happen!!???

So, now right now I’m the V.P. and serve as fundraising chairperson.  This month, I have about 6 meetings as we get ready for marching season.  I am so busy sometimes, my head spins.  But I’m having a BLAST!  The best part is that I discovered the other parents are COOL!!

The more I get to know these ladies, the more fun they are.  We have meetings over beers at a sports bar.  We planned to go see “Magic Mike” as a group and when that fell through, we planned a private screening at my house (naturally).  Last weekend, we had a pool party for the kids.  The moms, most of whom are fellow board members, sat in the pavilion, laughing, singing and dancing as loudly and badly as we could manage.  Afterward, I realized that not only did the kids have fun, but I had a really good time too.

So, here’s the question, at what point did things change, or did they?  Is this what I’ve been missing or is this group of people just an exceptional group?

I think it might be a little of both.  🙂

Coz I’m So Smoooooth

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Note:  To fully enjoy this post,  you should click on the links so the music can play while you visualize what I’m about to tell you, which sadly, is a completely accurate account of my drive home this afternoon.  Thank you.  Party on. 

I was driving in the car earlier, flipping through stations when Santana’s “Smooth” came on the radio.  I like the song, so I smiled and just as I did, the car hit a bump and dipped ever so slightly, causing my head to tilt and bob just so.

At that moment, my little self-smile turned into a smoooth, cooool, smile.

In my head, I looked like this:

Ah, yeah…I am sooo smoooth….

Like David Caruso in CSI Miami when he knows something and does his  head-tilted,  knowing, cool nod.

I popped down the visor mirror to see what my smoooth, cooool, smile actually looked like It was more like this:

See? Smoooo…**cough cough**…thhhhh….

By then, I was sitting at a red light, amusing myself by practicing my smoooth, cooool, smile (that only I could see) and I accidentally glanced at  two young dudes in the car next to me.   We made eye contact and I immediately became nervous.  What if they thought I was flirting at them with my smoooth, cooool, smile??

Then I realized that at their age (and mine), they probably saw this:

Well helloooo handsome!

Then I became depressed.

I flipped stations a few times, trying to get back my groove and finally AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” came on.

And suddenly, I was all like this:

I cranked it up and rocked out the rest of the drive home.

And in my head, I’m still one smoooth, cooool chick.

The sky is blue in my world.  Thank you very much for asking.  😉

Awwwesommmmeeee!!!

Gray Matters

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I was washing my hands in the powder room this evening and glanced in the mirror.  Much to my horror, a shiny strand of hair was peeking out at me.

ELIZABEEEETHHHH!!  COME HERE PLEASE!?

My daughter came to the door and peeked in.  I was standing in front of the mirror, pointing to my head.

Is this what I think it is?????

She took one glance and it was all over.

Oh, Mom…yep.  It’s a gray hair.  But it’s just one!  And you’re 46, not 47!

She was trying to make me feel better by referring to the fact that up until a month ago, I thought I was turning 47 this year.  I even challenged a friend who is the same age as me and asked him how he could be 46, when I’m going to be 47!  “What year were you born?!”, I asked.  “1966”, he replied.  Whoa…I just got back a whole year!

But back to the mirror – I started to tear up.  I don’t know if I was laughing or crying.  I think it was crying.

Then my very, very, VERY gray-haired husband came to the bathroom door…and laughed at me.   When I kicked his ass out, he complained loudly that I shared with my daughter first and not my husband.

“You fricken laughed, you dill weed!  Is it any wonder I didn’t call you first!?”

Then I went upstairs to rip the fucker out.  By the time I scrounged for the tweezers, it had disappeared.

Oh, but it’ll be back.  And like the zombie apocalypse, it will bring friends.  Lots and lots of brain sucking friends.

Stupid, zombie, gray-hair, brain-sucking friends.  GAH!

Tomorrow, I’m dying it auburn.  Zombies hate auburn.  They go after the gray-haired old coots first.  W e’re They’re slower.

Yep.  I need to color my hair because of zombies.