Not Taking It Anymore...

...because I really am mad as hell. I've decided to begin posting some of the comments I leave on other people's blogs, websites, listservs, etc. because I'm starting to come up with some real comic gold in my rants. At least, I think it would probably be funny if our society weren't at such a critical point right now. Or maybe that's the paranoia from the weed talking...ha! Just kidding. It's really from the ibuprofen...

Today's Therapeutic Anger Triple Feature:

From a listserv
"And I trust a CSU suit to competently perform his/her job about as much as I trust, oh, THE ENTIRE FUCKING LEGISLATURE OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA THAT CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO PASS A FUCKING BUDGET AND CONTINUALLY BURDEN PUBLIC EDUCATION WITH THEIR GENERAL DOUCHEBAGGERY.

Call your representative and tell him/her that he/she is a douchebag. Get everything in writing. In all caps. Do not assume that ... anyone who should possibly have been paid a royalty or licensing fee will be cool with their work being ripped off."

I got mad props for my use of the term 'douchebaggery' on that one. And don't assume that John Q. Public will be cool with having their special services districts torn a new financial asshole in the current economic crisis.

From an online petition to forgive student loan debt that I couldn't quite sign because it meant registering for stuff and I hate doing that (that's the paranoia talking again)
"I am a public school teacher. Like most teachers, I acquired student loan debt in order to receive the education and training that would give me the tools to become a competent professional in the classroom. I go to work every day to educate the children that our federal government is SCREWING by eliminating major education spending provisions from the current stimulus bill. Mr. President, I am not an eternal optimist. I expect that when reason and compassion are blatantly thrown under a bus to pander to ideological nincompoopery on the part of elected officials that the public reserves the right to use shame and derision to meet its needs. Please tell the Legislative lunkheads you work with that their constituents are speaking - it is time to listen."

Honestly, I'm not even sure I am making a coherent point in this one. I was just really pissed off and needed to yell at someone. Kind of like the lady at the beginning of this clip...

A Major Award

Wow! I am an official Smart Bitch winner and the proud recipient of a coffeemaker with travel mug kinda funky psychedelic peppermint swirl hot chocolate pot (Bodie says I am being redundant by saying the hot chocolate pot is both "kinda funky" and "psychedelic". I reply that I am "swimming in my stream of consciousness". He leaves the room. When he comes back he says that my blog readers probably think the handsome Mr. G. pictured above is my husband. Well, he isn't. Click on over to Bodie's blog to see his picture.)...

Seeing my name in the list of winners made me think that I should update the Smarty Pants saga. You know, um, just in case I get any more traffic from, say, endlessly nagging Bodie to publicize my triumph via his Facebook page (I'm not linking to this because I don't know how and he isn't here right now for me to ask. And did I mention that I'm also standing in my kitchen, barefoot, pregnant, and without the benefit of a big, strong man to work the internets for me?)

So, an update:

We aren't in Las Vegas! Ha! Who would have thought that we would have moved from behind the Redwood Curtain to an entirely different state for all of, oh, 10 days before moving back to California for me to accept a job offer in the quaintly disgusting area that is the southern Central Valley in California. The air quality is bad, the politics are hell and gone from progressive, and I think this is some sort of cosmic penance due to the fact that I turned thirty this year.

[pause for a long telephone chat with Mr. L, who is having to plan for his first substitute teacher ever this Thursday and needs advice...and my old sub plans emailed to him...tonight]

On the bright side of things, we gathered all of our belongings into one residence within four months of the first move, which totally beats our last record of ten months, with only three moving trucks and one storage facility being rented this time around. Of course, the lovely Ms. D. did have a goodly pile of our shit in her garage for all of those four months, but I don't have to count any of that because we weren't technically paying for the space.

Bodie is now a full-time parent and part-time musician playing with the...you know, I was going to write the name of the organization, but he has suddenly gone all paranoid on me. Probably because we keep leaving irate messages on the answering machines and servers of various elected state officials. Hey, it's not my fault that the level of general douchebaggery on the part of the State of California has reached an all-time high. If they did their jobs I wouldn't have cause to point out what a mealy-mouthed sell-out weasel Glen Thomas is for being the Governor's two-bit political hack. Anyway, Bodie is fine, dislikes our current geographical region intensely, and will be insanely grateful when we move away from The Land That Progress Forgot.

Claire...Claire is the most rockin' kid ever. She serenades me at bedtime with "Anchors Aweigh". She calls her flying leaps onto her thinking chair 'engine' (ninja) jumps. She tells me she misses me when I'm at work and that she loves me very much. And she went pee-pee in the potty tonight all by herself...for the low, low price of half of a square of milk chocolate. This girl knows how to negotiate and her reasoning is nothing short of Jesuitical.