Tha Intarnet Is Surrrrius Biznaz!

WOW. I get to be on the periphery of ridiculous high school poo and fucktardery on the internets, which I guess (?) is being perpetuated by people in their thirties and above.
And I am being chivvied to Take Up Arms and Play Along with the meaningless shite.

Ok, here it is.
THE INTARWUBS ARE MOSTLY MAKE BELIEVE. Internet people are essentially IMAGINARY FRIENDS. No offense, I intellectually know there are real people typing, but this a giant fucking masquerade ball, don't kid yourselves. It's a slightly less entertaining MMORPG, the whole blogging and posting world.
Do note, I was always polite to my imaginary friends, especailly Punky Brewster because she was so rad and we had awesome adventures and whatnot. I was an only child from the sticks, I couldn't risk being a dick to my imaginary friends - I needed them to stick around!

My advice to sufferers of blog "stalkers" and "vandilizers":
DO grow up. Seriously. There is a little trash can icon on commentor's posts, use it. If it's on someone else's blog or board, hope they like you enough to trash it, or IGNORE IT. Or don't. Get a grip though.

Everyone has a piddly, meaningless, jokey blog for the most part. Don't like what someone's commented? DELETE IT. Or reply back and start a flame war, but do remember the saying about fighting on the internet being much like the special olympics. Do.
Also, blocking people, comment verification and privacy filters are fantastic tools for dealing with creeps! They are! Any fucktarded 12 year old with a myspace account knows this...why doesn't anyone I encounter? I understand that sometimes the way of the web are lost on anyone who remembers the 70's and 60's, but my oh my. If you're posting on a decent enough site, you CAN and SHOULD block assholes if that is your wont. This goes back to Personal Responsibility, which I am a gigantic fan of. I really am.

However, it does seem like people have such dull fucking lives that they need to spam people and send gossipy consiprational emails around their little circles of Imaginary Intarwub Friends creating maaaaaaaaaad drama. If that is your thing, cool. I was not that kid in high school, despite being a drama and art geek. I was an ANGRY drama and art geek but also a redneck metalhead stoner kid (I realize that must be hard to imagine), and beat up kids who did that sort of thing when my name was involved in it. I did. Please don't tell my mom. This is retarded. Get cable, or a vibrator, or a good book and maybe something constructive to do whilst you're bored off your ass at work.

And that has been another exciting installment of She Who Does Not Suffer Fucktardery Ever At All Whatsoever (TM).

Phone etiquette

I have had this really weird thing happen lately on my phone.
My phone rings, it is a number I do not recognize or that isn't stored in my mobile's little memory chip. I answer the phone, "hello?"
"yes May I speak to D please?"
...."May I ask who's calling, please?" (I get loads of telemarketers and survey people calling me, even though it is illegal to do this to someone's mobile phone.)
In response to my query, however, I get silence, surliness, or just plain confounded asshole behaviour.
Such as:
"well, who's this? *chortle*"
"who am I speaking to?"
"um, *excuse* me...?"
"I'm sorry, what? Who is this?"

Woah. Woah. Woah.
Okay.
For starters, dear reader, this is not how one calls another person. At all. I am certain you know this, though, being the lovely bunch you all are. Har.
Unless you are intimately acquainted with the person you are calling, the appropriate response after they pick up their phone and say "Hello" is
"Hello/Hi/Hola/Bonjour/etc, this is/it's _______(state your name)". If you are calling on behalf of a company you follow your name with the company you are calling for. Is so easy, as Vlad would say.
Very simple. I do it all the time. I like to eliminate awkwardness like that, crazy me. Also I am wary of phone solicitors, and assume everyone else is, so I I say who I am right away because I do not want to get cussed at and hung up on.

You would think people like HR leads and secretaries and other such professionals would know this shit, but no. And they are extremely rude 9 times out of 10. Even when they are calling to give me a job interview (which I am politely declining, being home is fine, thanks, especially if the company hired someone so crappy at their job. I am not working for someone like my ex employer again thx).

For fuck's sake, did no one else's mommy give them etiquette lessons or teach them any damn manners? And why would I want to work for someone's company who let their HR people talk to *anyone* like that? Ugh.

Ok so what the hell, here.

Here is the deal.
If you don't like the way I write, or the slang I use, or the voice in which I choose to address the world, fuck off and don't come here. It is exactly that simple.
No, I do not hesitate at rejecting comments that are posted with the sole purpose of being twatty and heinous. Not at all, since this is my fucking brain puking and what the hell's it to you, any how?

(Other than that BS, Hi! I feel a bit better, just irritated that I am apparently still in Jr High...?)

WTF, mates. If you're here to be a twat to me because you're disgruntled with my ma, well...fuck off then, eh? I am not going to hold your hand and assure you she is horrifically unfair or be hurt on her behalf. Please be somewhat of an adult about conducting your affairs in blogland. Poo jokes are great, but weird hate-by-proxy is not.

Thanks much,

The Management

blog-o numer-o un-o (of 2008-o)

Ok, so I have been harassed for updates. See, I was going to, but then I was fucking around on the intarwubs - mostly looking for embarrassing pictures of people I know - and found...a thing. This thing was an adoptee-seeking-birthmama/dad thing. And it was this dude, born when my mom had her first kid, in Oregon, looking FOR my mama. AMAZING. I hyperventilated. I cried and got shaky and felt like my chest was going to swing open. So I did the logical thing and called Ma, flapping and squeeing and crying and freaking. I think I scared her.
So, she and I both shoot off emails to the address the site had provided. I am a horrifically impatient person, so I search myspace, friendster, facebook, your mom's house and tibet for this guy. Nooooo luck. Ok, well, still pretty neat. I stay up late playing Neverwinternights and bashing goblins until I stop shaking enough to go to bed ( I am sure four cups of coffee helped there... ).
Next morning, I am back on line, looking up phone numbers and people searches and gps locations. I get crazy impatient. Example: If Manwife misses calling me on his walk home, I cry into his voice mail about how I think hobos have flayed him and are wearing pretty Manwife suits around downtown. Then he comes home and eyes me oddly while beating me away from him to go hide for a while. I have a wild imagination. With hobos. And buffalo bill.

where was I?

oh, ok. so I get the bright idea to type in the email address i had into myspace's email finder thing. I figure, dude is pretty much in my generation, he MUST have something. I mean, come on.
And he does.
Well, his wifelady does. I feel a little voyeuristic, and peek in her pictures. OMFG. Dude has my mom's eyes, nose, chin, smile, WOW. No question. I see they have three kids, and omg, their daughter has the same pretty hazel almond shaped eyes as Ma and Bro. Amazing and wonderful.
I tap out a tentative and polite email asking if I could please get a hold of the guy. Pretty quickly, my sister-in-law (oh that is so cool to say!) replies and says, oh wow, we were trying to get a hold of you but gmail doesn't like verizon mail and keeps spitting the letters we send out! Agh, technology. Well, ok. Shortly thereafter I get an email from my big brother and I am still beyond the moon. I think he and Ma have talked more, but I have talked a good deal with SIL, who is so lovely and sweet. They both are, and I really am very relieved. I think everyone will get along nicely, which is kind of secondary...or tertiary...or entirely besides the point at the moment..! What an amazing couple of days!

Otherwise, I am still married, still hanging out at home - collaging, cooking, teaching Squidge to draw shapes and letters - still being a pain in the ass. Manwife and I have been playing NWN online with our buddy Joop (I am brynito, hit me up if you play and wanna go kill some shit and quest). It's a lot of fun, better than sitting around arguing with Squidge or having Manwife play one game while I'm on another. We are having intarweb issues, we see each other as offline when we play at the same time, which is hella lame. I say lots of cusses about it. Trying to figure out how to do a network connection or something. This may be easier if I get a laptop and do wireless networking, mayhap. My antiquated piece of shit has issues keeping up with the boys, que bummer.
Let's see...not much else to report, just connecting with old friends who are nice and not mean drunks to me, and others that are misguided but still nice, and doing brunch. I DO BRUNCH, it's a kick in the pants. Of course, we brunch at the crunchiest place around - local eggs and bacon and snausages and tatoes and java, mostly nice organic stuff and tahini and home fries with black beans and tarragon and salsa. Yum! And the local coffee roasters around here can't be beat - go find moka joe's and buy some!!

I am mostly just hanging out being flabbergasted and elated and grateful. I think if anyone deserved the cosmos aligning in their favor and heaping karmic rewards on them, it is my mother. I mean, the nice life with YB and having Squidge/Gooneybird around is great, and having a new son-in-law who is awesome and loved by all is nice too, but I was always worried this would never come to any sort of...resolution...?...I don't know the right word. But whatever it is, it's turned out in the best, most joyful and fabulous way possible. If I could meet my brother's adopted mom and dad, I would kiss them right on the mouth for keeping him safe and happy and letting him know my mom was out there and she loved him still. I really could.

The world is very strange and wonderful, I think you just have to look for it and choose it to be so.

today

today i set chicken stock on fire, a good ending to the year I think.

i am pretty sure that my house now smells a lot like what a lipo clinic that got burnt down smells like and it is hella nasty.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Wedding pickshurs

I dun got hitched. Here be the proof.

Awww, we look so happy in this one. I love my shoes, he loves my boobs. Win win. Also I am subtly holding his tie straight. Dude has static cling issues.

I would like to say I am wearing white tights, but that would be a dirty, flithy lie. I live in Washington state, okay? It is very cold and wet here. It's like the dank cellar of the United States, only well lit and not creepy. Anyways, I'm a ghosite. Manwife has been asked if he is Mexican, so I don't know. Lithuanians are darker than Swedes, maybe.

Also, Yes...I have blue hair bits and have gargantuan bewbs and am chubby and wear super-glued glasses and have a couple of tattoos that are a wee bit old and need touching up and YES I am self-conscious about it. But here I am, anyhow.

Ohhh with the crying. Tears of JOY, promise. Also, please do note the exit sign above my head. Just in case I had to bolt, I guess...? Our inkeeper took the pix, not the greatest at all...glad we didn't go for the $100 option of her using HER camera...sheesh...blurry and bad is blurry and bad, no matter how much one spends...but free, blurry and bad is better than the latter option.

now we's legal! no more illicit...erm...activities. It was weird to sign a contract, kinda felt like giving the deed of SSA over to this nerd-man. Pretty strange. As long as he loves me and my chins and my weird hair, we will be ok.

Bouquet with rosaries (not mine, trust), and detail of space-alien bouquet - very SSA-appropriate, I assure you. I liked the greenish lillies and the spiky purpley-blue flowers the best. Alien flowers, FTW

Hyde Park, VT (above) The Creepy Lady on the Landing Where We Got Married (directly above)

I had/have super, super excellent hair. It's like a punky Farrah thing goin' on here! Also note the bitchin' strands of pearls: kind of an asteroid belt of asymmetrical awesomeness, if you will. Round pearls are for bitches. I am also wearing dignified pearl earrings...right above my carved-bone swirly ones. IN YOUR FACE, CONFORMITY. I AM A UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE.
No, really though...in all honesty, my extended family would've flipped the fuck out at this. Any of it. Mom, Dad, and Squidge, no prob. But still. Uptight squares whining about me is something I am glad I missed on this nice day. But I got to look how I damn well pleased, and it was fantastic.

Oh, and I am portly, not preggo. Just so you know. Looking a bit engorged with bb here. Maybe I ate a baby and forgot?

Either way, Professor Manwife says it was a pretty good time.

I have a question

Am I the only foul-mouthed woman who makes stuff? REALLY? I read lots of craft blogs, and everything's usually so fucking pristine and sweet that I'd be mortified to leave a comment that said "hello, this is beautiful, thank you for the free pattern" only to have these sweet little dumplings of twenty-something ladies to come here and cry or something. The marzipan from which they're apparently made from would be all disolve-ed.

I guess I could be called a crafter, I dunno, that's kind of a dumb term in my high and mighty fucking opinion. I prefer "bad-ass of fussy detailed art stuff". Or "rocker of modpodge and tiewire and torn bits of stuff". "Crafter" is stupid, you can craft anything - an essay, a table leg, a dish, etc etc etc!!!
I mean, I sew, I knit, I crochet, I make clothes, I cook, I bake, I collage, I do decoupage (NO, REAL FUCKING DECOUPAGE, NOT GODDAMNED CLIP ART OF POSIES PASTED TO A STUPID CHAIR OR SOME WANK, REAL. FUCKING. ART. now that we're clear...), I do assemblage, I make dismembered doll sculptures with glitter and neato wire globes. I write a lot. I am a master of being overly verbose, which could be a craft, too.

So what do I do here? Keep doing my thing and hope I attract likeminded, dirty-foul-sailor-potty-mouthed ladies who make stuff and write about it?

And no, I don't think cussing is crass when used in a conversational tone. In a scholarly work, absolutely inappropriate. When talking to one's peers, hell yes. Words are just words, and some are inherently more passionate than others when spat or cried out.

I close with a Lenny Bruce quote, really one of my favorites ever:
"Well, I was just trying to make a point, and that is that it's the suppression of the word that gives it the power, the violence, the viciousness..."
I wholeheartedly believe that. Completely and utterly.

Now off to paint my hair in blue chunks.

getting hitched

i hate flying, and on Sunday morning I'll be going clear across the country to Vermont. the place where maple syrup comes from. that, and Ben & Jerry's. I am from Washington state, the place where the pacific beats the shit out of the land, then sends us sideways rain to contend with and we are all ruggedly individualistic coffee addicts (yes, meant to be somewhat oxymoronic.heh).
I am not really looking forward to a lack of decent coffee, and I must say that despite my mocking I do love having a coffee shop or cafe or coffee house (much different, thanks) every block or so. Not just Starbucks. We have great coffee places here. Even the shitty diners serve coffee that's better than ANYWHERE in the US, east of the Cascades. Bellingham, WA is almost as good as it gets, sitting right between Vancouver BC, Seattle, and the San Juan Islands. It's like Amsterdam, only with caffeine replacing the haschish and hookers.

so maybe coffee fear is replacing getting married fear a bit.

to be quite honest, I never expected to get married, let alone to any one person, or even a boy. I mean, willies are lovely, but boys get old quickly, what with the moldy dishes piled by the game controllers and the stiff, sweat encrusted socks, the farting continually during the night, the poor sense of fashion and lack of awareness on most hygiene issues..."what do you mean, 'one has to keep their toenails clipped?' Why?!" *facepalm*
Manwife isn't quite this bad, but I've had a good number of male roommates and live-ins that I have a good background in boy ickness 101. I mean, tampons left floating in the toilet I can handle. Deuces on the other hand....um.
But now I'm marrying one of these foreign humanoids? So weird. I don't have anything against men, I like them as chums much more than women. Women are mean friends, men are great. Very simple emotionally, and fairly straightforward (this is in comparison, of course. you men are still very complicated, rest assured).
Still. Very weird, this marriage thing.

So if you wandered over from my mommy's blog, Ms FN, you know I am getting married in like two or three days. No, I don't know which day. Isn't that great though? I mean, isn't it relieving to see someone who genuinely fears the crass commercialism of this pretty princess bullshit and focuses more on having a marriage rather than a wedding?
No?
Yeah, you and the majority of brides and women out there. I guess dads are into weddings too. Some sort of status thing at work there - look, my daughter's wedding dress cost more than a year's worth of mortgage payments on my house! Isn't that Spectacular?
I say...ummmm. No.

I am eloping to the other end of the country, as weddings are not my thing. No. Not at all.
I don't give a high holy fuck(™) about seating arrangements and cocktail/mingling hour or what band to hire or place settings or registries or what everyone should wear. I really. Fucking. Do. Not. And I guess that revelation was horrifying to many family (and future family) members. My aunt has one of those binder things FULL of wedding ideas. It's super god damned creepy, if you ask me. She's unmarried, her baby's daddy ditched her for some trailer trash (very sad, my aunt is a nice little catholic anglo saxon yuppie).
I went to a family event for my BioDad's side this past July, where all of the women except my Nana and her sisters were absofuckinglutely shocked/appalled to hear I hadn't put one iota of thought into my wedding, and even more horrified to learn that I just didn't give two shits if we handed out cold hot dogs on paper plates and sat on lawn chairs and everyone wore jeans at the wedding. So...you see what kind of fucktardery Manwife and I were up against.
I am not going to get into the future MIL reaction. She's a fucking nutjob, so her issues matter not.

So the plan is, fly into a ginormous fucking storm on Sunday, rest a bit, get married either monday or tuesday (no clue) wearing a simple champagne colored dress - not at all poofy or fancy or ornate or hideous, satin chinese flats with the little maryjane strap, have blue bits in my hair, and wear large, swirly bone earrings with my cosmic pearl array necklace (it's really bizarre and great; there are about ten wires bent into a wavy circlet, with the pearls kind of interspersed randomly. it looks like an asteroid belt. a shiny asteroid belt. shiiiiiiiinnnnneeeeeeeyyyyyyy). No 100 dollar hairdos, no fancy french manicure, no veil, no fake tiara...no. I also refuse to wear uncomfortable underwear for this. Modal all the way, bb. Wish I had my forearm tattoos finished to really look purty (and piss off manwife's uptight whiter than white family at the same time!), but oh well.
I don't really care what Manwife wears as long as it's clean and he's bathed in the past day. Then we'll do our thing at the awesome B&B at the old governor's mansion, have cake and booze, and hump like bunnies and be lazy the next day. Then we go to some fancy spa resort and get drunk and play in the snow. Booyakasha.



Completely off topic!:
I love this shit right here. I like Tori alright, but she annoys the fuck out of me, especially live. I hate the humping and writhing. I fucking loathe Kate Bush, but this vid is rad.

The talking dreadlock is fucking strange. In a good way.