Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Could everyone PLEASE put on their BIG GIRL (or boy) PANTS and stop fighting about how much attention you are or are not getting, about who’s following or unfollowing who, about who’s commenting and who isn’t?

Seriously.

It’s making me sad and when I’m sad, I cry. And when I cry my face turns red and my eyes and nose get puffy. It’s truly hideous. This, in turn, only makes me sadder and then I cry more. It’s a terrible, terrible circle of unhappiness for me and, as we all know, it’s all about me.

So quit it. Either kiss and make up (groping would also be a nice way to mend fences; I’m just sayin’) or shut up and ignore each other. Like RIGHT NOW. If you don’t, I’m going to grow my hair out and get a spiral perm to complete my “we’ve all gone back to high school” look.

Comments for this post have been closed because I absolutely DO NOT WANT to hear anymore about this.

That is all.

First and foremost, my doctor says I am not dying so stop crying already.  Apparently a day or two of antibiotics will have me right as rain.  It does, however, explain the stabbing back pain and exhaustion I had all weekend that I attributed to cleaning house and sleeping on an air mattress.

I grew up in an extremely small town where every citizen knows every detail of every other current and former citizen's indiscretions and bad choices.  It has the potential to be idyllic but rather than coexisting peaceably with kindness and understanding and support, most citizens choose to use this knowledge to judge and torment in order to make themselves feel better about their own poor choices and station.  I moved away from there as soon as I was old enough and never looked back.  I put it behind me and moved on to greener, more compassionate pastures.

But watching the Lori Drew case develop and close over the past year or so brought those hard, hurtful memories back to me like a spectre.  You see, Lori Drew and her husband are from my area.  For over a year now I have listened to the story of how she oh-so-maturely concocted a plan to punish Megan Meier for having a typical teen-age falling out with her daughter.

You see, the two girls were friends and then, as scripted in the teenage girl playbook, they weren't anymore.  Instead of talking to her daughter about how friendships will come and go and using the event as an opportunity to teach her daughter empathy and personal worth and impulse control, Drew concocted a devious plan to punish and torment Megan using the Internet.

It infuriates me when I read things like this:

"Angered that Megan had been "spreading lies" about her daughter, and eager to "expose" her, Lori Drew together with Grills and Drew's daughter concocted a plan to humiliate Megan and to find out what else she was saying online.  They came up with 16-year-old "Josh Evans", a boy who had recently moved to the area. They created a MySpace profile for the fictional boy, and even included a picture of the tousle-haired "Evans" posing bare-chested. Megan, a young, impressionable girl prone to depression, was hooked.

The two began to exchange messages. At one point, said Grills, Drew suggested arranging for Josh to meet Megan at a local shopping mall. Grills, Drew and her daughter Sarah would then "pop out" and tease Megan.  But what may have started as a prank soon turned sinister. Possibly motivated by a desire to end the deception, Grills sent Megan a final message from Josh on October 16 2006. It told her that "the world would be a better place without you" and to "have a [lousy] rest of your life".

Megan's response was poignant in the extreme: "You are the kind of boy a girl would kill herself over," she allegedly wrote. Shortly afterward, she hanged herself."

And this:

"Drew bragged about the scheme and continued to talk about her involvement after Megan's death. He cited the testimony of hairdresser Dawn Chu, who told the court that Drew had come into her salon on the day of Megan's wake. When Chu asked her why she was going to the wake given the allegations against her, "Drew responded, "It's not like I pulled the trigger."

(emphasis added)

Let me make this abundantly clear:

THIS 49 YEAR-OLD WOMAN INTENTIONALLY TORMENTED A TEEN GIRL SHE KNEW TO BE TROUBLED TO THE POINT THE GIRL HUNG HERSELF AND THEN BRAGGED ABOUT IT AND TRIVIALIZED HER INVOLVEMENT AFTERWARD.

While it's true she did not act alone, she was the only ADULT involved.  She may have escaped felony charges but is still facing a potentially steep come-uppance.  Prosecutors did what they could to find a law that she'd broken in order to mete out some sort of justice but the reality is that this kind of spiteful, hateful, and vengeful bullying happens every day.  There aren't laws to protect us from it and there shouldn't be.  Social mores and personal and familial standards for behavior should be enough.  I guess I am most heart-broken and angry that it seems they aren't.

This post was originally drafted in a reply email to Lydia. Her comment to my last post was the straw that broke this camel's back today. Thankfully, once drafted, I realized needed to say this to all of you, not just poor Lydia who was unknowingly in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I'm talking about Proposition 1, the amendment to the Missouri Constitution which will make English the official language of all public meetings. I can only think that you didn't click the link in the last post or that you didn't really think this one through because it surprises me to no end that my readers, people I consider friends, would support an unnecessary constitutional amendment that at its core is exclusionary, intolerant and downright hateful. Really surprised. This country, which let's not forget was stolen from Native Americans by immigrants, was transformed by those very same immigrants into the country it is today. A vast majority of those people didn't speak English; the others came from England.

The reality of this is that the people seeking the constitutional amendment didn't have a valid reason for doing so - there has never been an instance in this state where an official public meeting was conducted in a language other than English nor has there ever been a need for translators. That said, the immigrant population in this state is growing and the white people in power are scared so they're passing laws which they think will keep them in a position of power. As I stated earlier today, it reeks of Nazi.

Immigrants are people who move to a new place to start new lives. They come here to pursue the American dream, just like your ancestors did. They buy houses, they open businesses, they feed our economy. And yet apparently 90% of this state can't tolerate that they might be different.

I call horseshit. I call horseshit on the amendment and anyone who can't see past the ends of their own noses. People who don't speak English (yet) are here, they aren't going anywhere, and they contribute. People who support these people will win in the end because they'll have opened their minds to diversity.

Dear Daylight Saving Time:

I apologize.  The persistent negativity this week is unintentional.  It would appear that I'm having my period but I assure you I am not, it's just the material that has presented itself.  I'm sure things will brighten up soon.  In the meantime, here's the latest thing I want to ridicule:

Today's Hummer is brought to you by the lift kit.  Uh-huh.  A lift kit.


For those of you who didn't grow up where the truck reigns supreme whenever testosterone is involved, a lift kit "(also referred to as lift kits or leveling kits) enable(s) steeper ascent, descent and breakover angles, higher ground clearance, and helps accommodate larger rims and tires."  Which is great, if you live 2,000 miles from nowhere in Outdoorsville, Rough Terrain, but what the hell does some preppy-assed suburban guy named Stew need with one?  He doesn't.

Look how much taller this thing is than a normal car.  Douchebag.

When I got out of the shower yesterday morning I saw the little envelope thing on my cellphone that means I have a text message. I thought it was weird because I'd had my phone with me all morning but after I opened the message I knew why I hadn't heard anything . . . it came in at 11:37 pm . . . on a Sunday night.

I don't know about you crazy nightbirds but I'm in bed, asleep, at 11:37 on a Sunday night.  I easily deduced this person didn't know me well.  I also knew, by the area code, that the call was coming from central/southern Illinois, but those two facts did little for my memory of this person who had only said, "Hey remember me?"

I hate this kind of coy bullshit game so when I got to the office I replied, "I might if you gave me a name."

The rest of the exchange went like this:

10:14 am, Mysery person:  Lol. herez a hint. we banged each otherz brains out.

Immediately upon receipt, Me:  I find that hard to believe and am not amused.

10:58 am, MP:  OMG. relax. it’s Gerry. should I delete u?

Gerry is a guy I met once . . . in March . . . with a group of people.  Yeah.  I tell ya, I was pissed.  Who talks like that to a woman they met once?

Wait, it gets better.

1:09 PM, Gerry:  Sorry.  was just flirtin. i’ll leave ya alone.

Yes, monkeys, Gerry and I had an entire relationship in one day:  we introduced ourselves . . . someone was inappropriate . . . someone else set a boundary . . . someone got his feelings hurt . . . and quicker than a 24-hour flu, it was over.

You said you wanted to hear all about my love life.  Well, there you have it.  Maybe I'll just get myself one of these:And if you don't know why this picture is funny?  Well, other than the creepy upper right quadrant of what appears to be a stuffed man copping a feel, then shame on you for not reading yesterday.  I suggest you get your asses down there and read it.  Since you're late, be sure to comment.  Thank you.

Little BRR was working hard browsing Overstock.com the other day and ran across this extremely odd item, the Hug Me Pillow. This creepily prosthetic pillow is designed to simulate the arm of a real man, namely Brad Pitt. I will grant you that Brad Pitt has a nice arm but it isn't the part of him I want to cuddle with, if you know what I mean.

She emailed me the link to the ad with instructions to read the reviews. We had so much fun laughing at them that I nearly hyperventilated. I've pulled the best ones for your enjoyment.




Anonymous from Alaska: If this pile of fabric "exceeded even (your) wildest expectations" you might want to dream bigger. You're from Alaska, fashion yourself after Sarah Palin. She's just a "hockey mom" and look where she ended up. You can do better than this.




Wait a minute. I thought this thing was supposed to be fashioned after Brad Pitt, not Jeff Bridges. Although I think a pillow fashioned after The Dude would provide a more peaceful night's sleep: Brad's always starting or ending or coordinating some sort of fight - not restful - while The Dude is a lazy time-wasting slacker.




Jesus, woman, you are one supremely high-maintenance bitch. I bet your husband's glad you got this pillow so he has a shield against your constant complaining. You might want to check yourself before he uses Brad's bolstered hands to suffocate you in your sleep. I'm pretty sure a jury of his peers would let him off.




Ewwww. You put your feet in a guy's crotchal region to warm them up? Socks, honey, try socks. Unless, of course, you're a podophiliac, and in that case your pillow should have been fashioned after Ben Affleck.




OMG!!!! YOU NEED TO STOP YELLING!!!!! OVERSTOCK IS A VERY QUIET STORE, LIKE THE LIBRARY! And for realsies? If you'd get some self-esteem and stop coercing your cats, you might actually be able to get a man in there. (Hmmmmmm, note to self . . . )

Isn't it funny that Sleepless but Godly is from "Virgin"ia? Poor girl would sleep better if she got some. I know that I am out like a light after a good roll in the hay, praise the Lord.




Um, ghost7? Do you and your sister live in the attic of your grandma's mansion? Because what the hell are the two of you doing when she visits that warrants a "wink, wink"? Gross.




This one brings me to a point that needs made . . . most of my married friends rejoice when their significant other is out of town because they get the bed all to themselves and will have a uninterrupted night's sleep. Some even talk at length about moving to separate rooms to get away from the snoring, blanket-stealing, bed-hogging bastard with whom they share a bed, so tell me again what purpose this creepy pillow serves . . .




I don't believe that you even have a man, SoLonely555. I can think of a lot of things that would do a better job of replacing a man when he's out of town than this awkward little pillow. Then there's the matter of your screen name - kind of gives it away - but it's mostly that you are excited about dressing your pillow in different outfits.




Hold up. You're too big for a pillow? I think I might have just solved your problem, Cute But Not Comfy. Try one of these instead.




SoLonely555? Is that you again? The Overstock reviews are not personal ads, hon. Try Craig's List, look in the casual encounters.

A week ago today I posted an incredibly funny, and real, dialogue between some friends and I, but many of you failed to notice because I made a critical error: I ended the post with a McGone-esque footnote explaining a not-often-used nickname of mine, Walleye. Pistols at Dawn said it best, "Note to self: if you end the post with nipple talk, no one will remember anything else you wrote about."

All you people could talk about was nipple this, nipple that, veering v. pointing, and even had the audacity to question my truthiness. The nerve! And that Dr. Zibbs, my God, he had the most questions of all about my wonky left nipple . . . "Do you mean it POINTS ot (sic) the left? Is it obvious through sweaters or just tee shirts? Is it ever exposed? Does the one on the right get jealous and bitter of it's own normalcy? These questions must be answered in a full post."

So, to answer your questions:
Yes.
Both, but only when I'm cold.
A lady never tells all of her secrets.
Not jealous or bitter, but obnoxiously superior.

What? You want more? Alright. I doubted that would satiate you jackals.

First, I'm not sure how it happened. I assume I was born that way. Some of you may not have been readers here when I told the story of how I won my boobs on a radio contest, but I won my boobs on a radio contest. Yes, I did. I actually won $5,000 but since no one can legally force someone to have surgery, I paid off my car. Understand that I entered the contest for boobs. Yes, it felt good to be fiscally responsible with the winnings, blaah, blaaah, whatever. I wanted boobs. I entered the contest to get boobs. I had asked for them every Christmas since the time I realized I wasn't going to grow any. So yeah, as soon as I got my bonus check I made an appointment for a consultation.

I scheduled the surgery for right after Valentine's Day. I had been divorced less than 6 months so went around telling everyone, "Last Valentine's Day I was a pair; this year I'm getting a pair." You can call me precious if you want to.

So anyway, when you wake up from said surgery you are wrapped tightly in 12,000 feet of ace bandage and you have to leave it on for several days. When I took mine off, and inhaled for the first time in a week, I was shocked to find that Lefty was askew. I was furious, assuming that I had been "re-arranged" during surgery and/or binding. I got over it after a while, because really, what could I do?

It wasn't until years later, after I'd closely compared the before and after pictures, that I noticed Lefty had always been askew - my boobs had just been too small to notice. I don't know what happened to me. My grandma had huge bazongas. Huge. I used to tell the girls in my sorority (do not judge, I was cool) that I inherited my grampa's boobs.

I gave your suggestions/requests/pleas for a demonstration some serious consideration and decided it's actually a good idea. Some of you were horrified by Lefty, to the point you had to go back to bed, and I'd like to show you that I am not an animal.

Before I go any further, however, I want to establish that I am doing this because it's funny. Do not start asking to see my lady bits. It will not happen. Ever. Don't ask. Also, I am not judging anyone who chooses differently, it's simply a personal boundary. Thank you.

Like I said, I seriously considered what props would be the funniest. I was formulating a plan involving styrofoam balls, and I really thought it was going somewhere, but in the end I simply couldn't make it funnier than Zibbs' grapefruit/thumbtack suggestion. I should've known I couldn't out-funny the master. BTW, have you read his post about the death of the guy who wrote the book, "100 Things to Do Before You Die?" It almost killed me it's so funny. You can go over there to read it when we're done here, but you haven't been dismissed yet.

So yeah, grapefruits and thumbtacks. I didn't have any thumbtacks so I used two Sudafed. The Sudafed are placed where you would expect a nipple to be, approximately in the middle.

The shamrock pin on the right is where Lefty sits. I measured the distance in real life, 1.5 inches, and placed the shamrock pin in the exact location.

I didn't know how to calculate the size difference, ratio, whatever between the grapefruit and my real boob, but believe me when I say that the shamrock pin looks a lot farther from center in the picture than Lefty does in real life.

Today is my best friend's birthday. I wanted to put up some pictures and witty banter about her this morning while I was at home on my own computer, the place where the pictures are stored and where I wouldn't be stealing work time to rave about her.

This was not to be, as you can clearly see. When I logged on I received a message from blogger telling me that they think this site is spam. I choose to believe they are asshats and not that my writing is on par with spam. They not only blog-blocked me, they insulted me.

The worst part was when I read the message about it taking two freaking days to confirm that I am actually a human. Really? TWO DAYS? All you have to do is come over here and browse around to find that I'm an actual human. And also? I might actually die of creative constipation in two days.

Thankfully it did not take two days, but they didn't come tell me they had lifted their commie ban either. I just happened to give it another try after talking with Dr. Zibbs.

I apologize for being a whiny bitch at your sites and on facebook today. I was just very upset. I'm not very pleasant when I'm upset. I'm over it now. Bygones.

Happy birthday, Lil BRR! You're not an asshat and I love you.