I Firmly Believe In A Ruling Class...

...Especially since I rule. Just a quick note for those who are poorly socialized -- rude comments do not get posted on this blog. We have comment moderation for a reason. (Mostly, it's so Mame or I don't miss comments on older entries. But it becomes handy when people are douches.) The only rude comments that get posted are from me and Auntie Mame. Anyone else? They get rejected and we tell all our friends and we all laugh about it.

Particularly if they are anonymous. Don't like it? Go fucking read something else.

Got it?

Five People Who Annoy the Crap Out of Me…or, How I am trying to overcome this Twilight-induced sweetness.

5. The “Don’t Take My Picture” Ugly Guy

These people used to be the bane of my existence in high school. You know these guys, the not-so-great-looking guy that your friend met at the skating rink and then asked to the big Homecoming Dance. He’s not part of your “crowd” but you have to act like you like him because your friend is now dating him. This guy inevitably turns his head or ducks away quickly whenever a picture is taken. Like he’s fucking Amish and is afraid that the flash will take his soul. Fuck him. It’s a PICTURE, you are a person, and you are going to get your picture taken, idiot.

In ten years when you’re going through your photo albums and you want to remember that dick that Jane brought to the ’96 dance and all you have to remember him by is a picture of Jane in a cocktail dress and her up-do hair with baby’s breath woven in, and the blur of color that is that guy ducking away.


4. The “Man I Got Wasted” Guy

We’re thirty. I got wasted when I was nineteen with my sorority sister’s fake ID and stole a bottle of tequila and drank it with the pour spout still one. That was cool. That was a story*. Now, talking about how you were at Applebee’s watching the “Stillers” (AKA StEElers) game last night and had one too many nine dollar beers, and ended up falling off the stool and getting escorted out by John the bartender who's “a cool guy though” is not a story. It’s one of the five signs of an alcoholic.

3. The Let Me Ask You the Same Question Over and Over Relative

Everyone has a relative like this, usually a cousin or older relative. For me, honestly? This person for me is my father. Every year on my birthday, he asks, “So how old are you now? Let me see…24?” And every year (except my twenty fourth) he’s wrong. He also asks me the name of the company I work for over and over. Sometimes he asks me to spell it. At first it’s endearing because at least he’s trying, but after about the seventh time, I try to laugh it off as I answer it again. On the tenth time, I’m sorry – I’m only human, I’m going to roll my eyes and sigh dramatically when I answer it.

2. The One Year of Therapy Reciter

This person is interchangeable with “I took Psychology 101 Reciter.” I can’t stand when someone I barely know, or even someone I do know decides that he or she can fix whatever ailment I happen to be bitching about by reciting something they heard from one of their own therapy sessions. Now, don’t get me wrong, every now and then this is fine. I should also mention that I’ve been in therapy for like twelve years, I’ve heard whatever it is you are about to say. Thank you for your advice, but stop. Therapists are very intelligent and have great insight; however, you don’t, and spouting off what your doctor said every time I mention that I had a bad day, makes me want to have a better day by killing you.

1. The “I Know More Than the Expert” Dude

O.M.G. No matter what’s on TV: it could be the news, Law & Order, or Superman, this person is going to point out every minute aspect they can find a fault with. And, they are going to talk over the climatic ending to explain why THEY are correct and the seventeen writers and two experts who wrote the show are completely wrong. Then they are going to smirk and shake their head every time the character or even news anchor speaks again. I can’t stand this person, and usually want to rip their arms off and punch them in the groin with it. Beau does it sometimes; I think just to annoy me. It works.

*and a hell of a story it is, too!

Happy Halloween!

So, I'm off to spend Halloween with Sid and Andie and their kids. We plan to dress Mothra and Conan up in embarrassing costumes and take pictures and laugh at them, thus really cementing their futures in therapy. Isn't that why you have children?

Mame hasn't blogged in a million years because she's got a lot going on now. She's fine, it's fine. I mean, she's so busy that she's barely talked to me. Her best friend of 16 years. Ooooh, beat THAT for passive aggression, Mame. HA! I WIN!

However, we do talk online and we would like you all to watch this: Drunk History. Our favorite is the one featuring Michael Cera of Arrested Development/Superbad/Juno fame. He plays Alexander Hamilton. 'Nuff said, right? Mame and I quote it incessantly at each other. I don't usually find drunk ramblings all that amusing, but most drunk ramblings aren't this funny. They usually consist of complains of why someone doesn't love you anymore, how much someone is going to puke or paranoias about government conspiracies. Or do I just drink with the wrong people? Hmmm...

Also, I went to this with work friends. It was AWESOME. I've yet to go to a haunted house that was really SCARY, but this had its moments and was TONS of fun. Also, may I apologize on behalf of Quakers everywhere for inventing a prison system that drove people crazy. Oops.

In Halloween movie news, don't ever watch One Missed Call, the American remake. Not the Japanese original version. I'm sure that one's fine. The American one sucks ASS. I should have know because it has Shannyn Sossamyn or however you spell her name in it. I refuse to look it up. She sucks, the movie sucks and is only suitable for mocking. Especially when you have the peanut gallery of my family. That's good times. I do, however, want everyone to know that I wanted to rent High Tension and I was vetoed. My cousin Bri swore that One Missed Call was a good scary movie and whenever it sucked especially egregiously, we would all glare at her. Ha.

And EEEK! The election is in less than a week! Is anyone else FREAKING out?

With the Quickness...or How I'm Pacifying Bea with an Incredibly Short Update

I've been absent for awhile, I know. Deal with it.* There isn't much going on in my life: we are adjusting to living with my in-laws, I have a new job (that I still love), and I don't have Comedy Central** Lord and Lady are re-educated Hippies*** so it has made for interesting political discussions around the dinner table. It's nice to have dinner made for me and to sit around a table with the entire family every night.
I've got a blog entry in the works discussing my thoughts regarding this here political hoopla going on, but it will have to wait. Gran has made brownies and I must partake.****




*apparently I've also been very cranky.
**hence the reason I've been so cranky.
***this means they are older with money and therefore Republicans
****OK, crankiness is gone now.

Steps: 5, Bea: 0

Yeah, so, I fell down the steps again today. No, I didn't really hurt myself this time, just wrenched my shoulder and back. And earned the mockery of my friends and family.

Both EGT and my mother compared me to Bella Swan, the clumsy "heroine" of the Twilight series. Gee, "thanks."

Thus far, my clumsiness has NOT earned me a hot, undead boyfriend, so THERE. Wait a minute...

Well that didn't take long....or, How Glow Bug is "potty trained"

Glow Bug is now potty trained.
Kinda.

He is wearing his under-roos, and loves to make runs to the potty. He's great with going "number 2" in the potty, announcing it, then flushing it down.

He will, however, only go number 1 in the grass or on the flowers outside.

He's an official West Viriginian. That didn't take long.

I need to get this off my chest...no it's not my bra...

I'm so annoyed, that I'm sick to my stomach. Ugh.

As Bea told you all, we are in the process of moving. It has been a ridiculous stresser and brings me to tears literally everyday. I have spent six years building a home only to have to pack up more than half of it and still try to live. Every day I clean my house like it's a hotel, and then sit and wait for someone to come by and want a look-see. I've been living like this for a little over two weeks and we've shown the house twice so far. The comments from the agents that showed the house were, "Well, it's getting there: there's still some de-cluttering and cleaning to be done." You know what, fuck you. I have a two year old, and am doing this alone. Beau is already in West Virginia and comes home when he can (usually on the weekends), so I'm just giving this a go alone. Of course a house across the street that has the exact same floor plan as ours just went up for sale, about $6,000 less that what we're trying to sell for. Of course what buyers don't know is that someone killed themselves in that house and the now owner just wants out of it. They are selling for barely tax value. We're screwed.

Shortly I'll be packing up little Glow Bug and moving to Beau's parents' house where we will stay until this house sells. We'll be there for months. I'm trying to be OK with that; reminding myself that trees that don't bend in the wind will break. I think I am going to look at this move as a clean slate. We'll live with Beau's parents and little Glow Bug will be so happy (he loves it there), we'll save money, we won't have to rush, so we'll be able to find the perfect house. The good thing is that Beau and I will be together again; Glow Bug isn't adapting well to his absence. I'm thinking of trying a new career; letting the youth of America be without me for awhile. If I fail miserably I can go back to education. It's exciting. The biggest draw back is that we can't take our two darling cats with us to the parents' house. Big Beau just had open heart surgery and Old Lady Gran tends to fall and break things like bones, so it was asked that we don't bring our kitties until we have a place of our own. Luckily our neighbor here has offered to foster them until that happens; however, I'm going to really miss the late night back massages from Sidda Lee kneading my back, tripping out the front door in the morning as Bucky runs ahead of me to do his morning cricket chases, and of course I'm going to really miss watching Glow Bug sleep snuggled next to Bucky - we call them Calvin and Hobbes.

*sigh*

A Day in the Life of One of My Students (male, springtime)

• Wake up
• change boxers
• put on gym shorts - pull them to waist and tie them tight to stay there.
• Trip over various XBOX 360games and hundred dollar shoes. Pick up jeans from the floor. Pull them to just below the crack of ass (top of thigh); use belt with overly decorative buckle to secure them there.
• Go to closet; look through hangers of plain, white, XXXXL tee shirts, and holler to mother, "Where is my new white tee?" When she explains that it's still in the trunk of her car, roll eyes and drop head dramatically. Decide to wear the plain, white, XXXXL tee on the hanger closest to the door because it is probably "the freshest."
• Rummage under bed to find the left show of the white-on-white Air Force Ones with the sock in the toe so as to prevent any unseemly creases on the toe of the shoe.
• Head to bus stop. Consider picking up one of the pens or pencils from the cup at the door, but ultimately decide against it because you don't feel like carrying it all day.
• While at bus stop, have a lengthy discussion with peers about the merits/demerits of Lebron James vs. Kobe Bryant.
• This argument lasts well through the bus ride, and on into the breakfast, wherein a dusty biscuit with a meat patty is joyfully referred to as a "sunrise sausage sandwich."
• Continue debate over Kobe vs. Lebron.
• Bell rings for first block. Consider putting trash into receptacle, but when KC makes a crack about Kobe's baby hook in the first quarter of last night's game, get distracted and leave trash on the table with everyone else's.
• In hall walk with peers shoulder to shoulder, thus preventing anyone from passing by, and causing a huge 'traffic jam' in the hall by the men's bathroom where you all like to 'hang out.'
• Be sure to join in on the jokes at the expense of the boy everyone agrees is homosexual, then laugh heartily when a peer slaps another in the groin and doubles over in pain. How fun!
• Continue to play this 'tagging' game of grabbing each other's crotch until the bell sounds again and you all go your separate ways to class.
• At various times through the day: make teachers give you a pencil, turn in your math homework (it's the sheet folded seven times in your pocket), reprise the 'tagging' game every time you see a peer in the hallway, complain about having to work with the smart boy in class, even if he is technically your cousin, hug random girls in the hall, text message your peers during the lecture of what will be on tomorrow's exam, continue the Kobe/Lebron discussion.
• At lunch, reassure coach that you're doing dine -and no you don't know why your English teacher would tell him you were coming unprepared to class. You've been there everyday, haven't you?!
• On the bus back to home, debrief with peers regarding what everyone heard happened in the club last night. This leads to a discussion of Kanye West vs. Usher. Agree that although Usher can move better, Kanye can dress! Oh, and make sure to make fun of that homosexual boy who quietly gets off at the next stop. Continue discussion of Kanye's 'style.'
• Once at home, explain to mother that you don't have time to go and buy a notebook for English - and why is this teacher harassing you so much?! Agree that you'll try to do better next time.
• Retire upstairs and play Xbox Live until you fall asleep some three hours later.

Repeat for next day!!

Baldwin Family Crisis or Why I Didn't Major in Theology

All right. It's been awhile since you've been graced with my presence. Hopefully Bea's last post about my horrifying condition has explained why. I've got a lot of stuff written down that I need to post officially; however, today I need to write about an issue close to my heart: Stephen Baldwin.

Now let me preface this blog by explaining that although Alec and my relationship is a strong one* I am tested by his family on a semi-regular basis (note this blog about Celebrity Rehab). Recently his youngest brother, Stephen, has decided it is his place to comment on the state of Gay/Lesbian marriages and adoptions. My first reaction was to yell "FUCK YOU," but after talking with Alec** I have decided that the best place to vent my frustrations with the situation is here on my blog.

Recently Stephen called into the Howard Stern show - really the place to air your political views, especially those about gays and lesbians - and had this to say, "I don’t believe that gay marriage is in line with God’s Word, which is found in the Bible. So, what I think doesn’t matter; what I believe is what’s in the Bible and the Bible says that gay marriage is not acceptable"

Let me educate you all in case you weren't aware:
As far as my (granted limited) knowledge goes, the only place in the Bible that it discusses gays is in the Old Testament. One of the laws for the Jewish states not to "lay with another man." If you are a Christian, which I am, we believe that when Jesus Christ came and died for our sins and his disciples wrote the events of His word, we follow that Testament. It always gets to me when Christians quote the Old Testament. Rabbis and teachers of the Jewish faith have been studying and arguing about the writings of the Old Testament for centuries and here comes some new wave Christian who claims to know exactly what God meant in each passage. Anyway, that's just my view on the religious debate, but that's not the point I am trying to make with Stephen.

Here is my point to him:
Stephen, I don't think someone whose only 'main stream' movie is called Threesome and ends with a threesome of two men and a woman, should be telling anyone that Gay and Lesbian marriage is wrong.

At the latest family dinner***, Billy (the middle child) had this to say to Stephen "Well if you had a choice - if you and your wife were to die and your kids were still young, and you had a choice between your children being in foster care and potentially being physically and emotionally and sexually abused, as opposed to being adopted by a loving, healthy, caring lesbian or gay couple, what would you rather have?" He couldn't really answer, and Billy said, "Thank God Dad isn't here on this earth right now, because he would be so devastated and so horrified."
It made things a little uncomfortable, but I think he gets the point.



*Note: strong as in my love for him is strong, and he, well, just goes about his day as if I am just a "fan"
**By talking with Alec, I mean watching the latest episode of 30 Rock
***By family dinner I mean I read this on msn.com

Day one of the week without Glow Bug.
He's been diagnosed with the flu, and after a week of trying to take care of him while working and being sick ourselves, Beau and I decided it would be best if we took Beau's parents up on their offer to take him for the week. This wouldn't be so bad if they lived around the corner and were offering to babysit him for the week rather than us sending him to daycare; however, they live about four hours away, and Glow Bug is gone for the week.
I called about twenty times on Sunday.
It was nice being able to sleep in though.
More later.

They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab...

MAME.

For the record, I would NEVER spiral down far enough to support ANY work of V.C. Andrews' after the Cutler or Casteel series. (I can't remember which one came last.) NEVER. I can't BELIEVE that you think I would!

Ahem. And now back to your regularly scheduled flailing, wherein I will talk about my Oscar list and review the film There Will Be Blood. THERE. Is that more appropriate, MAME?

Goodbye, Squiggy...

OK, I'll admit it: I have never been, 'skinny;' my body is built large and curvaceous (thanks to some good old Celtic genes), but I have been slender. I used to worry about never being a size 6, or not being able to see my ribs when I sucked in my stomach. Now I realize and appreciate my shape: I popped an eight pound baby out in 20 minutes!
Still, since Glow Bug was born, I haven't really taken the best care of myself. Well, if I'm being honest let me just say that I haven't taken care of myself since about 2000. See up to the millennium I had been very slender, Bea has the pictures to prove it), but in 2000 the medical powers that be thought that I had a type of Crone's disease and quickly put me on steroids to counteract the dramatic weight loss that is a symptom of the disease. Two months and forty pounds later - oh, it's not Crone's! Sorry! So the steroids were gone but the forty pounds stayed - right around my belly button: it's a spare tire I call "Squiggy."
Then Glow Bug came into existence, and I gained another 15. What are we up to now? 55? Grrreat. So now I'm a new mom with an extra 55 pounds on her. Well that's depressing so I eat my feelings. Low and behold I am now about 70 pounds above where I want to be. I can almost hear the slender girl in me screaming (although quietly as she is being muffled by Squiggy and the sound of coffee cake being digested). I've decided that the time has come to say goodbye to Squiggy and my friends 'Bagel' and 'Cheeseburger' (it was an emotional goodbye for the latter two, I must say).
The problem is: I'm not too sure how to go about doing this. I get the whole, "eat less, move more" deal and I do it. Hell, ponytail-man Tony Little and Pilate's-guru-to-the-stars Mari Windsor and I see each other every night for 40 minutes. I've stopped eating out entirely, and I've switched everything that might contain carbohydrates in my kitchen to whole grain. The problem is that we aren't just talking about 10-20 pounds here, we're talking 70!! That's the weight of the average third grader!!
I'm doing my best, but my friends cheese dip and mint chocolate chip ice cream are calling loudly.

NO. Just...no.

I just want everyone to know that it would be nice to have a BFF that cares about me and is concerned for my well-being. FOR REALZ. That's all I'm going to say about that. This blog post is brought to you by the letters "P" for passive and "A" for aggressive.