Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Okay, kids. I know it's been FOR-EV-ER since I posted, and truth be told, with the whole move and everything, I'm still not convinced I have the energy to post . . . HOWEVER, I was up late last night watching late night television (welcome to the world of the newly unemployed), and I somehow happened upon My Strange Addiction on TLC.

Holy Ramona and Beezus!

I totally lucked out, because I had to have caught the most interesting episode, possibly ever . . . and by interesting, I mean interesting like Faces of Death, interesting. I mean, this shit was bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s! I've seen some pretty crazy stuff in my day, but I'm pretty sure my mouth was gaping open in horror for the duration of the show. I just couldn't tear myself away, even though it might have been worse than that terrible email my good friend Shy (ol' dependable Shy, who always sends me shit I can never quite erase completely from my brain) sent me (with pictures, of course), about texting whilst driving . . . and that email was bad. You're just going to have to take my word for it

Okay, so enough of the dramatic introduction. This woman's strange addiction was . . . (drumroll please) . . . she eats her dead husband's ashes. Close your mouth; I'm being serious. She. Eats. Her. Dead. Husband's. Ashes. Like, wets her finger, then rolls it around in the bag full of ashes in his urn, then licks every last morsel off of her finger until it's shiny clean. The worst part? She said that they taste like rotten eggs . . . but that hasn't stopped her yet. She samples the Fun Dip about six times a day, and she has already consumed a pound of his ashes; only five pounds remain. Sick yet? I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. See for yourself . . .




. . . As effing disgusting as this story is, I think it's really sad. This woman is obviously unbalanced. I mean, I love my hubs; I really do. And I'm sure that if I [God forbid] lost him in some sort of freak accident/health emergency, that I would probably go off the rails for a little while. But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't carry his ashes around with me everywhere I went. I definitely wouldn't cook meals for him; I barely do that now! The thing is, I actually feel kind of sorry for her . . . but I just can't wrap my mind around how she got there. I do understand not wanting to brush off your husband's ashes like random dirt or dust, but to eat them? That would never even occur to me.

I just had to share that tasty little morsel with you. I hope to be back on track with my daily posts sooner than later. There definitely hasn't been a shortage of things to talk about! I'll check in soon, I promise. xo

1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare a Debt Ceiling War!

Why is there so much juicy news to discuss when I'm supposed to be on vacation?? The hubs and I happened to be touring CNN today, when news of the latest developments in the ongoing debt-limit discussion came across the ticker. I just couldn't let this topic go.*

“He shoved back and said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ and walked out,” House Majority Leader Eric Cantor (R-Va.) told reporters in the Capitol after the meeting . . . Democratic sources dispute Cantor’s version of Obama’s walk out, but all sides agree that the two had a blow up. The sources described Obama as “impassioned” but said he didn’t exactly storm out of the room . . . On exiting the room, Obama said that “this confirms the totality of what the American people already believe” about Washington, according to a Democratic official familiar with the negotiations, and that officials are “too focused on positioning and political posturing” to make difficult choices.**

Freaking. Brilliant. Isn't that what I've been saying since the overly dramatic budget discussions, earlier this year? I'm so glad that POTUS agrees with me. Congress needs to GET. IT. TOGETHER. Last I checked, they are elected officials, and should be doing everything in their power to represent the best interests of the American people. Listen, I'm confident that nobody wants our national debt to just keep increasing with no end in sight . . . but what makes this time different than the FIVE times the debt ceiling was raised during the most recent Bush Administration (to the tune of almost a whopping $4 trillion)?? I'm just curious, because the four Republicans currently holding Congressional leadership positions, Speaker John Boehner, House Majority Leader Eric Cantor, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, and Senate Minority Whip Jon Kyl, each voted "yea" at least 4 times each, to approve Bush's requests (only Kyl voted "nay" on the first request; the others voted "yea" all five times).*** Did I mention that those votes of approval did NOT accompany any demands for drastic spending cuts? Hmmm . . . one of these things is not like the other.

So again, what is different now? Could it be . . . that Obama is President (the horror!), and the GOP would rather see America fall into perpetual recession-laden pieces before voting to support anything he proposes? Does it have anything to do with ridiculous political agendas and feuds that are huge roadblocks to any sort of progress, whatsoever? I call bullshit. During the Bush Administration, the GOP seemed to clearly understand that sometimes you have to spend money to make money; they acknowledged that the debt ceiling had to be raised in order for the American economy to stay on track. Unfortunately, something seems to have happened to their good sense since then, because now all they seem to be doing is dicking around and playing political games (i.e., pissing contests). Hey, no big deal, right? So what if a few people don't get their social security checks? As long as the GOP can prove their point, screw America!**** (Wait, what is their point, again?)

It seems to me like everybody on Capitol Hill has lost their damn minds with the 2012 election looming. We (the common folks that nobody seems to give a shit about anymore) all know that nothing productive gets done around election time, because everyone is too busy climbing up on their soapboxes, and mudslinging/name-calling/personally trashing their political opponents foes, but this is just ridiculous. Debt ceiling, shmet shmeiling. Just vote to raise it, already. Real talk -- it's not like we're going to pay it back anytime soon, right? So who gives a crap? Good ol' W promised to pay off the debt in ten years (Did he miss the memo that presidential terms are only 4 years, and presidents can only serve two terms? Last time I checked, 4 x 2 = 8 . . . oh, wait. Multiplication is kind of difficult. Nevermind.), but everybody knew he was full of it. Cantor needs to just suck it up, quit cock blocking, and get on board. Because this shit is ridiculous. You hear me? Ri-dickaluss.

My feelings can best be summed up by the following quote from a democratic aide, "This is just more juvenile behavior from [Cantor] and Boehner needs to rein him in, and let the grown-ups get to work."

Get over yourselves and get 'er done, folks. The American people (remember us?) are counting on you (because we have no choice). DO THE RIGHT THING.
Thanks,
-Management


*Don't you worry your pretty little heads; I haven't forgotten about the Bachmann shrew. Her day is coming soon. I can't let that topic go, either. Because she's a racist . . . and a homophobe . . . and we don't tolerate her kind 'round here.
**Read more: http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0711/58937.html#ixzz1S8h5Qu4U
***I'm really not making this up, I promise. Get the deets here. The facts have to be true if they came from a .org website, right?
****I feel like that's going to be the GOP platform in 2012: SCREW AMERICA! They sure are doing a thorough job of that right now. Right-wing, my ass. They sure seem like Wrong-wing, to me.

Michelle Bachmann Wants to Teabag America

Ok, so I'm in Hotlanta this week preparing for the move, and next week is crazy hectic with last minute school details and the actual move itself. But you'd better believe that as soon as I have a moment to breathe, there is going to be a lengthy post on Michelle Bachmann and all of her ridiculously appalling, bigoted, teabag bullshit. Bachmann really just makes me want to punch her in her self-righteous, judgmental, racist, homophobic face. Methinks she needs to lay off the hooch at those exclusive, ultra-conservative tea parties, because lately all that's been coming out of her mouth is loathsome. I've got your number, Bachmann. You're next. Not the next president, but the next to get picked apart by little old me. I'll leave you with an excerpt from the Marriage Vow that she just couldn't wait to sign last week, and we can catch up on the Bachmann bashing when I'm not typing furiously on my Blackberry in the dark. Deal? Deal. See below:

"Slavery had a disastrous impact on African-American families, yet sadly a child born into slavery in 1860 was more likely to be raised by his mother and father in a two-parent household than was an African-American baby born after the election of the USA's first African-American President."

*blinkblinkblink* WTF?! More to come.

Caylee's Law

Okay, so I promised not to get all wrapped up in politics, or cram my political agenda/views down your throat . . . but this is something I feel really strongly about, and what better means with which to share it but my own humble little blog?

Guilty of murder or not, Casey Anthony waited THIRTY-ONE DAYS before reporting her 2 year-old daughter Caylee missing. I would imagine that any logical adult would agree with me that this offense alone should be considered a crime. The verdict is in, and it is not my place to continue to harp on whether or not I think Casey is guilty of murder; what's done is done. That said, I think that Caylee's Law is the real way to ensure that poor little Caylee Anthony will have some justice.

It's terrible, but things like this happen too often in our country. Children fall victim to people who, as adults, should be protecting their best interests. Because of the media frenzy that has surrounded the Casey Anthony trial, Caylee Anthony has become the posterchild for missing children everywhere. Caylee's Law would make it a felony for for parents not to report missing children. I think this law should be a no-brainer. Why would any parent not want to report a missing child? If a child is missing, a parent should report that fact as soon as possible to the authorities, so action can be taken as soon as possible. The sooner a child is reported missing, the greater their chances are for survival.

I could go on and on for days about how strongly I feel about this law, but at the end of day, the point is . . . sign it. As adults, we are responsible for the younger generations. We need to step up and accept this responsibility, and do everything within our power to make sure that our nation's youth survives and fluorishes. They are our future, we need to look out for them. Period.

So please, I beg of you. Take a minute out of your day to sign the Caylee's Law petition. Do your part. I've done mine, and I already feel like I'm helping to make a difference. I've already received emails from my State Representatives, and have had the chance to express my personal feelings on the issue. Caylee may not have gotten justice for her death, but she's getting justice for children everywhere. I'm helping. You should help, too -- it's a good feeling.

Good Luck and Godspeed

AP Photo/Terry Rinna

The space shuttle Atlantis took off today, marking the final launch for the NASA space shuttle program. Seeing this picture made me super nostalgic and homesick today. Central Florida was really a great place to grow up. I mean, what child doesn't want to live an hour away from Mickey Mouse? But one of the coolest novelties of where I grew up was being able to step outside and watch the shuttles launch. You could literally feel the boom right after the take off. It was awesome. I saw Discovery launch a few times; I clearly remember the fatal launch of the Challenger. We even took field trips to NASA when I was in elementary school. The shuttle program really gave me some great memories to look back on, and I'm a little bummed that my children won't get to see a shuttle take off. But, such is life. So, as a fond farewell, I say to the crew of the Atlantis, "Good luck and Godspeed."

Pillow Talk With Holly and Harry Hangover

This morning was pure comedy in my household. Last night was bowling night with the girls from work, which almost always results in a hungover Friday. Today was no different. To make matters worse, the hubs had man night last night (which also almost always results in a hangover), so I couldn't even whine until he rubbed my back. He was too busy whining, too. To say we were a sad pair this morning is the understatement of the year. Luckily, we both might have still been drunk, so there were a lot of silly shenanigans going on (nothing sexual or anything . . . I'm pretty sure sexy time would have made me barf*) to make up for the horrific headache and the spinning room. I thought I'd share some of our craziness with you, just for shiggles. Our conversation went a little something like this:

Holly: Ufffffffffff.
Harry: I am hungover like a whoooooooooore!
Holly: Uffffff. <pregnant** dramatic pause> Yeah. A whore that went to a really great party last night with a whole lotta free booze. Whores love free booze.
Harry: Everybody loves free booze.
Holly: Yeah, but if my headache is any indication, it must have been a whores' party with buckets and buckets of champagne. Because champagne makes your head hurt. And whores love it.

Then, somehow we got on the topic of tampons. Don't ask.

Harry: We should invent a new line of tampons and call them Corks. With an "x." C-O-R-X. That would be awesome.
Holly: Bahaha! Why the "x"? Because of the X chromosomes? That's clever.
Harry: Uh, yeah. That, too. But mostly because of the amazing marketing you could do. "Corx! They're extraordinary!" Can't you just see the commercial now?
Holly: Yeah, and we could have chicks chugging big ol' bottles of wine, and then corking them. You know, just to illustrate the point.
Harry: Yes! It should be red wine. And there should be a demonstration where they pour red wine into the Corx to prove how effective they are.
Holly: Xtra strength Corx! For those extra heavy days.
Harry: The stronger the Corx, the more "x"s on the packaging.
Holly: Put a Corx in her, she's done.

. . . and then he played the saxophone for me. Careless Whisper, to be exact. And I sang along ('cause it's kinda what I do). It was magical.


*Do people still say "barf"? If not, I'm totally bringing it back. I think it does a good job of illustrating just how gross the act of vomiting is. Barf. 
**It couldn't be a pregnant pause because I was drunk. Only assholes drink when they're pregnant.

If You Don't Know Me By Now . . .

I came across this note I did on Facebook a few years ago - you know, one of the ones where you have to give 25 random facts about yourself and then tag people for shiggles? I'm confident those little chain "notes" are only useful on Facebook because so many people have friends who they couldn't pick out of a lineup because they don't know them. At all. Not even a little bit. The thing is, I'm SO not one of those people. It totally skeeves me out to think about all these randoms flipping through my personal photos and possibly rubbing one out to a perfectly innocent scene of me and ten of my prettiest girlfriends in skimpy bikinis in the Bahamas. Okay, so that was a really detailed (and slightly conceited . . . and more than slightly dramatic) figment of my imagination, but it could definitely happen. Remember that gross gay I told you about, creepin' on adolescent boys' Facebook pages? You remember, right? With the murse? Well, if HE exists, I'm POSITIVE that there is an equally gross heterosexual who lurks on random women's Facebook pages, dreaming of the day he can fulfill his sexual predator fantasies in some deserted, dark, alley somewhere. No thank you, stranger danger. I would like to very politely "Ignore" your Facebook friend request and continue on with my life in which I have no knowledge of your existence. Thanks.

Wait. Where was I going with that? Oh yeah, the 25 random things. So, I came across this note I did a couple of years ago (even though I know all of my FB friends and they know me), and I thought I would share it with you, my readers. Add this to the short list of "getting to know me" posts I've done. I tried to shorten it to 20 random things, to exclude facts that I have shared with you previously; sorry for any redundancy. I'll post the original list and show any additional comments in white. Enjoy!

20 Random Things About Becks

1. I have this weird obsession with vampires. I love them. I wouldn't mind being one. Not so much the drinking blood part, but the being super sexy and living forever part is pretty cool. Not sure if I would make a good one, though (see #2). I blame Ann Rice and whoever cast Interview With The Vampire. I mean, come on. I also blame L.J. Smith for writing The Vampire Diaries, and making me fall in love with Stefan and Damon when I was 8. No, really. 

2. I'm scared of the dark. Okay, okay. I know this makes me sound like a 5 year old child, but I really am. Not like sleep with a light on scared, like I was until college (you can stop laughing now)...but more like go to sleep with the TV on "sleep" scared. I just feel as though if someone was going to get me, they'd have the best opportunity in the dark. Chalk that up to my overactive imagination. I also had this weird confidence that if I had covers over me, then none of the monsters (or whatever I was scared of - it was actually more likely something realistic like the above-mentioned sexual predator, thank you very much) would be able to get me. Seriously. Stop laughing.

3. I love food. Seriously, I love it. All different kinds of food. I have this weird good food dance that I do when I'm eating something really good. I can't help it. When I'm eating, I think about what I'm going to eat next.

4. I know the words to pretty much every song...in life. Okay, maybe that's a slight over-exaggeration, but I usually at least know the chorus or can hum the melody. I'm probably not the best person to road trip with, unless you don't mind someone singing along (out loud) with every single song on the radio. Think Heartbreak Kid. It's so bad that on one of our extended road trips, the hubs definitely tried to switch to a jazz station, or something of the sort. Luckily for me, they played jazz AND easy listening music . . . with words. Little did he know that the instrumental versions wouldn't have stopped me; I don't actually need the artist's vocals messing up the clarity of my tone. This girl doesn't need back up singers. Nobody puts Becki in a corner! 

5. I sniffle when I'm right, or even when I think I'm right, which is pretty much all the time (sorry, babe). I never noticed this obnoxious habit until a certain special someone pointed it out, and now it drives me to distraction! (Because I'm always right, remember?) I've tried to stop doing it, but it's impossible. Oh well, to know me is to love me. At least I have a wealth of knowledge to bring to the table. No?

6. I LOVE high heels. El-oh-vee-ee. The higher, the better. What's not to love? They make every woman's legs look s-e-x-y. Every woman should own a pair of really nice heels. I wear heels everywhere, to the point where if I walk around in flats too long, my back hurts. Weird, I know. I obviously wrote this before I got old. While I do still love high heels, I now also carry a pair of more sensible, flat shoes for long treks anywhere. Except for when we went to NOLA for my birthday, and my idea of sensible shoes was a pair of gladiator sandals with no arch support. Right.

7. I like to watch movies with the captions on. I've come a long way. I used to watch all television with the captions on, too. I attribute this habit to one of my best friends from college, who watched everything with the captions. It used to annoy me to no end . . . then I got used to it. It was especially helpful back when they still played music on all of the music television networks, and I wanted to keep up with the latest hot songs so I could sing along in the clubs while shaking my tailfeather. I like not missing any dialog. It annoys a lot of people, but I've decided that's because they don't read fast enough to keep up.  

8. My name is Rebecca, and I am a shopoholic. Not a shopoholic like put myself into irreversible debt, shopoholic...but I probably could if I wasn't so practical about money. I love to shop; it doesn't even necessarily matter what for. It's my retail therapy. Shopping is usually the only thing that makes me feel better when I'm down. There's just something about buying something new that lifts my spirits.

9. I partied with Snoop Dogg once in Gainesville. And by partied, I mean that we ______ a lot of ______. Or something to that effect. You fill in the blanks; I can't really remember the details. Shout out to Sigma Epsilon Chi, Spring 2000!! Good times. Don't go looking for our sorority charter or anything - we're a secret organization. Like the Skulls. Membership is very exclusive. All apologies.

10. Since I moved out of my parents' house, I have had a total of 17 roommates. Seriously. I can't even remember all of their names. That has been really over a period of 5 years, because I have lived by myself since 2004. Some of them were godawful. I had this roommate once who used to get in the kitchen and make the stink nastiest creations for her to eat. Thinking about it makes me want to vomit. Another one used to borrow my clothes all the time without asking, and then put them back into my closet without cleaning them. Ugh. She was a major dirty. I have definitely had more roommates since I posted this original note. Well, if you count the hubs as a roommate. I don't, because I wouldn't wash a roommate's dirty underwear. But, whatever.

11. I am obsessed with the Food Network. It's usually the first thing I turn on in the morning. There's just something satisfying about watching it. They always make cool stuff. I heart Paula Deen and Giada deLaurentis. Although I am still obsessed with FN, I told you, I have moved on a bit to Animal Planet. They have some of the coolest programming! I watched some show where this guy lived in the pjs (the projects, for those of you that aren't caught up on your slang) in Harlem, and he had an adult male tiger living with him as a pet. A TIGER. In the projects of Harlem. SWAT had to propel from the roof and shoot tranquilizer darts through the window in order to capture the tiger. I'm not making this stuff up, folks.

12. I can be a pretty obnoxious drunk. I like to talk, but I love to talk when I'm drunk. I try not to let drunk Becca out of her cage, because I usually wake up in the morning with a wicked headache and some sort of embarrassing story. When I'm drunk, I also repeat myself a lot. Whether it's "I have to pee" or "I wanna go home" over and over at the end of the night, it's pretty much going to be repeated about 100 times...incessantly. Can't help it, don't even know I'm doing it.

13. I L-O-V-E the Gators. Gator football is the only sport I truly enjoy watching. I think Tim Tebow is the best. Doesn't everyone? Please don't answer that, husband of mine. I obviously wrote this back when Tim Tebow was walking on water for the Gators. He's gone now. We've got the stats to prove it. But I still love my Gators! This Florida girl bleeds orange and blue.

14. I hate being cold. I've even considered buying myself one of those Snuggies that they're advertising on TV now. Ironically enough, I also hate being hot. Sweating is so not cute. Uh . . . yeah. I definitely now have a Snuggie. To be fair, I didn't buy it for myself; I got it for Christmas from my mom. She also paid a few extra bucks and got me some luxurious micro-fiber version that I actually just use as a blanket. So for all that, I probably could have just purchased another throw. Again, what-ever.

15. I love words. Big ones, weird ones, ones that are fun to say. I have a big vocabulary, and I'm not afraid to use it!

16. I just saw snow fall for the first time last month in Houston (2008). It was awesome. I acted like a little kid, and the hubs got it all on video. Big surprise, lol.

17. I love purple eyeshadow. I read somewhere that purple is the only color in the rainbow that complements every complexion.

18. I don't drink coffee. At all. Hate it, in fact. I've tried it twice in life, once when I was little, and the second time not so long ago. Still hated it. I don't like the smell of it, and it amazes me that people can actually drink it every day. Bleh. I much prefer chai tea or a green tea latte.

19. I can be such a dork. The littlest things amuse me, and I chuckle to myself constantly every day. I also have this habit of talking to myself. I think it has something to do with not having any siblings in the house when I was growing up.

20. I have this aversion to large crowds. I don't like people I don't know touching me, and I have this irrational fear that something bad will happen just as I am in the middle of a large crowd and have no clear escape route. I'm not socially inept. I can be in a large crowd, I just don't necessarily enjoy it.

Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater!

This is just so sad. You know, parents send their children off to school in good faith - good faith that the teachers and administrators are qualified to do their jobs, that they will have the children's best interests at heart, and that they will be good role models for the children when their parents can't be there. School is an important part of the socialization process for children, where they meet their peers and learn both educational and life lessons. Teachers are supposed to be like second parents, to identify children's talents and strength and then nurture and foster them. But this? I really have no words. These so-called "educators" really should face the full consequences of their actions, because not only did they forsake the children's best interests to protect their own, but by cheating and falsifying test results, they denied those children the right to a proper education. They didn't just cheat the system; they cheated those kids out of the opportunity to gain the most knowledge as possible, and address areas in which they might possibly need a bit more help. And for what? All for the sake of a merit raise. It's disgusting. Good thing I don't have any kids yet . . . I'd better start saving my Benjamins, because with this impending move to Atlanta, private school is sounding more and more attractive.

"Face It, Not Guilty - That's How I Stay Filthy"

For those of you who have been living in a hole for the past few months, I'm talking about Casey Anthony. You remember her, right? The mother who killed her adorable three year old daughter? Yeah, her. Well, as you know, the jury came back yesterday, after deliberating for less than 24 hours . . . and gave her a not guilty verdict. No, really. I know, I know. I'm rolling my eyes, too. "Bella Vida," is right. Would it have been too much for the judge to ask them [very politely] to please turn their asses right back around and take a little bit longer to think it over? I mean, this was a freaking murder trial, not a 5K race. You don't have to be the first to the finish line; you just have to make a rational decision. For shiggles, let's have a look at the charges Mommy Dearest was up against and the jury found:

1. Murder in the first degree - Not guilty
2. Aggravated manslaughter of a child - Not guilty
3. Aggravated child abuse - Not guilty
4. Providing false information to law enforcement - Guilty
5. Providing false information to law enforcement - Guilty
6. Providing false information to law enforcement - Guilty
7. Providing false information to law enforcement - Guilty

*blinkblinkblink*

This case/trial/verdict is Exhibit A as to why the death penalty does not work. Juries feel so overburdened with the fact that someone's life is in their hands, and they get gun-shy. I have to say - I am not really surprised that they did not find her guilty of murder. Again, I think when the death penalty is on the table, all jurors need is just the tiniest sliver of reasonable doubt. And to be fair, Jose Baez did a Charlie Sheenesque rock-star job of providing reasonable doubt. (Read: the defense's shit show confused the jurors enough to distract them from the fact that Casey's story just didn't make any sense.) Additionally, I can't honestly say that I think the prosecution met their burden of proof. They probably should have avoided that murder one charge and shot for the other six lesser charges. I think the circumstantiality of their evidence might have been a bit easier to swallow if the jury didn't have to consider that ol' Casey might have her last dance with Ol' Sparky.*

Yesterday's acquittal was definitely the verdict heard 'round the world, but in my opinion, it raises the question of the effectiveness of our judicial system. This is purely subjective, but should this verdict restore your faith in our justice system, or further demonize a dated system that never seems to work in these crazy, media-frenzy-type trials? If you ask me, it's kind of a double-edged sword. One one hand, I think we should be glad that she was acquitted of murder. Don't get me wrong, I think the chick is guilty as sin . . . but the fact remains that there was, in fact, reasonable doubt. Playing devil's advocate, perhaps we should celebrate that the jury did recognize that fact, because we are talking about murder, after all . . . and she could have been put to death if found guilty. I know that if I was on trial for murder (which I obviously would never commit because I'm a lady with class and broughtupsy - I don't even fight), I would want the prosecution to be held to their burden of proof. It's probably better to let one, relatively harmless (because hey, we're not her kid, nor are we stopping her from prancing off from bar to bar, entering hot body contests and shaking her money maker), batshit crazy, pathological liar back out on the streets than to convict (and possibly kill) an innocent person of a crime they didn't commit. I mean, look at how many tax dollars are being wasted on the West Memphis Three (sorry for the shameless plug, but I couldn't even help myself).

Now that the devil's out of the way - on the other hand, I made the comparison yesterday that this trial and verdict were eerily reminiscent of the OJ Simpson trial in 1995. You remember that one, right? Of course you do. You also remember the anger and betrayal you felt when he was acquitted, right? (Especially when he went all crazy town and wrote that book.) It's that feeling that makes people think the "justice" system in America doesn't work. That feeling you get when someone has already been tried by the general public, and there's the expectation that everybody knows the person is guilty. Or when people like LaLa Lohan spend little to no jail time, and face no repercussions for violating probation.**Yup. That's what's wrong. The burden of proof exists, but only conveniently, when people's pesky consciences get in the way. Hmph. Chalk that up to another great, but also annoying and stupid thing about America. Right there with electoral colleges and the BCS system.***


*I know that Florida retired Ol' Sparky years ago; I'm from Florida, remember? It just sounds a lot more interesting than the lethal injection cocktail they're doling out these days.
**I think I overlooked the LiLo verdict in the whole Casey Anthony melee. The broad avoided jail time [again] AND she's allowed to drink now. Fasten those seatbelts, Los Angelenos - Linds is on the loose!
***Come. On. You KNOW those things are stupid. Yeah, it's great that we have a democracy in America. Or it would be, if the popular vote actually counted for something. I think the 2000 presidential election was excellent evidence supporting the fact that the electoral college system is dated and ridiculous. No? And don't even get me started on the BCS system. Obviously, there should be playoffs. There are playoffs in every other sport. Why not college football? Now, I'm no sports guru, and I typically would be against anything extending a sports season by any means . . . but I love Gator football. (Goooooo Gators!) Oh yeah, and I'm not a moron. Any moron can see the system doesn't make sense. I'm just saying.

Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better.*

It seems that there is finally a declared victor in the age old battle of the sexes. Time Magazine posted an article a couple of days ago, entitled simply, "Why Women Are Better at Everything." Uh, hello! Finally! I'm pretty sure I've been trying to convince my husband of this cold, hard, fact for the entire six years I've known him (much to his chagrin).

"What's the problem with men? 'There's been a lot of academic research suggesting that men think they know what they're doing, even when they really don't know what they're doing,' John Ameriks, the author of the Vanguard study, told the New York Times."

*blink blink blink* No comment. 

Interestingly enough, scientists believe that this advantage that women have over men is due in part to biology. Apparently, men's testosterone levels surge, affecting their willingness for risk-taking and also gives them "an attitude of infallibility." Lucky for us [superior] women, we only have 10% of that testosterone, i.e., we don't have those same primal, barbaric urges that drive us to do dumb stuff. We're just sweet, nice to look at, smell pretty, and gently guide the men in our lives in the right direction when they mess up.** Because hey, that's what we're here for. Sure, Eve allegedly ate the apple from the forbidden tree. But probably only because poor Adam was hungry and couldn't fend for himself. Somebody had to do it. I mean, just look at lion prides.*** The lionesses do all the hunting and the real work . . . and the lions (king of the jungle, my ass) just lay around and sleep all day. So today, ladies, we celebrate ourselves, each other, and just overall girl power! Because anyway you look at it, girls rock. And like it or not, we're always #WINNING.

*Okay, guys. Be warned this is a very girl power oriented post. Read at your own risk of feeling slightly inferior. Please don't take offense! The content was written very tongue-in-cheek and meant simply to elicit laughter. I'm not male bashing. Too much testosterone or not, we still love you. Somebody's got to. ;)

**Oh yeah, and we don't do things like burp or go #2. Because that's not very ladylike, and we're the image of perfection.

***I have a small confession. I have this new found obsession with Animal Planet, so don't be surprised if a lot of random animal references pop up from here on out. I'm kind of an expert. Thanks.

"Tambo liteh sette mo-jah! Yo! Jambo jambo!"*

As I'm wrapping up my current job before the upcoming move, there's a laundry list of things to get done before my last day, one of which is going through and cleaning out my inbox. Well, in doing so, I came across one of my funnier email exchanges with a friend of mine. I thought that I should share, in the hopes that you appreciate our ridiculously immature sense of humor as much as we do.

To give you a quick back-story, this email chain was inspired by an interesting article that I'd seen on a friend's Facebook page that morning (because every day after my alarm goes off thrice (give me a break - I only allow myself two snooze hits), I roll over, grab the ol' crackberry, and catch up on my social media . . . with one eye open), about the average penis size of every country. Obviously, it piqued my interest.** View the stats for yourself here. You know you want to. I won't judge . . . much.

Anywho, to make a long story longer, I found some of the numbers (specifically the high and low benchmarks) SO interesting, I thought I should pass on the fun-filled facts. My friend T and I chatted about the details over lunch (which resulted in fits of giggles, as per yoojh) . . . and I followed up the conversation with an email, which led to the following email chain (Uh...yeah. You're obviously going to want to click the pics to enlarge. I'm 99.99% sure that it's worth it. Unless your sense of humor sucks. In which case, I'm really not overly concerned with you thinking this is funny, because you very likely don't think anything I have to say is funny, and if that's the case, we should part ways here. Beat it. Now that that's over with, shall we get to the laughs? Thanks.):

 

Hahaha! Gets me every time. Also, I know T mentioned it, but let me again point out the usage of the upper and lower case p's to further indicate the size. What you can't tell from these tiny little thumbnails is that in the original emails, the p's are true scale representations. That's right, folks. I got out my ruler and made sure that the diagrams were accurate. How else would T have a reliable reference point? Anyway, I hope you got as much of a kick out of that as we did. We incidentally both forwarded the chain to our personal email addresses for a rainy day.


*Gold star if you can get the song reference in the title of this post! For those of you wondering, it's not a real language. The singer made it up himself. Promise. So, I figure this line can mean whatever I want it to mean. My prerogative. Another 80's song reference! I'm on a roll. Anyway, the actual title of the song I referenced was just another little tongue-in-cheek tie-in for you other 80's babies and/or trivia lovers.  

**It's not like I'm a big perv or anything, I just thought it was an attention-grabbing topic. It's kind of like the naked African women in National Geographic with the face tats and huge, saggy boobs. You're not turned on by the sight, but it's still interesting. 

Amended: Casey Anthony and the Silence of the Lamb

*This article was amended on 07.01.2011*

Okay, folks. I'm going to ask that you briefly indulge me - perhaps I'm a little slow on the reuptake, but I'd like to chat about the Casey Anthony trial. This story hits super close to home for me because I was actually living in Orlando in 2008, when Caylee "went missing." For those of you who don't know, let me tell you - the whole city practically shut down. There were search parties, billboards; they dragged the lakes. Everybody was looking for this poor little girl. I'm pretty sure that as all of the bizarre details slowly started to filter in, I decided rather quickly that fun-loving Casey Anthony was guilty as sin. Not because of the trashy pics that surfaced, with her sandwiched between various men, grinning in anticipation of the train she was [no doubt] getting ready to pull. (Nope, she's an adult. If she wants to spend her life immersed in the Orlando nightlife (if you can really call it that), that's her business; I'm not judging.) I think what made up my mind was the dead body smell wafting from her trunk, and all of the other sketchy things, like the reports of the nonexistent Zanny the Nanny (um...Casey lived at home with her parents...how could she possibly afford a nanny), and the shovel Casey allegedly borrowed from the neighbors. Um...suspicious, much? There was just something fishy to me about the thought of a mother of a 3 year old who allegedly misplaced her child . . . and then borrowed a shovel from her neighbor. But what do I know?

Now flash forward to the present and the details are not getting any clearer. But can I just say - I'm SO tired of the damn Anthonys! Those enabling parents need to be ashamed of themselves. It's not my job to sit here and decide whether George Anthony touched Casey in her no-no place . . . but between you and me, I'm not buying it. What victim of sexual abuse by a family member continues to reside in said family member's house, even after reaching the legal age of independence? Nope. Doesn't happen. Those girls grow up with one foot out the door, poised and ready for the first opportunity to escape. I'll tell you another thing they don't do - raise their daughter in that same household, with the same abuser. Again, it just doesn't happen . . .and what about this cockamamie story about drowning in the pool? I don't know about you, but I've seen enough episodes of CSI and Law & Order to know that if someone's cause of death is drowning . . . there should probably be some, I don't know, WATER in their lungs? Last time I checked, that's how people drown. Their lungs fill with water and they die. It's not rocket science . . . if they can determine what you ate for dinner on the day of your death, I'm pretty sure they can figure out if there's some water in your lungs. Maybe the Orange County MedicalExaminer should check out this informative little link. That, or catch up on all of the CSI episodes that have evidently gone unwatched on the dvr. I'm just saying. *Okay, so I guess I didn't take decomp into consideration. I can admit when I'm wrong; but I'm sticking to my guns on this point. I find it super difficult to believe that Caylee Anthony accidentally drowned in the family pool. Again, I grew up in Central Florida. There are thousands of houses with pools in the backyard, and sadly, children die from accidental drownings in those same pools every year. Their parents don't go to jail; they mourn the loss of their innocent loved one. Had Caylee died accidentally by drowning in the pool, their first instinct would have been to call 911, and try to save that poor baby. It definitely wouldn't have been to bury her body in the woods. That's all I'm sayin about that.*

Here's the thing: what really gets my goat is that even after all of that, after all of her mudslinging and accusatory crap . . . they're still on Casey's side. Pathetic Cindy Anthony just can't let go and realize that her precious, shrew of a daughter is actually a pathological narcissist. It enfuriates me that she had the nerve to get on the stand and perjured herself (my opinion) about the internet chloroform research. Pa-lease. STOP LYING. No wonder your child grew up to be a selfish, murdering asshole. Because you're probably always there to pick up the pieces and duct tape (pun intended) them back together for her. Not to mention, it takes one to know one. Cindy Anthony has been lying for years - don't forget, she tried to correct her initial statement about the smell of decomp in the trunk to "stale pizza." Stale pizza? Really?! Uh. Yikes. Unless one of the toppings was human flesh, there is no reason a stale pizza should smell like a decomposing body and DEATH.

Listen, I know I'm not judge, jury or executioner, but let's face facts. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck . . . and she very likely killed her baby duckling. I'm not saying it was intentional - I don't necessarily think it was. What I do think is that Casey is a selfish brat and didn't want to miss a night out at Club Roxy, or whatever debaucherous hot spot happened have free martinis until 11 that night, so it was easier to slap some duct tape on that poor, sweet girl's mouth and toss her in the trunk.

I honestly have no idea how this is all going to end. One thing I am sure of is that the PWT in Central Florida must be in hog heaven. This is the biggest news shitstorm to hit Central Florida since . . . Ted Bundy? No, really. People are lining up at the courthouse to sit in on this murder trial. Lining. Up. Like it's a midnight pre-release showing of the latest Twilight movie, or something. The eager beavers even erupted into a fist fight, for pete's sake. I couldn't make this up if I tried. See below.

Source

Now, that's class. I could go on about this trial forever, but what's the point *then we'd have to get into some unnecessary "eye for an eye" debate over the death penalty, and nobody's interested in that can of worms.* Besides, if you're following the case, Jose Baez is probably all the long-winded commentary you need. I'll check back with any noteworthy updates, and in the meantime, let's keep our fingers crossed for justice. In the words of Hannibal Lecter (another pathological narcissist), "All good things to those who wait."

It's High Time . . .

. . .that the Federal government legalize marijuana, don't you think? Don't worry, agreeing with that statement doesn't make you a raging pot head, or a drugged-out hippie. What it makes you is practical. No, really. I was flipping through the channels late last night, and happened upon a documentary on the History Channel, called "Marijuana: A Chronic History." Wow. Talk about mind blowing. The statistics alone are enough to make any logical person think twice about the legalization of marijuana. Don't believe me? See below, naysayers. You just might learn something (all facts taken from the aforementioned documentary).

Did you know . . .

• As of 2010, the United States boasted a population of 308,745,538? Out of that number, over 100 million (100,000,000) people have reported that they have smoked marijuana at least once before; 20 million (20,000,000) of those people smoke it regularly.
• Despite the fact that marijuana was considered legal tender in the days of America's Founding Fathers, marijuana has resulted in the most arrests in the "War on Drugs."
• At any given time, there are over 60,000 people jailed because of marijuana.
• There are currently 60-80 people serving life sentences marijuana-only offenses.
• One person is arrested every 37 seconds for marijuana-related crimes.

Okay, so here are some more interesting little morsels of marijuana factoids to go along with what you've already read. There is a proven racial disparity between African-American/Hispanic offenders and Caucasian offenders; Blacks and Mexicans are arrested and convicted at three times the rate of Whites on marijuana charges. New York City is one of the nation's leaders in this discrimination. For every one Caucasian arrested on marijuana charges, there are NINE Blacks/Hispanics arrested in NYC. That's pretty significant, no?

But all of that aside, the real fact that every taxpayer should know is that our Federal government spends about $13.7 BILLION on marijuana possession crimes. I kid you not. Almost fourteen billion dollars to enforce laws that prohibit a drug that is proven to be far less harmful than tobacco. Really?! So here's my question: when will the government wake up and smell the cannabis and realize that it would greatly behoove our wonderful country if everybody just would relax and go ahead and legalize marijuana? I mean, this is really ridiculous. Let's face facts, people are never going to stop smoking pot. It is impossible to completely eradicate it; therefore, it is impossible to truly prohibit it. So why not make a profit off of it? The government is doing itself (and us taxpayers) a huge disservice by refusing to stop the prohibition and demonization of marijuana. If they would just go ahead and legalize it (and, in turn, tax the mess out of it), do you know how much they could make in tax revenue?? Well, tobacco and alcohol sales generate over $17 billion in tax revenue, alone. So if that is any indication, assuming marijuana would be taxed at a rate similar to that of tobacco (40-50% excise and sales tax), a $40 billion marijuana market (the tobacco market is about $75 billion) would yield about $17-20 billion in tax revenue (See diagram below).

Source

Now, wouldn't that $20 billion be helpful, considering our current national budget calls for deficit spending . . . not to mention the tiny little detail of our national debt, which at last count was $14,447,351,480,691. No, wait. It's $14,447,351,500,336 now - because it's going nowhere but up . . . by the second. Have you ever seen so many commas in a dollar figure? Do you even know how to say that number out loud?? It's depressing. Apparently, America is just a nation with overall bad credit. So wouldn't you think that $20 billion in marijuana tax revenue could maybe do a little bit of good? Maybe? Especially when you take into consideration that legalization would also take away the need for that pesky $13.7 billion being spent to wage war on a relatively harmless substance. Oh yeah, and it would help with overcrowding in jails/prisons, AND offer the enterprising, marijuana-selling citizens of America an opportunity to do business on the up-and-up, without need for concern about imprisonment. Sounds like a win-win to me.

Listen, I'm not trying to force my humble opinion on you. If you agree with the demonization of marijuana* and cannot at all see the positives associated with its legalization, that's your business. All I ask is that you really weigh out the pros and cons. Remember, just because it's legal, it doesn't mean you have to smoke it; it just means you can. Wouldn't it be refreshing to have the option? Isn't that the premise that our country was founded upon? Democracy and the freedom of choice? I'm just saying. I don't smoke pot, either . . . but I'm fairly reasonable and can see that there are some major benefits to its legalization. For your convenience, I've given you a head start by including the first 15 minutes of that crazy informative documentary. Do me a favor and check it out! Do some research. Read the facts. If you find yourself nodding your head and suddenly agreeing vehemently with the points I made above, don't be surprised. It really is the practical choice. So when that happens - write your public officials! Send letters written on hemp and scented delicately with the essence of cannabis (grown hydroponically, please - nothing but the best and kindest) to your state Congressman. Maybe the extra subtle hints will do the trick. It takes a village, people! And if this village all rallied together, perhaps then we could solve the problems of the world with a simple toke off the proverbial peace pipe.  Peace and love. :)




*Wow. I really used the word "marijuana" a lot on this blog. I hope it doesn't raise any weird governmental red flags that are now going to be tied to my name for the rest of my life. Because that would suck. Especially since I don't even smoke the stuff. Haha if you took a drink every time I said "marijuana" in this post, you'd be pret-ty intoxicated. I'd tell you to try it, but alcohol has long-term negative effects that are exponentially worse than those of marijuana. I don't want you to endanger yourself on my account.

The Joys of Peer Reviews

As you know, I currently do triple duty as a devoted employee, wife and student, which can honestly be overwhelming at times . . . but I'm handling it. I think. But if you're ever wondering what the hell is taking me so long to put up a post . . . cut me some slack, okay? Because I'm probably studying. Or doing homework. Or working on a multi-million dollar presentation. Or doing laundry, or dishes . . . or something else equally as glamorous. Don't be jealous. It's a fantastic juggling act, but somebody's gotta do it.

That said, I'm currently taking one of the most pointless classes I could have possibly ever taken, for the simple reason that I need to fulfill some stupid prerequisite. I'm pretty sure that I can probably write circles around these young Texans. (Especially considering the slanted state of their secondary education curriculae . . . did everyone hear about the whole textbook debate debacle last year?! Uh . . . yeah. 'Nuff said. Oh wait, actually - I feel the need to mention that Fox News [conveniently] left out other changes, including the downplayed role of Thomas Jefferson in the proposed textbooks. Right; you heard me. Thomas. Jefferson.) My theory is supported by cold, hard, facts. We have been working to complete our first essay assignment, which is a critical analysis of a short story. The whole process has been rather lengthy, because we first had to submit a rough draft to obtain two peer reviews, and then incorporate those reviews into our final draft. So, I of course waited until the last minute to turn in my rough draft (don't judge; i'm a juggler, remember?), and I'm pretty sure I ended up with the bottom of the barrel of peer reviewers. Don't believe me? In the spirit of asphinctersayswhat, please have a look-see below for a snippet from one of my reviews:  (Unless you have the eyesight of a hawk, you should probably click on the image to enlarge it. Pay special attention to the comment bubbles on the right; my essay really is inconsequential here.)

*blinkblinkblink* ISSHESERIOUS?! I love how she makes all of these gentle suggestions on how I should re-format my perfectly good sentences to better suit her parameters . . . and her parameters are obviously not something I should be concerned with, considering she corrected my possessive "its" to "it's." Yeah, that's right. I apparently need to change my possessive pronoun (even though I was modifying a noun, but whatever) to a contraction. How could I have overlooked such an error? The funny thing is, this is only a snippet of her review. What you're seeing actually happens to be the FOURTH time she corrected me on this glaringly obvious (sarcasm) error. Perhaps I should point her in the direction of my "5 Ways to Avoid Making Silly Mistakes That Might Make You Look Dumber Than You Are." Although, I'm confident that her silly mistakes don't make her look dumber than she is . . . she probably truly is just that dumb. I also like how she suggested that I change a proper noun to a pronoun, when I go on to use about a million pronouns after that sentence. Oh, okay. So I guess it's not that important to identify who "he" is? Got it. I'll make sure to remember that next time. 

Okay, but my favorite part, the one that really took the cake, was the fourth comment she made regarding my usage of the word "than." Hahahaha! I genuinely laughed out loud when I read it. What a FANTASTIC explanation she gave (and I quote): "This is tricky, if your using than to describe different persons it is correct. If you would like to show the differences of change from when the story began, you would use then. I think than may cause a little more confusion than then." Ummmm . . . first of all, less confusion for whom? Because I wasn't at all confused, thanks. Second of all, I'm fairly certain that if you don't even recognize the need for the contraction version of the word "you're," I probably shouldn't be taking YOUR grammatical advice. Thirdly, whuck?! What? The? Hell? Is? She? Talking? About? If I'm using "than" to describe different persons? I can't even see what she's saying. Hmmm . . . I guess she was trying to say that "than" is used for comparisons . . . which it is; however, I suppose she failed to recognize that I was CLEARLY making a comparison in that sentence? I don't think "than" is actually the word she has problems with. It sounds like she really needs a clearer understanding of what the word "then" means. 

Yikes. Education, shmeducation. These are your tax dollars hard at work, folks. Let's just say that I'm glad I grew up in the Sunshine State, where Thomas Jefferson is known to be one of the principal authors of the Declaration of Independence; the Civil War was not merely a case of sectionalism, but also mostly about ending slavery; America is still a democratic nation; capitalism still exists, and people know the difference between pronouns, contractions, conjunctions and adverbs.*

*No offense to all my Texas readers out there. Maybe it's an accent thing? Like my co-worker from the panhandle, who insists on referring to her heels as "hills." Yeah . . . on second thought, I'm not convinced that's actually an accent thing. I think she might just be country. She also likes "pre-proportioned" meals, because they're better for you and you eat less. *blinkblinkblink*

Big Girl Trapped in a Skinny Girl's Body

I was flipping mindlessly through Google News today, seeing if anything tickled my pickle for my next post, and I came across this article that piqued my interest. The content doesn't affect me directly, but I thought it was a really interesting read. Topics related to weight problems and body image issues always strike near and dear to my heart, because I have fought a long, arduous battle with my own weight for most of my life. I was never actually obese . . . but I was definitely overweight. My thighs audibly threatened to start a fire everytime I walked, I was uncomfortable in jeans, never sat with my legs crossed all of the way (because let's face it, I couldn't), and trembled with fear at the mere thought of being seen in a swimsuit. My tween and adolescent years were spent being the chubby friend (probably because I grew up in Florida, surrounded by beautiful, blonde, beach bunnies with tiny, size 2 frames crammed into the most adorable daisy dukes and half tops . . . don't judge; I'm a child of the 80's/90's . . . and it was FLORIDA, remember??), longing for the day when I, too, could shop in 5-7-9 (hahaha it just seemed so exclusive, with its size restrictions and all), and prance around in a child-sized bikini without any fear about my jelly rolls scaring anyone away.

So I committed my adolescence and early adulthood to yo-yo and fad dieting, praying for the day when I could shed my chubby duckling shell and transform into the slender swan that I was no doubt meant to be (especially since I have such freakishly skinny wrists and ankles; I never had the luxury of blaming my weight on "big bones"). To me, being heavyset was always such a burden, a plain-and-simple life ruiner. I knew that if I could just shed a few pounds, the problems of my world would be solved! Furthermore, I always swore that when I got skinny, I was going to breeze through life, wearing nothing but a smile and "nobody [was] gonna be able to tell me shit!"

I was wrong. On both counts. Perhaps not so surprisingly, I still wear clothes. Every day. Additionally, I still have problems. I thought that shedding some el bees would be like waving a magic confidence wand that would give me the self-assurance of a supermodel, and make all of my issues disappear. But apparently, it doesn't work like that. Apparently, thirteen years of living under my [annoyingly] skinny parents' roof, constantly being told I "didn't need seconds," or that I needed more exercise and shouldn't eat gravy on my mashed potatoes unfortunately had a lasting effect on me. That, coupled with years of staring in the mirror and being less than thrilled with the freaking fat chick that stole my face looking back at me expectantly (oh yeah, and let's not forget the truly memorable moments, like my eighth grade teacher telling me I had "birthing hips"), resulted in a major doozy of a body image issue (among others, I'm sure).

It's interesting, you hear facts and statistics all the time about obesity in America: 1 in 3 American adults is affected by obesity and every 2 minutes a person in America dies due to weight-related causes. What the statistics don't tell you, however, is just how much obesity and weight problems affect people's psyches, or how those issues get in your head and burrow a deep tunnel to hibernate in and stick around forever. Furthermore, the statistics do not explain how shallow and image-consumed our society is and how not fitting into the classic mold of attractiveness might obliterate a person's self-confidence and self-worth. Did you know that obesity is now considered a disease? Yup, a disease. Now think of all of the side effects and different traumas associated with any other disease that comes to mind. Because to be quite honest, people who suffer from obesity very likely have a lot of the same issues. Obesity isn't always a matter of eating less, or exercising more.

It's really ironic for me now, because people constantly make little comments about my size and how "tiny" I am, or how I need to gain a couple of pounds. If only they knew. I wish it were that simple. But unfortunately, no matter how small I seem to get, when I look in the cursed mirror, that same freaking fat chick is still there. I wish she would hurry up and get the memo that her kind is not wanted around these parts . . . but she never gets the hint. Like the picture below, she's always there, haunting me, reminding me of what I can be again. (Well, not exactly like the picture because I'm brown. But you get the point. Just use your imagination. I wasn't going to get in my skivvies and and take pictures just for the sake of a post. (a) because I'm a lady, for pete's sake, and (b) BECAUSE I HAVE BODY IMAGE ISSUES. Aren't you paying attention?? I guarantee that the me in your imagination looks way better than the real-life me, anyway.)

Source

 So, after 5 paragraphs of self-indulgent oversharing, I'll get to the point . . . hmmm . . . this is slightly embarrassing. It appears that really there was no point, besides the fact that I found the abovementioned article interesting. So I'll leave you with these little nuggets of wisdom:  if you are one of the lucky few that do not have or have never had problems with your weight, you should thank God, Buddha, Allah, or even just your plain old lucky stars, because you are the minority. Obesity has become an epidemic in our country and it's not going away any time soon. So, do your part. Eat right, get active, stay fit, and live and enjoy life as long as possible (so you can keep reading my blog). We aren't leasing these bodies; we're in it for the long haul. What you see is what you get, so make sure you do right by yourself . . . and if that doesn't make you happy . . . maybe you should go see a therapist.* Don't be scared; everybody's doing it. Hell, even if you think you're happy, you should go see a therapist. Believe me, there's definitely something wrong with you. You just haven't discovered it yet. xo

*If the therapist trick still doesn't work, I would recommend a psychiatrist. Even if talking to one doesn't make you happy, at least they can write you prescriptions for drugs that very likely will. So, there's that.

A Rent-a-Center Stock Room, Hairy Knuckles, and a Runaway Jury.

I thought that since I've been so spotty with my posts lately, I should do my due diligence and give you another tidbit for the day. How's about a little afternoon delight? While getting my daily internet news fix, I came across this article about a St. Louis woman who was recently awarded what could possibly be the largest payout ever granted in a sexual harassment case. To the tune of a whopping $95 million!!! For those of you less than enthused over your afternoon reading assignment, this quote from www.nydailynews.com pretty much sums it all up in a nutshell. I boldfaced the key points for your convenience. Listen, I do what I can.

"Alford claimed that the store's then-manager, Richard Moore*, gave her inappropriate nicknames and touched her inappropriately when she first began working there in 2005. Nearly a year after she was hired, she claimed, he came up to her in the stock room and whacked her on the head with his penis. Then, later that day, he lifted her shirt and masturbated over her as he held her down, she said."


Uh . . . okay. I obviously have a lot to say about this. So . . . the inappropriate nicknames and touching wasn't enough of a red flag? You would think she would have started looking for a different job, instead of hanging around for almost a year after her manager touched her in her no-no spot. No? That aside, how exactly do you think he managed to "whack her on the head with his penis"? Is he a giant? Is she some sort of Lilliputian midget? Does he just have an abnormally loooooooong penis that he just unrolls and slings around all willy nilly, face-thumping people whenever he needs some sexual healing (if so, he must be from the Congo)? But that's not even the most intriguing part of the story. What really got me was the last sentence: "then, later that day, he lifted her shirt and masturbated over her as he held her down, she said." Later that day? So, you mean to tell me that she actually stuck around after catching a dick to the head? That wasn't enough for her to walk out? Instead, she hung out, talking people with bad credit and empty bank accounts into renting furniture and appliances, oblivious to the fact that her genitals-wielding manager was lurking in a back corner, waiting to pin her down and blow his load all over her?

Something about this sounds a bit fishy to me. Methinks we're not getting the whole story, here. Not to take sides with a sexual predator or anything, but unless Richard Moore is ambidextrous with the strength of at least five adult males . . . I honestly don't see how things could have gone down as reported. The details are a little fuzzy. Was it a run-by sploogeing? Oh, wait. It couldn't have been, because he held her down. I don't understand! How could he lift her shirt, hold her down and masturbate to the point of climax all at the same time? Sheesh, that guy is talented. I think he's in the wrong industry, leasing analog televisions to the poor. Taking into consideration his meter stick of a penis,** his ambidexterity, and his profound ability to multitask, it sounds to me like ol' [Long] Dick Moore could give Ron Jeremy a run for his money . . . and if you think for a moment that the irony of his name escaped me, you don't know me very well. Richard Moore? Dick Moore? Moore, Dick. Yeah . . . add this guy to the growing list of men whose parents groomed them to be perverts with piss poor name choices. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love alliteration?)

That said, I feel obligated to admit that I would probably withstand getting thunked in the head by pretty much any body part for $95 million. Hell, I'd even settle for the measly $40 million that she will probably end up receiving after all is said and done. I think there's a lesson to be learned here, folks: getting teabagged while trying to do your job isn't so bad if you end up with a $95 million check. Even if you had to take a pearl necklace for the team.

__________________________________________________________________________________

*This story is especially funny because the offender in question just so happens to share a government name with a certain rotund, wall-hugging, weeble wobble of an Executive Hall Monitor VP (with hoity-toity, high-class, fancy pants problems, no less) that I happen to know. In fact, I'm pretty sure that name was the first thing that drew my eye to the article. Well, besides the obvious key words - masturbated, $95 million and genitals. I'm curious about the flagrant fondler's current employment status. Surely he couldn't have left his cushy job selling previously owned merchandise for a lowly Executive VP position in a prosperous corporation, right?! No way it's the same guy. The one I know is WAY too short to have a jungle-man's penis long enough to thunk a  grown ass woman in the head. But it's funny to imagine that they are one and the same. Pretty sure our RM prefers kitty cats, though. Oh well, I digress. That was some good stuff, eh? Nothing like an entertaining story about gennies to get your day going right; that's what I say!


**I really used the word "penis" a lot in this post. It's reminiscent of last week, when I couldn't keep Weiner out of my mouth. Hahaha pun obviously intended. That was the last reference I'll make. For real this time. But seriously, if I make any more references to the male genitalia, you guys are going to think I have some sort of misguided genital obsession. I don't. But I apparently have the maturity of a twelve year old boy, so I giggle at words like "weiner" and "penis." I like to say "penis" like "pen-iss" sometimes, just to be fancy. Oh, you didn't know? Yeah, that's right. I'm fancy. 

Born This Way

One small step for (wo)man . . . one giant step for mankind.

Source

Huzzah! The New York Assembly voted 80-63 to pass a bill legalizing gay marriage yesterday! The bill is now in the hands of the Senate, where 31 senators have gone on record as supporters; 32 approval votes are needed for passage. Fingers crossed they'll realize that the issue isn't about gay marriage; it's just about marriage. In a country that touts a system of equal rights, we have a history of making said rights a matter of subjectivity and convenience - not for the masses, but really more for the elite group of law-making individuals that has the ability to affect our lives with the simple push of a button. The legislative session is due to end next week, so this should come to some sort of rapid resolution. Let's hope New York climbs aboard the gay marriage train. Get with the program, New York! After all, marriage equality is the new black.

Fly Down Memory Lane

I came across this article on http://www.time.com/, and I was just appalled. The long and short of it is that U.S. Airlines collected a whopping $3.4 BILLION in bag fees last year. Right. You heard me. Three. Point. Four. Billion. Dollars. That sounds like a scene from an Austin Powers movie, right? Unfortunately, the airline business appears to have become the nation's own personal Dr. Evil, with Delta leading the pack.

"Delta generated the most revenue from bag fees — $952 million — followed by the combined United and Continental at nearly $655 million. American collected $580 million and US Airways $513 million."

...$952 million? Really?! And perhaps I failed to mention that the total amount collected ($3.4B) marked a twenty-four percent increase in profits from 2009. A 24% increase? I thought we were in a recession! I think you'd be hard pressed to find another industry that can report an increase in profits - much less an increase as significant as 24%. It's just ridiculous. Meanwhile, the airlines are crying broke mouth and complaining about the rise in fuel costs. Hold on, let me put down my violin so I can get the message across. Everyone is struggling with rising fuel costs. It costs me $70+ to fill up my gas tank. We get it. But hiking up the prices on airline tickets wasn't enough? Travelers paying twice the price for fares didn't cushion the blow even just a little bit? I guess not.

This prompted me to really think about what other changes the airlines have made to compensate for the rising costs of the industry. It's time for a flight down memory lane...

Remember when . . .

...your frequent flyer miles actually counted for something? Yeah, you can absolutely still trade in your miles for a flight . . . but no guarantees that the flight will even have "frequent flyer seats" available. Unless you are trying to fly to Minnesota or Maine in the dead of winter (but not during inclement weather, because then you would inevitably be stuck at an airport for a week - if you think the airline is going to foot the bill for a delay due to an act of God . . . think again). Yeah, that's right...just like the time share tours that offer you a free vacation, there are definite scheduling limitations as to what dates you are allowed to travel. Big surprise, those dates are hardly ever convenient to any traveling that you may want to do, nor do they ever fall on a holiday.

...there was a complimentary pillow/blanket set waiting for you at your seat? I mean sure, of course you were scared to use them because they were probably carrying some form of the Gon'die (which implies that if you get it, you gon' die) . . . but at least the choice was yours. You could rest your weary head or choose to pass on the germy cesspools and possible exposure to the Ebola Virus or some random flesh-eating bacteria. Again - your choice. Because they were there waiting for you. Like the little complimentary bottles of shampoo and conditioner at a nice hotel . . . just there if you need 'em.

...airlines fed you during your flight? Yeah, the food was garbage and smelled like rotten baby vomit on a hot summer's day...but at least you got food. Granted, the smell of airplane food almost always made me reach for my complimentary puke pouch (Do they still offer those? Probably for a small fee, eh?), so this is probably the least of my concerns . . . but it's the principle. The hubs and I flew to Hawaii for our honeymoon, which is about a 12 hour trip from the Sunshine State. Don't be alarmed, Continental did feed us; HOWEVER, they fed us a microwaved "chicken sandwich" that made my elementary school cafeteria food look like gourmet, five-star cuisine. No joke, they served it to us still in the bag they microwaved it in. Oh yeah, and I'm pretty sure we got a bag of chips, too. It was super classy. Needless to say, I skipped the worthless calories and sodium and starved myself all the way to Hawaii. So, that was awesome.

...airplanes had a little bit of legroom? Ok, it's not like you could cut cartwheels in between the seats, but people could actually fit their entire person into the seat without having to either (a) hang their legs into the aisle to avoid knee-jacking the person in front of them, or (b) fold themselves into unnatural positions to try to politely keep from accidentally fondling the strangers surrounding them. My favorite aspect of the lack of legroom is during landing when my knees SLAM into the seat in front of me. I'm convinced that my kneecaps will one day shatter on impact and then at least I could skip the line for free in my wheelchair. The seats are so close together now, that I could very clearly spot the older, gay gentleman (I use the term loosely) a few rows up, creeping on young, adolescent boys on his iPad the last time I traveled. True story. He must have felt my shocked and dismayed eyes piercing his perverted soul, because he glanced around casually, spotted me spotting him, and quickly returned his portable perving device to its rightful home in his murse.

...you could actually make your way down the main aisle to your seat without inadvertantly setting your ass on some unsuspecting stranger's shoulder? I'm pretty small, and I can't seem to ever get to my seat anymore with having to apologize profusely to numerous people for booty bumping them in the face. How do bigger people do it? Especially the ones that already have to buy two seats. Speaking of which, has that rule always existed? Or just since the airlines switched out the old, quasi-normal-sized seats out for anorexic midget seats? I wonder about that.

...the overhead bins were large enough to fit all of the carry-on bags of the passengers on the plane? I can't decide if the bins themselves have actually gotten smaller (along with the aisles, the seats, the sodas, and the amount of legroom), or if people have just started cramming as much junk as possible into their carry-ons in an effort to avoid those ridiculously over-priced baggage fees. Good news is, I've discovered that they don't charge you when you have to gate check your bag because there isn't sufficient room in the overhead bins. Don't tell anyone; it'll be our little secret.

I could go on and on. Travel, overall, has become just a huge violation. Your wallet gets violated when you purchase your ticket. The airline comes back for some more wallet sodomy when you check your bag (unless you fly Southworst, of course). Then there's the double (if you're lucky, like me) violation/molestation at the security checkpoint (I'm confident that Wanda, the lovely TSA agent who blessed me with a very thorough pat down and I are now going steady), and the long string of blatant violations that follow. I miss the good ol' days when traveling was an experience, rather than a chore (a chore accompanied by an unsolicited manhandling of the semi-sexual nature). Maybe if the airlines make another several billion dollar profit off of us poor economy class peons this year, we'll begin to see some sort of improvement that would make flying a more enjoyable investment . . . but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.