Todd made this fabulous sign and posted it on my Facebook page.
Happy St. Patrick's Day
|Even cats are supposed to get drunk today.|
I've been out a couple of times this week and I'm tired. I'm especially tired of watching extremely drunk men try out all their best pick-up lines and moves.
Last night, I turned to my friend Tempy and, with sort of an exhausted sigh, said, "I've lost something just now. I've lost..."
"Your will to live?" she said.
It probably goes without saying that Tempy is awesome.
Today, I'm going to wear green while I sit on my back patio and nap and drink early evening cocktails and read my latest finds from the Hoover Library:
Random Song Selection
Despite my general annoyance at all things related to Taylor Swift, I am loving this song:
Only five days until The Hunger Games opens. I loved the books (the first two more than the third one, though). I have been pretty excited about the movie opening, mostly because it is a chance to go to the movies with my kids and share something we all enjoy. I realized, though, that they will probably go with their friends or they'll go with me and then leave me to sit alone while they sit with friends far away from me, lest I embarrass them with my magnificent sense of humor and stunning good looks. That's the problem, right?
It's OK. I will soothe my hurt mom feelings with a bag of these:
1. The continued misinformation spread by the GOP about birth control, Plan B One Step (it is not an abortion pill), and the basics of how contraception works.
I can not stop shaking my head in disbelief at the willful ignorance and blatant hypocrisy. I consider jumping into comment threads online to correct the misinformation but it seems like a futile effort, like jumping into a swimming pool to save hundreds of drowning idiots. You will end up saving none of them and they will only pull you under and suck the life out of you.
One of my Facebook friends wrote a status expressing disbelief that anyone would still support Obama because gas prices are so high. Really? Let's see. This week a Georgia Republican lawmaker said women should be forced to carry non-viable pregnancies to term because pigs do it. Wow. What fantastic reasoning. You know what else pigs are good for? Bacon. Let's fry up some delicious ladybits and have a party in the treehouse of the He-Man Womanhaters Club. Am I going to support a party that thinks of me as nothing more than a breeder and sandwich maker?
Actually, I'm something worse than a breeder and sandwich-maker. I am the evil single mother. I am the person Rick Santorum wants to deny equal rights to by taking away my ability to file as head of household on my taxes. Let's see. Would I ever vote for a person like that?
Should I jump into the swimming pool full of dumb and try to explain why the attitude toward women is so offensive? Why the attitude toward single mothers makes me want to scream? Why I feel like this every time some Republican tries to defend this attitude while saying to me, "I don't mean you, Amy"? (You do mean me and it is hypocritical of you to pretend otherwise.) Should I try to explain why I cannot stop shaking my hairbrush in uncontrollable rage?
I did see something online this morning that made me feel better about being a woman who dared to bring a child into the world out of wedlock, who dared to get divorced, who dares to raise two children without providing them a perfect Rick Santorum-approved world of bible-beating and sweater vests.
I saw this photo with the caption: Here's what the children of single mothers look like.
The other day, Jacob said sardonically, "Mom, just wait until I grow up and I'm president and I change the name of this country to Amurica, the way God intended it to be said."
There is hope for the future.
3. Men who treat my friends badly
This enrages me. I won't get into details, but I have a friend who is being pursued textually (you read that right) by some guy who doesn't have the sense to ask her out on a real date. He also gets drunk, suggests they do something on a specific day, and the next day forgets that he asked. Um, what? This dude is either an alcoholic or an asshole. Either way, here's my opinion of these shenanigans:
I'm not a huge fan of the texting thing. If you want to hang out with me, ask me and we can hang out. If you want to text me randomly when you're bored and we never actually go out and, more importantly, we never make out, please explain the point. I have plenty of hilarious and entertaining friends who I already don't make out with.
4. My children.
|Sometimes, we act like horrible, little jerks. It's true.|
I don't do this. Instead I go into my room and shut the door and try not to lose my mind.
The problem is I'm a pretty nice mom. I'm not a helicopter mom. I expect everyone to do what they are supposed to do but I do not want to hover over you until you do it. I don't like dispensing punishment that will also punish me in the process.
Sometimes I get spoken to as if I am an enormous piece of shit who doesn't deserve an ounce of respect.
Sometimes I feel like I am an enormous piece of shit who doesn't deserve an ounce of respect.
5. The suicide blame game
A friend texted me this week to tell me about a friend of hers whose ex-husband committed suicide last week. Then her friend attempted suicide and now is in a coma. In the days after the funeral, the family of the ex-husband was blaming this woman and treating her badly.
People, I want to yell this as loudly as possible: Love and compassion. Love and compassion. That is ALL you should be passing out in the days after a suicide. If you are looking for someone to blame, you're doing it wrong. You are listening to a voice in your head that does not come from a place of love but comes from a dark and evil place. Period.
One of the most horrible and true things about suicide is that it is, quite simply, like making a deal with the devil. In exchange for your freedom from the black hole in which you are trapped, you must agree to take everyone you love and shove them into the hole to take your place.
My heart breaks for this woman who,
Love and compassion.
Love and compassion.
Why is that so difficult?
Sometimes I wish I was the sort of person who didn't have opinions and didn't care and didn't get worked up at injustice or wrongdoing or the deliberate dissemination of lies by Fox News. I wish I didn't want to scream at people to buy some Q-Tips to clean the waxy Rush Limbaugh build-up from the ears attached to their (ditto) heads. I wish I was the sort of person who only got worked up watching an episode of The Real Housebitches of Wherethefuckever.
But I'm not one of those people.
I am a bleeding heart liberal. How is that an insult? When I hear about horrible things happening to other people, my heart bleeds for them. When I watch government-sanctioned injustice, my heart bleeds. When I hear about genocide, my heart bleeds. When I hear the blatant disregard for the value of all lives, not just those with an appropriate bank account balance or a Rick Santorum-approved family dynamic, my heart bleeds. When I imagine the pain of someone being discriminated against because of the color of their skin or their sexual orientation, my heart bleeds. When I consider the difficulty of all lives, not just my own, my heart bleeds.
My question is: Why doesn't yours?
I found this poster online by Anthony Burrill. It's my unofficial motto.
"Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive." - The Dalai Lama