Cute

Via Pandagon.

Woot!

Two points:

1) There's nothing better than popping up and down like a manic prairie dog because you can't decide if you should sit up straight so that you can clearly see the most beautiful sunset of the season without your balcony railing disrupting the view, or if I should stand up, so I can clearly see the reflection of the sunset in the river, or if I should just hunker down and watch the baby seagulls on the roof across the street testing out their wings.

2) I am normal. After a fifteen pound weight gain over the past six months, I have finally figured out that my new found fattitude equals exactly two pounds under the exact medium level of what constitutes exactly healthy for a woman of my size. Fuck you, weight-loss plans, this tissue ain't going nowhere. I'm 5'10", 149 lbs, and I'm sticking with it. Paris Hilton can kiss my fat ass, while I'm busy downing as many pieces of left-over birthday cake as I want.

I'm gonna go eat some b-day cake now. Goodbye.

Life

Player 1: It's your roll

Player 2: Five. Shit.

Player 1: You landed on single mother. Go back to the begining. Tough luck, that.

Player 2: Yeah. Alright, your go.

Player 1: Nice! Got a raise.

Player 2: Nice luck, but hey, I'm still a contender. Better be watching your back, it's my roll.

(Rolls a four.)

Player 2: So I'm on....

Player 1: No you don't. You're a single mother with student loans. You don't get to move.

Player 2: What? So what, I'm just supposed to sit here?

Player 1: That's how the games played, dude. Learn the rules.

Player 2: Well, shit. For how many turns?

Player 1: The rest of the game.

Player 2: Fuck this, I'm gonna go watch t.v.

Player 1: No way, man. You gotta play 'till the end.

Player 2: But I'm not allowed to move. How long I gotta do this for?

Player 1: Well, you're a smoker, but you are planning on quitting in September. You don't eat too well, but not as bad as the average American, anyway. You get you're daily dose of moderate exercise walking every day, and given that you're never going to be able to afford a car, you'll probably maintain that daily exercise.
I'd say you've got fourty to fifty years to go.

Player 2: You want me to sit here and roll these fucking dice for fourty to fifty years, and not move one space?

Player 1: Might just be thirty five, if you're lucky.

Player 2: Fuck that, Supernatural is on. I'm watching t.v.

Player 1: I told you already, that's not how the game is played. Besides, Supernatural sucks.

Player 2: That guy with the lip is freakishly cute. I don't give a damn how good the show is. I don't like this game anymore.

Player 1: Sorry, you don't have a choice in the matter. Sit down, quit you're fucking whining, and roll the goddamn dice so I can take my turn.

Player 2: I gotta play the game this way?
So what can I do, then?

Player 1: Buy groceries. Barely. Not on the months when you have to get new contacts or glasses, buy school clothes for The Kid, go to the dentist, or anything else like that. But on the other months, you should be able to afford enough groceries.

Player 2: I hate this game.

Player 1: I hate your bitching. I'm not playing with you anymore.
Fuck this, I'm gonna go watch Supernatural.
I'll come back and see how you're doing in a year or two.

Player 2: Couldn't you at least tape it for me?

Player 1: Nobody owns VCR's anymore, dipshit. Burn yourself a DVD in a couple of decades.

Player 2: Fine. Bring me a coffee when you come back.

Player 1: Sure thing. But don't complain if it's cold.

You Can't Hide Behind A Dead Cow

Is the mantra The Kid repeated for hours on end today. As a social experiment, I have to say my daughter may not be a good test subject.
Although we can always use a new proverb, and you can't go wrong with, "You can't hide behind a dead cow."

So: Darfur is Dying. No shit, you say? Well, MTV has gone and made an online game with that very name. Check it out. I'll provide the link, just as soon as I'm done talking.
Exploitation, or education? I'm sure that's the issue that'd be surrounding this here game, should there actually be an issue. I don't know. I can't be bothered to find out.

The idea is to try to keep a refugee camp alive for one week. It ain't easy. You need a hell of a lot of water (and don't go sending that girl in the purple dress-she's always caught-at least in my attempts).

So, fuck the exploitation shit. Question is, will kids who don't give a fuck actually start to give a fuck based on this game? Probably not. (Although I'd hazard a guess that should the game be better developed, some people might find that it makes them give a shit.)

It's an interesting approach, anyway. And if anything, should The Kid find herself in a desert while being pursued by militia, she will find a better hiding spot than in the carcass of the dead cow.*

So the link: Darfur is Dying




*Course, the crappy thing is that there are kids my daughter's age who found that one out the hard way. Kinda funny, how we choose to believe that today, no child died of dehydration after their mother couldn't safely go for water.
They're not real. They're just a game.
Really.

Updatery

To add to the last post: Head on over to Shadow's place. Do it. Now.

Don't Mind Me

But I'm tuckered and cranky. Too much water park, too many kids, and a long weekend pretty much did me in.

Still, the guilt over the lack of posting is getting to me. I'm planning, I'm plotting, I'm putting it all together. My head's compiled an assortment of goods; Umoja, nekkid boobs, that old porn standby, Harper's general ass-fuckery of me and mine, and the joys of compound interest acting against you.

So about those nekkid boobs: Amongst my peers, we've been complacent in the notion that, Harper or no Harper, at least we'll not be fully Americanized as long as we can strut our stuff with our nipples basking in the sunlight. (I think I've talked about nipple-basking somewhere before. I guess I'm just a big fan of the Basking Nipples, me.)

Lounging in the park this weekend, a bitter truth was fed:
Women's nipples are not, after all, allowed to bask free.

We discovered this after a woman who had previously been sunbathing topless was 'asked' by the local police to put a shirt on. She complied, all went on as before, less some expanses of flesh.
Except for our confusion of course. "Shirts? Legal? Necessary? Didn't that one go straight out the window a couple of years ago?"

Turns out even the police couldn't confirm that without some troubles. One officer was kind enough to scour through the annals of Canadian legislation and found that it is, indeed, still illegal to go topless.

Still confused.
Then what the hell have we been celebrating all this time?
So today, Shadow did some internet-legwork, and rustled up an article which said that the matter has been dropped as criminal, and is now up to provincial or municipal jurisdiction.

Here's the fun part: The part where I don't have to post....

I took a peek at that article, which was posted at the REALity: REAL Women of Canada.

I like that name for a group. REAL Women. "Real." It's got a nice ring to it, not to mention being exceedingly useful for political causes. When ever anyone disagrees with you, just let people know that they ain't real. Or a least not "REAL."

Of course, I'm a little confused as to what that would make me, in their eyes. A man? But no, they're there for men's rights. They love their men, much more than they could possibly give a flying fuck about themselves. They certainly wouldn't be putting down the gender by lumping such nasties like me in with them.

Maybe I'm just....not real. A figment of your imagination.

Warning: if you are reading this post right now, you are FUCKING INSANE. Get thee to a mental institution for immediate attention. Ask, no Demand, your right to a lobotomy, for if there's anything more dangerous then a lunatic who's hearing voices and/or reading non-existent blog pages, it's a lunatic who's hearing left-leaning, single-mother, feminist voices or reading the blog pages of said.

So, my lovely little nutbars, this would be worthy of a post, would it not? Of course! The pages have been bookmarked and mental notes on complete hypocrisy made.
(Brief aside: Here's a good game: find my favourite hypocrisy - it's a little contradiction between the "Topless" article and the "Our View" section.)
Then, I hit the news for some dope to knock me out for the night.

And what do you think I found? That's right: no need for me to be writing this imaginary tidbit on my imaginary blog, because Heather Mallick has been kind enough to do it for me.

So everyone put your (potentially imaginary) hands together in a big round of applause for Heather! You won't see me giving up my day job any time soon!

Read on: Attack on feminism hurts women here and overseas, by Heather Mallick.

Heck, she even fits in that bit on breast smooshing that I'd previously forgotten that I'd pre-previously planned to eventually post about.

Once I got around to actually posting anything again.
Which will happen.
Someday.

Until then, I'm going to bed.