Violent Rhetoric Warning

So we were hit with the OMG world is ending blizzard storm of Epic suckage. Just like everyone else. Ain’t global warming grand? Yep, I have pictures.

Here is the big snowdrift in the front yard.

The invisible street

You can see the others on Facebook.

It’s about 10 degrees with a wind chill of -10. Also, there is snow in my garage. The same garage that hasn’t been opened to the outside in years. It got in through the garage doors and the side door.

But Jen, why did you even go out in your uninsulated garage that is full of nothing but unfinished projects and jagged sharp things?

So I could unsuccessfully try to determine why the central heat is going RRRRR clunk RRRRR clunk and not blowing any warm air into the house.

Dear Murphy,
If I ever meet you, I’m going to beat you almost, but not quite to death. Then, I am going to light you on fire and place you in my living room so I can stay warm. I will delight in your screams.
*For those concerned, we really will be just fine. Just not exactly thrilled with the furnace situation

12 Years

Jennifer,

The last twelve years of marriage have been a wild ride. I’m having a lot of fun with you. Even on the occasions when times were not so much fun, I’m glad you were there with me. I love you so much more now than I did when we got married (even though it was a lot back then), and I’m looking forward to growing old with you. Thank you for coming with me on all of my crazy adventures! You make the best company of anybody I know. It’s wonderful to live with someone that gets my jokes and knows my quirks. You ought to know that I’m your biggest fan. I love your kind heart and your quick wit. I love that you envision structure and design the way I do. I like it when we are of one mind on a subject, and I’m thrilled when we differ on issues. On top of all that, you’re beautiful and sexy! I love that you want to hang around with me. I’m looking forward to whatever we’ve got in our future together. When the zombies attack, I want you and your shotgun at my back. Any swanky parties I’m invited to, I want you to be my date. That’s an open invitation on either of those scenarios, or any conceivable thing in between. So in less than a week, we will have been married for twelve years. Would you care to join me for the next twelve? I love you so incredibly much!

Michael

Open Letter

To You*,

I haven’t seen you in some time.  I hear you’ve been upset.  I understand why.  Your life sucks right now and has for some time.  You continually blame other people but the fault is your own.  You use people in an attempt to bandage your own wounds.  You think the world owes you something.  Maybe it does.  But that thing is a swift kick in the ass.

I have watched you destroy yourself for most of my life.  I have forgiven your resentment of me when all I’ve done is not be an utter failure.  You resent it that I’ve done something with my life.  You know what?  You had every opportunity to be respectable.  You failed.  I’ve been too kind to just tell you to buck up and deal with it.

No one made you drop out of high school.  Steal cars.  Drive drunk.  No one forced you to use drugs.  You and you alone made those decisions.  That’s your bed.  Lie in it.

And then I heard that you hit her.  I don’t care what your excuses might be.  You of all people should know better.  You are bigger and stronger.  No, she did not have it coming.  Any man that would hit someone weaker than themselves is not worthy to be called a man.  You are a schmuck.  A scoundrel.  You aren’t worthy to wipe the mud off my shoes.

She loves you even though I can’t figure out why anymore.  Sure she could leave.  She hasn’t.  She has other connections, and she thinks she needs you.  You are supposed to be the stability in her life.  Ha!  She’s stupid for continuing to believe that.  Probably even for getting involved with you in the first place.

You are of the lowest order of human beings.  You who I once classified as one of the kindest people I knew.  I’m done.  I’ll not spare another thought worrying about your well-being.  When you raised your hand against her, you proved that you are not worthy of an ounce of my concern.  Nor even my pity.

I know that it isn’t the first time either.  I should have written you off long ago.  But I didn’t.  And the truth of the matter is that I won’t ever, really.  Because I have far more loyalty and class than you will ever muster, and you and I will always be connected whether I like it or not.  And so I will pray for you.  And I will pray for her that she gets out and finds better than you.  Being alone would be a big step up for her.  And I will pray that no other woman is ever charmed by you.

You lost my respect a long time ago.  You want it back?  Earn it.  Somehow, I just don’t believe you have it in you.  Don’t come looking for my sympathy.  It has run out.

Sincerely,

Jennifer

*Yes, the You is referring to a very specific person that I do not wish to identify.  And the only way I could get him to read it would be to hand deliver the letter.  I’m not going to waste the energy and instead will share it on the internet.  Besides, unfortunately he isn’t the only one to whom the sentiment applies.

Roman Polanski is a Vile Human Being

He raped a child.  I don’t care if he’s made great movies and suffered in his multiple European homes while not being able to pick up his Oscar in the US.

Getting a 13 year old girl drunk and then proceeding to have sex with her while she says no is rape.  And it makes Roman Polanski a vile human being.  Even Salon agrees with me.  (Great article, by the way.)  In spite of what Whoopi Goldberg said, it was rape-rape.  I’m not really sure what moral code says that a man that drugs a thirteen year old girl and proceeds to penetrate her both vaginally and anally while she protested qualifies as anything other than rape.  The real kind, as if there is such thing as pseudo-rape of a 13 year old girl.  If I walked in on a event like that around here, I’d shoot him.  And then I’d get a freaking medal.  And a parade.

Personally I think even still as a 76 year old man he deserves to have his nether regions removed with a rusty scapel by a drunken, near sighted, baboon.  Unfortunately, the law doesn’t allow for that.  The law allows for him to be arrested and extradited.  Upon his return, he will actually have to go to hearings.

I’m glad his victim has found a level of peace.  She and her family should be left alone.  Roman Child-Rapist Polanski on the other hand should meet the  scalpel weilding baboon.  I don’t really care what he’s been through.  He’s a sick, vile human being.  Yeah, it’s tragic that his pregnant wife was killed by the Manson family.  That doesn’t excuse him for raping a child.

I don’t give a damn that he apparently made some good movies.  There is no contribution to the silver screen that makes raping a child okay.  It is never okay to give a child champagne and quaaludes and then rape her.  How anyone could possibly excuse that is beyond me.  And yet we have several Hollyweirdos doing just that.

‘The case is three decades old and is all but dead but for minor technicalities. We stand by and wait for his release and his next masterwork,’ said jury president Debra Winger.

Yeah, there is that minor technicality of never facing the punishment for breaking the law.  You know, the law that says you can’t rape children.

Disgusting.  Roman Polanski is a child rapist.  Were he anyone else, he would have gone to prison where the prisoners would have dealt with him.  Even criminals have a code of honor higher than those in Hollywood.

Argh!!! Noooooooo! Man Fail!

Dudes + Pantyhose = Mantyhose.

*facepalm

They’re Men, They’re Men in Tiiights!

They roam around the forest looking for fights!

Um, this guy won’t have any trouble finding those fights.  I’d kick his as just for the short pleated skirt.  Dudes shouldn’t wear shorts this short.

And again with the uterus retreating.

I get it.  Some men wear hosiery under their clothing where it’s really freaking cold.  Fine.  Do what you gotta do.  But for the love of all things manly, don’t let me see it!

Maybe he’s a lumberjack

I’m a lumberjack and I’m OK
I sleep all night and I work all day
(He’s a lumberjack and he’s OK
He sleeps all night and he works all day)
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch
I go to the lavat’ry
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And have buttered scones for tea
(He cuts down trees…)
(He’s a lumberjack…)
I cut down trees, I skip and jump
I love to press wild flow’rs
I put on women’s clothing
And hang around in bars
(He cuts down trees…)
(He’s a lumberjack…)
I cut down trees, I wear high heels
Suspenders and a bra
I wish I’d been a girlie
Just like my dear papar
(He cuts down trees…)
(He’s a lumberjack…)

Ya know what guys?  If you’re wearing these, you’re not getting laid.  Simple as that. I don’t wear pantyhose anymore.  They are annoying and they ruin easily.  For me, pantyhose are one time use only.  I expect any real man to live life in a far more rough and tumble fashion than I.  These wouldn’t last an hour on my hubby.

I do wear the occasional pair of tights when appropriate and when needed for added warmth.  If a guy needs them for warmth, I shouldn’t be able to see them.  I need them for warmth because I might be wearing a skirt in the winter.  Come on, Celtic men have worn kilts (sexy) in Scotland with no tights for generations.  Have I mentioned I have a high standard for masculinity?

A man wearing mantyhose does not make me want to bear him sons.  I have no desire to have pansy weakling sons.  If you want to land yourself a dangerous woman, mantyhose are not going to help.  You may as well be wearing some flowery scent and showing off your cat’s latest show ribbons.  And driving a minivan.

MAN FAIL

Again! No! No! No! No!

Argh!  First we had Manscara, and then Meggings, and now this?!?!

OMGWTFBBQ?

And it’s not even Russell GirlyMan Brand this time sporting it.  But this might just be his kitchen.

This is apparently where a man is supposed to enjoy that age old practice of applying fire to meat in order to create food.  The color?  Man-genta.  Seriously, throwing ‘man’ into a word where it never belonged in the first place does not magically add testicles to the thing.  No matter how you screw with the language, you cannot infuse testosterone where it does not occur naturally.  Just because Ken’s junk is reportedly hiding somewhere in Barbie’s dream house, it does not mean you can barf pink all over a place and call it manly.  It’s just not right.

Thankfully I can gaze across the living room at my man while he works with the skin of dead animals.  Manliness is not dead yet.

It seems that it’s curtains for the last remnants of manhood residing in New York.   Lacy, gently wafting curtains.

Parental Advisory

I think most product warnings are silly, and I often wonder what kind of morons they are written for.  Do people really use hair dryers in the bathtub?  Do we really want to continue the genetic material of people that think drain cleaner is good to drink?  Or the sleeping aids that list drowsiness as a side effect?  Isn’t that kind of the point?

But I have one to offer that may actually provide you with some level of benefit.  Trust me on this one.  I have learned the hard way.

DO NOT TAKE YOUR CHILDREN TO MCDONALDS!  At least for now.  I realize this is a nearly impossible task since children are implanted at some point in the birth canal with an insatiable desire for whatever the guy in the big red shoes has to offer.  (I think McDonalds has devised top secret technology to actually beam their commercials directly into the womb.)

I realize that a Happy Meal contains specially developed pre-teen crack and the addiction is a serious one, but you have to be strong.  It will be worth it.  Right now, in the Happy Meal, they are giving away Kidz Bop CDs.  Some of you may not be aware of Kidz Bop, and you are so very lucky.  Some sadistic studio guy decided that it would be a great idea to take some inane pop music and then have some tone deaf children sing along at the top of their lungs.  He would record this abomination and burn it to CDs to distribute to children.  The original plan was to ship them to Guantanamo, but the Geneva conventions forbid torture.

As unsuspecting parents, we slipped the brightly packaged disc into the car’s CD player and were subjected to this wretched thing that makes elevator music sound artistic.  But that’s not the worst of it!  No, they apparently commissioned the best catchy jingle writers in the business.  It sticks in your mind!  Long after the car is parked, the ill-conceived (begin exagerated air quotes) harmonies and melodies (/exagerated air quotes) continue to create this cacophony in your mind.

There is but one cure.  Be aware that some times the cure is painful as well, but at least it will eliminate the disease.  If you have been subjected to the horrific Kidz Bop CDs, click on this link.

Side effects may include: head bopping, toe-tapping, maniacal giggling, inability to see mushrooms the same way again.  Use only as directed.

Confession That Could Forever Revoke My Status As A Midwesterner

Otherwise known as Things You Already Know If You’ve Perused My Archives

or One Way Not To Win Friends and Influence Oklahomans

or possibly The Post That Alienates People I Really Do Like

I hate football.  That’s not exactly right.  It’s fine, really.  I don’t mind that it exists.  As long as it exists in a realm separate from me. I don’t even mind other people think it’s great.  There are people that I love and respect deeply that for reasons beyond my comprehension love it.  But that glazed over look you get when you start talking about ‘the game’ is my coping technique that keeps me from gouging out my eyes with the nearest blunt object.

Some of my favorite blogs even contain sport-centric posts this time of year.  Don’t you people understand that I’m trying to read these things at work?!  The catatonic stare could get me caught you know.  People might even notice the drool.  It’s very difficult to manage people from my happy place.

And then I get an email invitation to a tailgate party.  Complete with the NASCAR RV.  It starts out “If you like colder weather, football, tailgating……”  Sure!  I’m so there.  Right after I strip naked and roll in the rose bushes.  We’ve all got priorities.

And these people that I love and care about are saying, “But Jen, you’re a conservative!  You’re from the heartland.  You went to a state college.  You like guns.  You’re from a town inhabited by more cows than people.  You participated in a pig calling competiton in elementary school for crying out loud!”

Yes, it’s all true.  And yet, I’ve never tuned into the appeal of large sweaty men chasing a ball and throwing themselves on top of one another.  I’ve tried.  I went to my high school’s home games.  I watched while the corn fed farm boys threw around the pansy kids from that other school.  I was the one that sang the national anthem to start the game.  It’s just not worth freezing my butt to an aluminum bench even if the band kids snuck in beer.

If you’re one of those fans and you’ve made it this far, I applaud you.  I do not have the capacity to focus this far into a game recap.  Really, the hat I don’t wear is off to you.  And if you did, you’re probably one of those people that I love and respect and maybe even have shopped with.  And now you’re going to flame me.   I look forward to it because I know you are far more eloquent and educated than my usual flamers and assume that you will not suggest I off myself.  It should be fun.