Calling Bullshit

Total Population of Alaska: 670,053.

Total Population of Chicago: 2,833,321.

Hey Governor Palin: I bet it's harder to organize community projects in a city of almost 3 million than it is to govern an entire state that's less than a quarter of a million. So please don't wag that around as your proof of experience. It makes you look silly.

Just an FYI.

Hypocrisy

Listen, it's not that I think the whole country should get their panties in a big wad because Governor and VP-nominee Sarah Pailin's daughter is pregnant. They shouldn't. But what I am finding very hard to stomach is the Republican party thinking that it has the right to call the subject entirely off-limits. If Governor Pailin was a Democrat, and was Obama's nominee, you bet your sweet-ass that at the very least Faux News would be having talking-heads blabbering on about family fucking values. Let's call a spade a spade here: according to Republicans, if a liberal family's kid gets knocked up, it's because there are no family values being taught and the parents aren't participating and kids are pretty much handed a condom at puberty's onset and left to their own devices. But if a conservative family's kid turns up pregnant, we're supposed to admire how courageous the mother is to be public with it and how awesome for family values that the daughter is going to keep the child and marry the father when they're both clearly not even responsible enough to practically work a rubber? Why is that okay? I applaud Obama and the Democrats for not taking the easy punches here, but I really do have to wonder why people aren't making mention of the fact that if the shoe were on the other foot, Republicans would be roasting that kid and her fetus on a spit.

BLEH

Today may be the most disgusting day in the history of the universe.

1. This morning, my coworker, Holly, talked about a time she got a sunburn and went to the gym two days later and exercised so hard she had sweat bubbles UNDER HER SKIN.
2. Then someone threw up in the trashcans outside of our office.
3. Finally, our environmentally conscious study abroad coordinator was eating her organic local broccolli today and found THREE grubs/larval creatures in it. One LOOKED LIKE BROCCOLI.

I need to go home.

holy shitballs

Pardon my French.

Here is the transcript for a commercial I happened to stumble on while fastforwarding through a DVRd episode of Intervention.

Picture two ships: the Santa Maria fading into a cruise ship, after a black screen that says "We've conquered the seas." Next: "We've conquered the skies" followed by a Wright brother's plain and a standard passenger plane. "We've conquered the heavens," followed by a shuttle launch and a space walk. Finally, "But how can we conquer our own self doubts?" Shown: a busy street. "Find out." Super cheesy volcano explosion CG that looks like it had a public access channel budget. "Dianetics.org"

I just... i think I need an intervention now.

feelin' hot, hot, hot

It is currently 80 degrees in my apartment. My window air conditioner is not working. In an attempt to thwart this problem and not have to go spend the night away from my pets, I have come up with the following ghetto ways to stay cool:

I bought four packs of sliced watermelons and a bag of grapes at the grocery store. Nature's air conditioner!

I basically chugged 44 ounces of Icee. Gas station's air conditioner!

I bought a bag of ice, which I keep emptying portions of into a bowl and placing in front of my fan. Ghetto air conditioner!

I'm watching Knocked Up, which is hilarious.

Lemonade out of lemons I guess. Other apartments in my complex are flooded, so I guess I can't complain. Oh wait, it's 80 degrees in my apartment! I still can.

CAR-rap...

Or: "The Saga of My Car Trying to Make Me Lose My Goddamn Mind." (And, apparently, sapping my desire to blog.)

Ok, so I mentioned last time that my car was having transmission issues, right? Which sucked ass. So I found out eventually that getting the transmission rebuilt would be the cheapest option, at the bargain price of $1300. Bah. So through a divine intervention (read: startlingly large loan from someone who was very kind, and who had no reason to help me, thank you, good Karma I've managed to amass!) I was able to get that done. The car place that rebuilt the transmission does very good work, but they're also quite slow. So it took ten days from the time they got my car to have it ready for me, which was already two and a half weeks after it already died. Bumming rides is actually terribly degrading after a while, or at least very frustrating.

So, last Thursday, they finally called and said it was all done and I could come get my car, and so I did, with much triumph. And Friday, I triumphantly drove my car into work, where it triumphantly began spewing white smoke and the temperature guage shot up to high. My direct quote? "Oh, you mother fucker." (Pardon my French.) An hour and a half later, I drove my "cooled off" car down to the car place, where it proceeded to overheat again, and then froze up and would not start. BLEH. The nice car guys picked me up and drove me home, where they told me that my radiator had a hole in it, that likely was started back when I rear-ended that dude on the shitty birthday of doom. So much for having my car for that weekend.

But Monday evening, they called again. You're all set, come get your car, that'll be a hundred bucks. Tuesday morning? Car wouldn't start. Lovely car place? Jumped it, and after letting it charge/warm up for a few minutes, I drove myself to school, where the battery proceeded to die again. I called my dad, cussing a blue streak, and ready to Thelma and Louise my freaking car off the nearest available cliff, and was informed that it would most likely be an alternator. GAH. So at that point, I had the car towed to the other garage I use. The good news? The car was fixed in six hours. The bad news? $300.

Mind you, I paid $3000 for the car, which I do love. But if anything else breaks on it? I'm giving that bitch the Mythbusters treatment.

And the icing on the crap cake? I've been driving with a suspended license (I know, I suck) for an unpaid (so they say) ticket for... well, way too long. So no license, expired plates, every time I saw a cop car, I'd basically say a Hail Mary and hope for the best. This morning, a mile and a half from school? Pulled over by a cop. I was practically crying before he could even get to the car. But the cop was actually really nice, gave me the cheapest ticket he was allowed to do, just for the expired plates, and totally gave me the giant kick in the ass to get to the BMV and get stuff straightened out. So at the other end of the story, I emerge triumphant, with a running car with valid plates and a valid license, and all's well that ends well. Expensively, but well.

But I'm going to a b&b tomorrow with Jon, so that makes up for most of it. Well, if not, I'll at least forget it for a few hours!

My Car is Poltergeist

So my car is wonderful and I love her, but she is getting more and more weird and ghetto. Over the summer, it started to be that if I tried to roll the passenger window down with the door unlocked, the door would actually pop open. If I lock it, I'm safe, but then it only rolls halfway down, which is great in July when you don't have air conditioning. My cruise control only works about half the time. My windshield wiper tank is busted, meaning that I squeegee my windows at gas stations a lot, particularly this time of year because I can't see squat with all the snow and salt junk on my windows.

But the car's newest oddity is by far it's most irritating. The radio is possessed.

It started last week. I was driving home from work and decided to flip from NPR to a music station. Then my radio turned back to NPR. Spontaneously. It did this like 4 times. Then it stopped letting me change stations altogether. I can change channels intermittently, usually near the beginning of getting into my car, but it sometimes still changes on it's own. And better yet, it changes two of the pre-set buttons to whichever channel it's currently on. So NPR is now programmed into two buttons instead of just one.

Someone needs to find me that short lady and Craig T. Nelson, STAT.

DVR and CBS-enemies?

Dear CBS:

I don't know what was wrong with your network timing AGAIN this week, but this is the second time in four weeks that I've DVRd The Amazing Race only to have it not start at the appropriate time. I missed the last half of the episode, you douchewads! Get with the program!

HATE you,
Angie

Hate. Hate. Hate. Intensely.

I'm sure you've heard of those horrible people who protest soldiers' funerals with their "God hates fags" signs, and they've sunk to an all new level of absolutely repulsive. DO NOT click this unless you're prepared to be furious and lose a shred more faith in all humanity.

The thing that blows my mind about these awful people is how they take the life of a person that they supposedly believe in who was all about love and acceptance, and turn it into a hateful, disgusting pile of shit. They claim that God hates the entire world. Does this exclude them? Are we supposed to believe that God threw Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Evil out of petty anger? The being you supposedly believe in who endowed you with a soul and free will is actually a petty kid with a magnifying glass, burning up ants just so he can feel powerful over something? I don't get how these people try to justify worship to a God who clearly has contempt for the entire creation he made, and who finds his people irredeemable.

These people make me so deeply sad and angry.

Uplifting post in just a bit! I'm not dwelling on this disgusting crap for long.

You know what sucks?

Headaches

Oh Hi, I still exist

Sorry for the dearth of posts lately. Things have been so busy and kind of dumb lately, with some family drama and work being busy, etc. But today, you will get a mishmash of my thoughts! First, a letter:

Dear Pope Benedict,

Listen, I know I'm a lapsed Catholic at best and you have virtually no reason to listen to me, but I really have to get some stuff off my chest. This whole thing, where you decided that Catholics are really the only Christians? Really pisses me off. One of the few things that I felt like the Catholic church really had over some of the other branches of Christianity was that it didn't do that. Before, it was like, "Yeah, you guys have some of the truth, but not all of it, but that's cool, you're on the right track." And your recent statement still sort of says that, but now you're all haughty and snotty about it. You do realize that Christians the world over work under the assumption that Catholics aren't really Christian, right? Like, we're kind of a confused cousin. And I've argued valiantly on the side of Catholics here, even though I don't agree with various parts of Church doctrine, et cetera, because my basic opinion is, God is smart enough to know we're all going to have different ways of finding Him. And no one has any business telling another person that they're wrong, because unless you've actually met the Entity, gotten your picture taken next to Him/Her, and have a t-shirt that says "I met the Creator of the Universe and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, and, oh yeah, affirmation of the Universe," I don't think you should speak with "infallible authority" about His will and truth. I don't know if you remember, but the Church and other major religions have kind of caused some major trouble with shit like that. (Reference: The Inquisition, The Crusades, the Holocaust, etc.) I understand that this is your faith, and it's truth and real to you, but I've found telling other people that they're wrong is not necessarily the most persuasive activity. Dialogue is. And your statement kind of shuts that down, and I don't think that's cool. Also, you sound like a pissy 12 year old by basing your argument on "Since you guys can't trace your origins back to the Apostles, you only sort of count." I don't know if you're aware, Your Holiness, but some of the wearers of the big hat bought the office, sold the office, screwed the office, et cetera. You can't tell me these were all divine descendants of Peter and tell me that you guys are infallible. Not buying it.

Seriously, if you want people to come to the Church and participate in it, you probably shouldn't make an effort to come off like a cranky, racist grandpa. Just my opinion. Oh, and looking like Emperor Palpatine doesn't help at all, either.

Chill out, be blessed, et cetera,
Angie

So that ended up being kind of long, and should probably be a post unto itself. More later, then!

Ha. Ha.

You know what's hilarious? Having the hood of your car fly up on your way to work.

And by hilarious, I mean "Sucked so hard my cheeks puckered."

This is the kind of week I'm having.

More details to come!

My Super Sweet go F' Yourself

Every single person who has been on "My Super Sweet Sixteen" should be put on an island and forced to Lord of the Flies each other. Seriously. I have never seen a single child on that show who could behave like a human being. This girl freaks out and sobs and pitches a tantrum the size of Alaska because her mom gives her a brand new Lexus at school on her birthday rather than at her party. "You fucking ruined everything!" she cries. Seriously, what the hell kind of entitled bitch acts like that? And what kind of parent allows it? Fine, you get to be on TV or whatever, but now the entire viewing audience of MTV knows that

• if you're the girl, you're a giant, pissy, bitchy twat
• if you're the parent, you're spineless and your kid owns your ass.

And how the fuck do you not know that? You know MTV cuts this show to make you look like the biggest asshole possible. Why play into it? Why not be sweet and normal and fuck with them instead? If I had at any point in my life acted for a moment like one of these kids, my parents would have slapped the ever loving shit out of me, and rightfully so. Jesus. This is the kind of stuff that makes me hate everyone.

Venting Keeps Head from Exploding

Letters are turning out to be some of my favorite ways to vent/update. Away we go!

Dear Wendy’s,

So, I needed to go get my tire patched at lunch, and I figured I would swing on in to your lovely establishment on the way back to work and grab a bite. Nothing complicated, just a couple of cheeseburgers and a small fry. I was handed my bag quickly and it felt about the right heft, and I was preoccupied with getting back to work and talking to my dad on the phone (I know, I know, don’t cell and drive; don’t you judge me, Wendy’s). So imagine my dismay when I got back to my desk at work and found not the food I ordered but two boxes of chicken nuggets.

Now, I hear your chicken nuggets are lovely. But I don’t like chicken nuggets. Not even with the ranch sauce you so thoughtfully provided. Which is why I ordered cheeseburgers. Which is why I drove back to Wendy’s to obtain said cheeseburgers. I’m sorry I disappointed and inconvenienced you by returning for my food; perhaps I should have just taken what I was given and been grateful. But I did pay $3.21 for my lunch, and I wanted what I wanted. And you cost me 30 minutes of my life I can’t get back, and some gas. Uncool.

I’m calling later to demand free shit, FYI.

Get an IQ,
Angie

Dear pResident Bush,

Wow, we have a lot to talk about today, don’t we?

First of all, why did you show up in my dreams last night? Second of all, please don’t ever do that again. I dreamed that you were driving me to my car in a ridiculously large Walmart parking lot, and we were even having a fairly genial chat. I informed you that I was a bleeding heart liberal, and you didn’t throw me under the wheels of your SUV, which was nice of you. But please, my psyche is fragile enough without someone I generally don’t care for or respect who is not a serial killer showing up in my dreams. So you stay out of mine and I’ll stay out of yours, okay?

My next bone is to just let you know that vetoing the stem cell legislation is a shitty thing to do. I watched my grandmother die of ALS, sir, otherwise known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. In case you aren’t familiar with it, it’s fucking evil. Basically, it shuts people down from bottom to top, encasing a sharp mind in a body that eventually can’t even swallow. Stem cell research is one of the few tools in the arsenal that stands a real chance of fighting ALS. And it’s not the only one: Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s Disease, cancer, there are so many applications it’s mind boggling. The embryos being used for this research are not gathered specifically for this purpose; they are the leftovers from in vitro fertilization, generally speaking. If they’re not used for stem cell research, they are literally thrown in the trash. Now, I ask you, sir, which seems to be more respectful of the potential of life: allowing that potential to be realized in some fashion, or tossing it with your empty Diet Coke? Furthermore, I have to wonder if you have never seen someone that you love dearly suffering from a disease that stem cell research might benefit. Even if you haven’t, I guarantee, someone else that you love has. Your moral opposition to this makes zero sense to me.

And finally, regarding your remarks last night at the Congressional Picnic:

THE PRESIDENT: Beats Workin, thanks for coming. (Applause.) Kermit, come up here. Kermit, we're proud to have you.
MR. RUFFINS: Well, thanks for having us.
THE PRESIDENT: Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers, right out of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Applause.)
MR. RUFFINS: Thank you. Thanks for having us. We're glad to be here.
THE PRESIDENT: Proud you're here. Thanks for coming. You all enjoy yourself. Make sure you pick up all the trash after it's over. (Laughter.)
God bless you, and may God bless America. Thanks for coming. (Applause.)
…what? Seriously, what the hell? Is there any way that what you said is not racist, disgusting, ignorant, stupid? Because if there is, please show me, as I am genuinely confused by it. Come on, you’re the most visible representative for our entire country. Use your brain cells. Or at least let your speechwriters tell you what to do.

I understand you’re busy driving the country to hell in a handcart, I was just wanting to mention these things.

God Bless America, I didn’t Vote for You,
Angie

Letters whilst babysitting

Alex has already gone to bed, and I'm watching TV. It has prompted me to write the following letters:

Dear Daily Show with Jon Stewart:

The Shaw-skank Redemption? Fucking awesome. God bless you.

Love,
The Shmaily Shmoe with Shmon Shmewart

Dear Paris,

Suck it. Giant temper tantrums shouldn't get you out of jail, so fucking cope with it, douchebag.

Anti-Love,
EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.

Dear Screech,

Yeah, I'm not calling you Dustin Diamond. You'd have to earn that, since you seem to hate the entire reason anyone knows who the fuck you are anyway. I'm not proud that I watch Celebrity Fit Club, but I'm just waiting for people to kill you. Marcia Brady and Kimberly Locke may not fuck you up (although I wouldn't put it past them), but Brat, Cledus and Warren Fucking G might, so step lightly. I know the show's already over, but I hope Harvey finds you and eats your brains, if you have any. You're hilarious in your transparency and desperation to cling to famousness in any way. You're a dumb bastard, please go away, I hate you.

Overcompensating asshole.
Not Impressed

Still hate my life, but calmer

Paper's still gone. Car's still banged up. Good humor has been restored, though, so that's something at least.

Which is a good thing, because it looks very likely that I'm going to need to take math AGAIN. I bombed the final, which took me to failing. If anyone wants to come pretend to be me and take this fucking class for me that'd be greeeeeaaaaaaat. But I do have good friends, because my friend Kara said she'd take it with me.

Blargh. Life can be a pain in the ass.

asdlr;rkjasasdgajkerawhatemylife

My life has become a frigging comedy of errors that is not funny. This is not a PG-13 entry, if you don't like bad language, bye-bye, please.

Today is my 25th birthday. Hooray. Here is what I am doing to celebrate so far:

• I rear-ended a dude on the way to work. He didn't want to call anyone or exchange insurance, which I guess is my birthday present considering I can barely afford my insurance as it is. I must have hit my chest on the wheel or something, though, because it hurts.
• I spent three hours at school last night getting myself to the point where I felt I only had another two hours of paper left to write. Somehow, I did something that caused the paper not to be saved fucking anywhere. So every word I wrote last night is fucking gone. Just gone. This is for a class I have an incomplete in, that is frankly so far overdue as to be fucking ridiculous. I now get to spend tonight and tomorrow getting this goddamn thing done, which is great, considering I hate it so much now I can't stand to look at it.
• My parents are going to court today to decide whether my mother should get spousal support. I have a feeling it is going to be very bad.

I am so overwhelmingly unhappy at the moment I can't even try to be cute.

You know what sucks?

Having the stomach flu during your finals week when you need to be cramming for math and writing a paper. Suck it, life. Suck it long, suck it hard.

Various and Sundry

First, an open letter/rant.

Dear People Who Use Their Cell Phones in Public Restrooms,

What in the HELL is wrong with you? We call it a restroom, but we are not resting! Most of us are actually GOING TO THE BATHROOM. That involves noises that are unsavory, not to mention the 1,000 decibel sound of the toilet actually flushing. You come into the bathroom, yammering away, and then you go into a stall and are taking care of business. The yammering should have stopped! I guaran-frickin-tee you, you are not talking to anyone that is so important that you cannot say, "Hey, I have to use the bathroom, I'll call you right back."

Even if it doesn't bother you, it bothers your fellow restroom users! I have gone to the bathroom for a reason, and sometimes that reason involves Very Bad Sounds. I'm sure you and your boyfriend have a wonderful, solid relationship, but none of us have met, and I don't want him to hear me going to the bathroom, or have you tell him "Damn, it stinks in here." It's a bathroom! Sometimes they stink! They're not phone booths! Call. People. Back.

Sincerely,
Two stalls over, eavesdropping and judging.

I had the most messed up dream ever last night. I don't remember all of it, but part of it involved being in Manhattan, and part of it involved a slammin' hotel. Also, Donald Trump was there, and Mommy Hilton, whatever her name is, and in my dream they were married, and also relatively pleasant. At some point I went off on someone at a beauty counter, because she was threatening to try and withhold my inheritance. I think she was Darryll Hannah, and I know I threw cosmetics at her. Also, I was watching Alex, this kid that I baby sit, and that was weird, too, because why would I take him to New York? And at one point we were getting food and I got him a cheeseburger or something, and there was 40 Year-Old Virgin themed hot dog stand, which was weird, because the names were all really sexual. And I ended up getting a cheeseburger there as well, which I also didn’t understand. Weirdest of all is that there was a guy who was doing something lewd that involved having his junk out, and he was going to get caught, so he stuck it in a bun, and it was the size of a log, and passed it off as a hot dog. And he took a bite of it so he wouldn’t get in trouble! I’m not even going to try and analyze that dream, because it is the most fucked-up thing my brain has ever thrown up.

Saturday Day

Okay, so concert-ward. Better late than never, right? Damn, I'm slow, though.

I’ve been looking forward to Guster playing at the Murat for weeks, and Saturday was finally the day. But before that I had made plans to head down to Bloomington with my friend Suzy to this Catholic retreat place for Mass and food. No problem, we were supposed to be back by 3, and then I was going to meet up with my friends around 5:30 for food and concert fun. In theory, of course. In practice, this is what went down:

Suzy fixed us this delicious breakfast. There was a loud rap on my apartment door around 8:45. I’m thinking, “Barry, your mom can walk to the damn hospital.” But no! It was a dozen red roses and a card! So I’m all “I got flow—that’s not my name.” Kara had gotten flowers, from our friend and co-worker Sami, who had suddenly decided he was entirely smitten with her. Well first, we were all plotzing for Kara, because really, how cute is that? But second, because I am a shallow and small person, I said, “Wait, did a woman who is not me just get flowers at my apartment?” Fortunately, my friends all laughed at me and pointed out that they did give me lovely dishes and stuff the night before, so I tried to reel in my smallness. I still contend that it was slightly bullshit.

So I decided to take Shadow over to my parent’s house for the day since I was going to be out most of it. Of course, while I was over there, my father mentioned something ass-y my mother had said, and I ranted about that and got myself worked up into a royal snit. Post-snit, I saw the girls off besides Suzy, and we headed B-town-ward and talked theology and whatnot. It was really nice. So was the Mass. It was more old-school than anything I was used to, but still really cool. I don’t know. There are aspects of Catholicism that rock, and others that do not. We’ll see.

On the way back, we stopped at a diner called Lennie’s, and I had a sandwich that had to have been inspired by God Himself. (Catherine, if you read this, please try to visualize, as I do not yet have a digital camera!) Picture a pile of roast beef, mixed with bits of crumbled bacon, slices of tomatoes, sweet marinated red onions and melted mozzarella cheese on store-made, fresh baked bread. Also, picture it being the size of your face, because it is. It’s a marvel and a joy and oh, so delicious. Also delicious was the cucumber slaw, very tart and refreshing. SO GOOD. After that, Suzy stopped at this Thai place to get some to-go for her dinner. She just couldn’t make the trip and skip it.

Well, we didn’t get back by 3. It was more like, oh, 4:30, and I had forgotten my cell phone at home. I had four messages and seven missed calls. Did you ever notice that on the days you forget your cell phone you become popular? This is what seems to happen to me.

Coming up in adventures of weekend-dom: A great concert! Crappy weather! And the afore-mentioned rotten parents! Stay tuned!