Do You Realize?

Letter to the Person Who Stole My Purse Yesterday

Dear Degenerate Asshole Madam:

Yesterday you hit the jackpot. You scored yourself a Louis Vuitton Batignolles bag! Congratulations! Oh, you don't know what that is? Its the fine-ass purse you stole off the back of some distracted, unsuspecting woman's chair yesterday. That woman would be me, and I'm fucking enraged slightly miffed.

Yes, I understand that you probably needed the cash in my wallet for your next meth fix diapers. I get that; really, I do. But couldn't your skanky ass you have just taken the cash and left the wallet? I've had it for six years; it's one of the few things I bought for myself at the market in Florence. The zipper doesn't even reliably work anymore, but it's filled with memories.

Yes, I know that you thought my credit cards would come in handy. But I had those cancelled before you made it to the corner store for your Mickey's Malt Liqor and cigarettes, bitch school supplies. And the DMV knows my driver's license number was stolen, so the driver's license won't do you a damn bit of good, even if by some miracle you looked even slightly like me or thought of stealing my identity. (But I know you weren't planning that, silly.) You can use my Kroger Shopping Rewards card if you'd like, though. I didn't cancel it.

Yes, I realize that you think my purse looks fantastic with your crack whore chic wardrobe. However, that purse will never hold memories for you. You'll never be able to say your husband picked it out all on his own one Christmas, then sent you on a scavenger hunt to find it, filled with Butterfingers, at the end. But you'll have memories, too, girl. Like, remember that one time I saw that woman minding her own business at Subway and she forgot her purse and so I stole that mofo? Those were the days!

Oh, yes, I'm certain that my son's Nintendo DS will make one of your young 'uns very happy. But what will the other five think of you playing favorites? Oh, I know; just tell them they can have something out of the next purse you steal. That will fix everything.

Thank you for making my life a nightmare for a few days, having to have my car towed and re-chipped because you now have my damn car keys, having to have my safety deposit box drilled out because you now have my damn bank key, and having to change the locks on my house because you now have my address and my fucking house key, too!

Fuck off and die,
Lori

P.S. I really and sincerely hope that karma is real and that you will be reincarnated as a pubic louse living on a meth addict.

Discourteous...

...people drive me batshit crazy! I'm on a "discourtesy sucks" tear right now. My neighbors, they have no common courtesy. Drives me nuts.

On Monday, we're supposed to receive a package from UPS from Amazon. Said package never comes. On Tuesday, I spend forty minutes of my day waiting in the Guantanamo-Bay-prison-cell-sized UPS office while they look quizzically at the computer at the "Delivered" status and digging through the warehouse and trying to reach the driver. They finally reach the driver, who proceeds to say, "Well, I know I delivered something to 1274 Whispering Pines (neighbors who are rarely home), but I didn't have anything for 1270 (us, who were home all day Monday). Ummmm, you know what Brown can do for me? Don't be hiring fucking dyslexics for drivers; that job requires reading skills to deliver my shit! So I go next door, and... SURPRISE! The neighbors aren't home. Later that night I trudge over there again, and the neighbor hands over my package. My package that is properly addressed, and my package that has my name and telephone number emblazoned on the address label. Might this inconsiderate boob of a neighbor have taken 30 seconds to pitch my package on the correct doorstep or even give me a jingle to tell me to come get my own fucking package?

Also on Monday, I notice a strange red truck parked on the curb next to our house. It's a framing contractor, and we're not having any work done. Our neighbors (different unthinking neighbor), however, are, and there's another truck in front of their house. There was plenty of room for this framing contractor to park in front of the correct house, but he'd rather park next to a random stranger's house, one who doesn't want his creepy ass parking there!

Last night, we return from errands in Plano to find our across-the-street neighbors having a party, with two party-goers parked in front of our house, one of them blocking one end of our driveway! AAAAAARRRGH!

Now, I understand that since our house sits on a corner, it has more parking real estate available than others. And I understand that since we have a circular driveway, we could theoretically use the other end of the driveway. But part of what we paid for this house no doubt was the "corner lot" distinction. And why should I be required to back out of our driveway with one car to let the other car out, just so that some idiotic boob can park wherever he wants? And, maybe it's just me, but if I need to have someone park in front of a neighbor's house, I'm going to go knock on their door & ask them or at least give them a heads-up and give them the opportunity to say, "Fine, but please don't block my motherfucking driveway! Thank you for asking!"

</rant>

Pet Peeve #27

What I'm about to say is probably going to seem horrible to some, outrageous to others, but that's okay with me.

I am sick of hearing about "autism this" and "autism that" and how terrible autism is and how it is such a devastating illness with no cause and no cure and blah, blah, blah... Yeah, I get it. People with autism lead a spectacularly different life. But let's get something straight. I would trade my son's diagnoses for autism any day. It would take me about a millisecond to make that particular decision. Oddly enough, I think a lot of parents of autistics don't want pity; it's the autism fundraisers proclaiming what a blight this illness is upon the lives of beautiful children that get me.

Before you jump on the mommyblogger "she's bashing autism" bandwagon, take a minute to listen. I have no problem with the idea that living with autism is uncomfortable, strange, and confusing. But until your autistic son is specifically NOT invited to a family reunion because of his autism, don't cry to me about how devastating this autism thing is. Until you've actually contemplated the legality of future mandatory sterilization for your 12-year-old because the thought of him procreating scares the hell out of you, don't whine about how watching your autistic child struggle with making friends makes you want to cry. Until your autistic child cuts himself to see how it would feel, or tries to jump out his second-story bedroom window in a delusional manic rage, I don't want to hear about how terribly frightening autism statistics are. Autism, my friends, is like Bipolar Lite. All the quirky character flaws, none of the terrifying mood fluctuations. Count your autistic blessings. Count them one by one.

Social awkwardness? On the Bipolar menu, you get that plus a side order of frontal lobe impairment, which causes my child to actually act out or loudly voice his inappropriate thoughts.

Lack of or delay in spoken language? If your other option was a barrage of hate-filled vitriol possibly lasting for hours, then a tsunami of sorrow washing through, choking every word with despair and self-loathing, would you take that instead?

Little or no eye contact? I'd wet myself with relief if my child couldn't look me in the eyes when he tells me things I know for certain are not true, because it would mean he knew they weren't true, too. As it is, he is truly convinced of his own brand of reality, and it almost never matches the reality of the people around him. And he'll look you in the eye and tell you all of it, because it is his reality as his brain has processed it.

So, while I understand the discomfort and confusion surrounding parents of kids with autism, I don't feel sorry for them. Maybe I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself some days.

6 Flags, 3 People, 250 Bucks, 2 Thumbs Down

Instead of "2 Thumbs Down," I was going to say, "1 Grand Ass-Rape," but I thought it might scare some people off.

I took Eldest and Middle to Six Flags Over Texas yesterday. For some inexplicable reason, my memory of Six Flags and the disproportionate equation between 'fun' and 'fucked' always seems to fade. It seems to need refreshing every couple of years. This entry, hopefully, will serve to remind me in two years: DON'T DO IT! For people looking for an honest review of Six Flags Over Texas; for people who want to learn what NOT to do in marketing in order to keep happy customers; or for people who just want to hear about my Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day; this post is for you, too.

I was seduced into thinking that a day at Six Flags wouldn't be so bad because they were running an Internet offer whereby everyone could buy a ticket at the "child's price" of $29.99 (as opposed to the regular adult price of $46.99). I also feel compelled to mention that their "child" pricing is based on a height, not age, scale. Anyone over 48" tall must pay for an "adult" ticket. According to growth charts used at Children's Hospital Boston and Colorado, that is the height of an average 6-8 year old. According to Six Flags' pricing, your average-sized 9-year-old should be charged the same price as an adult.

Total price so far: $100.00

We arrived at Six Flags at 10:30 a.m., thirty minutes after park opening. We paid $15 for regular parking in East Egypt. Our other option was $20 for "preferred" or $30 for "valet."

Total price so far: $115.00

After riding the tram from East Egypt to the front gate, we had our sunscreen taken from us at the front gate. Despite there being no mention of it on the website, we weren't allowed to take in our sunscreen because it was in a spray can. We had to buy sunscreen from Six Flags. (BTW, it smelled like Creamsicles... if I'm going to get greasy and smell like Creamsicles, there'd better be whipped cream and something sexual involved!)

Total price so far: $126.00

Immediately upon arriving at the gate, we realized how stinking busy this place was going to be. Saturdays are one thing, we've gone on a Saturday before, but this was Christian Music Weekend, there were church groups from all over Texas and Oklahoma there. Line waits were already outrageous. We rode one ride, The Flashback, and then it was lunchtime. Middle and I ate at Panda Express, Eldest had a pretzel, and we split one large drink. We waited in line for 30 minutes, and lunch cost $30.

Total price so far: $156.00

The three of us decided that we would eat a tiny, shared dinner in order to purchase Speedpasses, which ostensibly would help our chances of getting on rides in a more timely fashion. Since we had used Walt Disney World's FastPass system in 2005, we were naive enough to think we would receive the same benefits this time. However, there are two very important differences in The WDW FastPass system and the Six Flags' Speedpass system that affect your experience. First, there is no charge for WDW FastPass; it is included in your ticket price. Speedpasses will set you back, for the option that works most like the FastPass, $32 for the first person, then $17 per each additional guest. Second, WDW's return times on the FastPass is a one-hour window. As soon as your one-hour window arrives, you may make another ride reservation. This allows you to make a new ride reservation before getting in line to ride your currently reserved ride. Six Flags gives you a precise time to be at your ride, and you may not reserve another ride until after you have checked in to the line at your currently reserved ride. In the eight hours we had our Speedpasses, we were able to make 3 ride reservations.

Total price so far: $222.00

At each of the "main attraction" rides, you can no longer leave any personal belongings on the platform when you ride. You are required to purchase a ride locker (only good for 2 hours, so you can't even squeeze two rides out of a locker rental) for $1.00 per ride. We had to do this for Batman: The Ride, Mr. Freeze, and The Titan. We also shared a "Texas-sized" frozen lemonade: approximately 20 oz. for $5.25.

Total price so far: $230.00

We shared a dinner of amazingly tasty Johnny Rocket's fries and onion rings and a large Coke. Although this was about $11.00, it was far and away the tastiest food we experienced while we were there.

Total price so far: $241.00

After leaving the park, we stopped for food at Whataburger & Pizza Hut. We spent $9.00. Jeebus, shit in the real world is cheap! Heh.

Total price tag on the day: $250.00
Total time spent at Six Flags (including travel time): 14 hours
Total time spent on rides at Six Flags: less than 15 minutes

Worth it? Not on your life. My advice would be to spend your nearly-$100-per-person somewhere else.

We've decided that Six Flags is like getting a cheap hooker and Disney World is like a high-priced escort. With both you're getting screwed out of a chunk of money, but with one, you get a down & dirty experience and you're ashamed afterward, vowing to never make that mistake again, and with the other, you get seduction, foreplay, and thrills, and you want to go back for more. I feel like I need a shower.

Sad, S.A.D. Me

I swear I could be the poster child (poster chick?) for Seasonal Affective Disorder. Jeebus.

Time change weekends completely mess with my head for at least a week or two. It matters not whether we're Springing Forward or Falling Back. It utterly screws me up.

Also, with the weather changing daily from super sunny to overly overcast, I'm starting to feel like I'm the bipolar one in the household. Cloudy days leave me feeling spent and depressed, and I get nothing done (like getting my Blogiversary Giveaways ready to take to the post office, for example).

More later, when my brain is functioning properly. I'm taking a nap with my kitties.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post...

...for a furious, sleep-deprived rant. If you are offended by curse words and are here for the Photo Hunt, you're in luck, because it's somehow showing up above this post.

We are in Austin this weekend, campus-visiting and apartment-hunting with Eldest. We drove for six hours and got here at 10:30. We got a room at the Courtyard Marriott.

At 12:30, we wonder if there's some sort of fucking construction or remodeling going on because of all the racket we're hearing; we call the front desk. We figure out it's just the damn elevator (which is right outside our fucking door), which makes enough noise to wake the dead.

At 3:15, a herd of drunk, loud, obnoxious college kids invade our floor. I fling my door open and ask two drunk bitches if they will please shut the hell up, which receives some indignant, slurred reply, which I'm sure was some exceptionally pithy remark, but I was too sleepy and irate to recognize it as such.

At 5:15, I call the front desk again, telling them that in two hours, when we have to be on our way to the UT campus, they're either moving us to a different room or we're leaving. Apologies, and promises to come check on the herd of drunk, loud, obnoxious college kids.

At 5:45, they move their noisy asses to the hot tub (which is right below our fucking window), which makes enough noise to wake the dead.

I'm looking at the clock (it's 6:04 a.m., and the herd is back) I'm sleepy. I'm hungry. I'm bitchy. I'm going to take a shower and start my fucking day.

Sunday Scribblings--Foul

People are occasionally taken aback by my foul mouth. I fully believe that curse words, in and of themselves, serve a useful purpose and that people who are offended by them are pussies, should get the hell over it already, and shut the fuck up. I tend to also harbor the theory that people who are offended by curse words must believe they themselves are defined by those words.

Certainly, there are words in the English language that serve no purpose other than to insult or pain other people. These are the words about which people should be worrying: Nigger, kike, spic, wetback, et al. True, these are also just words, but they were imagined for no useful purpose other than to promote a hateful agenda (which is why I don't include the words fag or faggot, which were actual words which were adopted and bastardized for nefarious purposes). Curse words, on the other hand, have purposes. For brevity, I'll cover just a few targeted by the FCC.

Take, for example, the word shit. It is a synonym for more mundane words like stuff or things (i.e. "Get your shit together and get out!"). It is also a synonym for excrement, and, frankly, the words poop, doody, and poo poo and are more offensive to my intelligence than shit. The only reason for anyone to be offended by this word is if they are being called "shit" unfairly (you can't really be offended if it's warranted, though).

What about fuck? It, too, is simply a synonym for other, more quotidian words. Even those who claim to be offended by the word fuck, if being honest, have to marvel at the sheer versatility of this word. No other word in the English vernacular can be used as so many different parts of speech. We hold great admiration for people who show as much versatility; why shouldn't we afford the same esteem to the word fuck?

Ah, and then there's the grande dame of all dirty words, the one that offends most of all: cunt. Although I can't say I often (if ever) run across the need for this word (remember, I said curse words are utilitarian), it's still just a word, people. Get over it. Say it. Bunt, hunt, runt, stunt, cunt. It's not a particularly elegant-sounding word; it's somewhat clunky and abrupt, but therein lies its usefulness. By the time you are frustrated enough to need the word cunt, using its more workaday relative bitch or its more British-sounding (and therefore more elegant-sounding) cousin twat just won't suffice. One who is opposed to the word cunt may try to argue that it, like the aforementioned general hate words, is designed to demean and malign a person, but that would be oversimplifying reality. A person who has done something so outrageous and hideous as to qualify as a cunt is deserving of such; no one deserves to be called a nigger (which, if you'll notice, is not a synonym for any another word, and therefore will never prove useful for anything other than hate promotion). 

Many who are offended by curse words posit that, because there are other, less abrasive words which mean the same thing, we should be able to use those words instead. I'm sorry, folks, but if I stub my ingrown toenail and can see nothing at the moment but pretty stars and colorful fireworks, golly, poop, or doody just isn't going to cut it. And, although I haven't often had to reach for this word, if I happen to see Ann Coulter on the street (or even on television), there's really no other word that can encompass her vileness quite as thoroughly as cunt.

Science(ish) Friday (and where I've been)

Sometimes (okay, most of the time) all I want is for life just to slow down a little (or a lot). This past week or so has been no exception. This week:

*My mom suffered a bout of acute rejection. Not unusual for a liver transplant patient, but not a good thing, either. After four (five?) days of intense prednisone and anti-rejection drug therapy, her biopsy yesterday finally came back to say the rejection had reversed. Whew!

*We found out Youngest has to have mastoid surgery for a cholesteotoma this Tuesday. He has had to be hospitalized for mastoiditis once before, so it's not a complete surprise. Before a lot of antibiotics were discovered, mastoiditis was pretty common, and death was an unfortunate side effect.

*My precious babykitty Gilda has to have yet another ultrasound to determine whether she has some sort of intestinal cancer or not.

*We found out Eldest's boyfriend (who went away to college this year) has been lying to her (and us) about his partying and drinking for months now.

*I found my first major scratch on Pru.

Now that I have all that off my chest, let me tell you about one of the coolest things I've seen in a long time: National Geographic's Genographic Project.

For $100.00, you can get a kit to send in a buccal swab. National Geographic will test your mitochondrial DNA (or, if you're male, you could also choose to have your Y-chromosome DNA tested instead). They will trace your DNA to its origins in Africa and provide you with a map of the migratory patterns that your ancestors took, which landed you where you are today. Quite a fascinating concept, in my opinion. (My friend RedMolly does this science thing a whole heckuva lot better than I do, but I did want to make a mention of it.)

A Tuesday Ten--Complaint Department Edition

I'm kind of cranky this week. And to prove it, I present you ten things that are on my damn nerves this week (some big, some trivial... I'm balanced that way!):

1. The thing that is bugging me the worst right now is America's glib treatment of mental illness in general. If someone has one little mood fluctuation, people make offhand and ignorant remarks about them being "bipolar." Britney Spears has become a pariah; she is obviously suffering, possibly (I daresay probably) in a depression at the very least, yet all we want is to talk about how "crazy" she is. This story has me all sorts of mad. First, why was this woman, clearly crying out for help (and quite articulately, at that), left alone in a holding cell? If police had been following departmental procedure, she would still be alive today. And second, why aren't more people talking about it, questioning it?

2. Celadon Trucking, who apparently don't realize that common sense marketing strategy would have led them in a different direction. Celadon is GREEN, you numbnuts!

3. The media's treatment of Al Gore, from cherry-picking quotes until they barely resemble the original (he did NOT say he INVENTED the Internet, jackasses) and dissecting everything from his sighing habits to his clothing during the Presidential campaign, now acting like he's always been their darling. No hard feelings, right, Al?

4. Stupid drivers. This will show up on every single pet peeve list of mine until the day I surrender my license because I'm too old or blind to safely operate a vehicle.

5. Hypocrisy. "God's Warrior" Marguerite Perrin from Trading Spouses renounced her family's final $50,000 in 2005, saying (okay, screeching) it was "tainted" and "dark-sided." When she found out that $20,000 had been earmarked for her gastric bypass surgery, though, she reconsidered and took the money. She even went back on Trading Spouses for a second torturous episode. She also said she didn't want money or fame, she just wanted Her God and Her Family. But somehow, she's found a way to capitalize on America's impression of her with a comedy music CD and interviews on numerous TV shows.

6. Drizzly days. Theoretically, rainy days should be like free showers for your car, in my opinion. Drizzly days make dirty roads into muddy roads, and your car always ends up dirtier than it was before the rain. Not cool.

7. Dumbasses who insist on pronouncing the number one hundred as “a hunnerd” or, even better, “a hunnert.” I have heard at least two different radio advertisements this week in which the spokesman slaughtered this. WTF?

8. Childhood Bipolar Disorder. No one should have to live with this disease, and no one should have to live with a child who has this disease. It is devastating, frustrating, confusing, time consuming, and it absolutely eclipses every other person, problem, and plan inside a family.

9. Doggy agression. Our oldest dog, Poogan, is beautiful. But if she were human, she would be the old bitchy aunt that no one wants to visit because all the kids are afraid of her. And she’s got so many neuroses and fears. She's afraid of a whole host of household items & actions: vacuum cleaner, ceiling fans, broom & mop, vacuum cleaner, shadows, candles, shiny reflections, vacuum cleaner, the doorbell, strangers... the list goes on forever... did I mention we've had to replace 5 vacuum cleaner hoses from where she bites holes in them? In her old age, she's also starting to growl and snap at any other living thing that crosses her path, barking shrilly at anything that startles or upsets her. Gah, it gets old.

10. Dropped signals. Whether it's my cell phone or my wireless internet connection, my electronics have been dropping me like a baby giraffe lately.

See? I told you I was cranky!

A Tuesday Ten

Since I've not been here in a few days (weeks? months?), I thought I'd offer a quick Tuesday Ten of what I've been up to this week. This past week, I have...

1. ...helped Eldest with her first ten entries in her Senior Scrapbook (this is a yearlong English assignment, pretty cool).

2. ...helped Middle and Hubby make a Sodium atom out of a sheet cake and cupcakes.

3. ...survived at least two Bipolar "Episodes" with youngest and researched our health insurance policy to see what they will pay when we have to finally take the step into Inpatient Psychiatric care.

4. ...been "Colorguard Mom" and "Show Makeup Artist" for one football game and one competition. Their show makeup kicks some serious ass. It looks like this:

5. ...made a pre-made mini-scrapbook for Youngest's school fundraising auction (One down, three to go, yay! Not!).

6. ...ridden my bike with Hubby to Chick-fil-a for lunch and home one day.

7. ...pulled some muscle or pinched some nerve in my neck so I can barely move today. I guess it's time for a massage.

8. ...driven 1200 miles.

9. ...discovered one of our remaining two finches, a zebra, had died. Poor Fat Boy; he's all alone now. He's a shaft tail finch. He's always been our favorite. He looks like this:

10. ...missed this week's episodes of Survivor, CSI:NY, and Numb3rs, because I was too exhausted to do anything but crash into bed at the end of the day (and because I was too stupid to set them up to record).