I Don't Have The Balls To Speak For My Entire Gender

I guess you can call this a counter point: In case you missed it, Dell Computers launched a new site directed at women. Meet Della.

Della is evidently pissing women off everywhere. And, those women are saying something about it. Loudly, boldly, and all over Twitter. Running the risk of offending somebody, I'm just going to go ahead and say it. Kindly shut up.

All day long I hear women bitching that marketing isn't directed at women. Women who make the majority of the buying decisions in households across the country. And guess what! When Dell does direct marketing at women they then bitch that it's insulting.

It reminds me of the pain reliever campaign that tried to speak to the mommy world and insinuated that maybe, just maybe they had back pain from carrying their little ones in slings all day long. Mommy's everywhere railed against it and how insulting it was.

Really? Was it insulting? Or did your back actually hurt from carrying that little bastard around all day long. Because I don't know about you, but my kid is heavy and my back is a mother fucker at the end of the day, thank you, I will have a pain reliever with my beer when junior goes down for the count.

So, yesterday I tried to dig in a little bit and find out what was so insulting about Della. I'm not going to name anyone here, because I'm not representing anyone else, I represent my opinion only. But I was told that this site assumes that we're not as bright as men. Really? Is that what it is saying? Or is it saying that we like things in pretty colors? Because that's what I think it's saying.

And guess what? I fucking love pretty colors. And, when I clicked on the button to build my own computer guess what that sonofabitch did! Just guess? It started asking me technical questions, just like I was, dare I say it? A man! GASP!

Yes, once you go to order a computer on this site it asks you all kind of questions about what you want your pretty pink laptop to have for brains.

I guess what I'm saying ladies, is please stop speaking for our entire gender. I never felt like Dell was telling me I needed to have a huge set to order from their site. I felt like they understood that yeah, I like my shit pretty. Just because I bleach my hair, have boobs and wear the color pink every fucking day of the week, does not mean that I don't understand the tech world. I don't understand the tech world because I just DON'T! So when the tech world gives me a site where I can pick out whatever I want, just like a man, but with pretty colors all around, well... I'm kind of pleased about it. When the marketing world realizes that yeah, my back kind of hurts from lugging my big kid around, well gee, thanks for noticing.

They never said that I was less of a man because of it. They just told me they get it and if I don't like it then I'm more than welcome to strap one on and use the regular old site just like any dude, or any woman who just doesn't dig the Della site.

And, someday I hope that I can stand up for our gender and say, "yes, I like to bake, yes I like Hello Kitty, yes I want a free spatula with that, thank you! And now, I don't give a shit how much ram I have, can I get on Twitter? Can I blog?" Because I'm just a dumb shit girl who likes what I like.

Just like all the fuss over Twitter this week with their change in reply views, I have this to say: It's all free folks! It's free! The Della site is a choice, you don't have to see it. Twitter is a choice, you don't have to use. And frankly? I think you'd bitch if they hung you with a new rope.

Let's take it down a notch and realize the intent was not to insult. So don't treat it like it was:



Oh and PS? I work in marketing. Shhh.

I Now Present You With The Raging Chad...

I didn't have any puca shells so he's not complete. But I can assure you, he was being really douchey in this shot.



His little popped collar sends chills down my spine.

I Have Found My New Favorite Person

With not a drop of Diet Coke to be found in the house this morning, I made my way to the drive through at the local McJerk's. The placebo effect of the Diet 7*up that I did have was only going to last so long.

I ordered my fruit and yogurt parfait and large Diet Coke and proceeded into the converging drive thru (it has to be spelled this way, the sign says so)lane because this McD's is all fancy with two lanes to order in. Pulling up to the window I reach out my hand full of my debit card and see neon pink and green acrylic nails on the end of a heavily tattooed hand, which was connected to a wrist with a tattooed chain wrapped around it. Looking into the face of the owner of the hand, I smiled at the crinkles around the corners of the 60-something year old that greeted me with a smile.

That's right, Grandma. You rock those jobstoppers! Because you, my friend, are my new favorite person.

And, I've decided that I hate my purse. If I see one more dumb broad carrying one just like it, I'm going to lob mine directly at their head. But only after I get my monkey wallet out of it.

PS. I should add that my new least favorite people are the two dip shits at the pizza joint yesterday, who obviously went to lunch together and then sat at the table across from each other, talking in loud, girly voices to other people on their cell phones through the whole meal.

Do you know what it is I'd like to say?

Because I'm not entirely sure that I do. I mean, I'd like to say that yesterday was the most offensive day that I've ever had.

Um, but that would be a complete lie. I mean there was the day that I told my best friend that it was time to tweeze because she looked like she had two dead cats glued to her forehead. Or the time I told her that if she ever went bald that she could just grow out those brows and brush them up over the top of her head and look like the Italian guy that's in all the movies like Goodfellas. (Who is Frank Sivero but there is not one good picture of him to be found).

See? Totally offensive right?

I mean I wasn't taking on the whole Jesus loving, anti-hip hop world, but it is really so few days that I do that anyway. Usually I just do that on Sunday. It's just me on the opposite side of the Fred Phelps camp, I'm annoying people in an awesome way and he's getting spit on. Usually by Jason.

Yesterday may have just been the most offensive day in my blogging history but given the mood I've been in for the past couple of months, I can give you a money back-guarantee right now that it won't be my last. Except that you don't pay for this shit, but you should start.

I'm on a mission to prove that words are just words and it's the heart behind them that is important. And trust me, peeps, there's a good heart here behind this saline.

My 'might just be an Atheist/Science is King' husband warned me I would be deemed offensive yesterday. And while I'm not an Atheist I just think that Jesus is truly my b-boy and he'd want me to think he was awesome. Because he was and is and we know he didn't drink Folgers too ;)

But it was this warning that my husband had in mind when I came upstairs laughing this morning and said "Can you freaking believe, I had a rude ass comment on my blog this morning?" I knew I was seconds away from a big fat told you so and possibly a replay of the UFC smackdown in the Booms' house. So I blurted out. "Uh yeah and can you believe it was on the posting about Crazyman getting slapped in the face? Have I done nothing right?"

So I've decided that I can't even get trolls to respond appropriately. I have utterly failed at being a good blogger.

So for that I apologize, but I will not apologize for zombies with 1/2 arms and shivs or for even saying that my son's baby-sitter has a meticulous house and bakes cookies, because how the fuck did I even DARE to tread on that ground, I ask you?

I was also unfollowed on Twitter yesterday too. By a person who JUST started following me that very day. If I knew how to get a hold of her I'd say "well obviously, you didn't even KNOW me!"

Because she didn't, so meh.

And would you look at this picture? I totally missed what I was trying to achieve:

Now that? Is totally offensive. I look like a blow-up doll that just figured out what her complete and total purpose in life is.

And for those of you that can view the Dirty Pirate Hooker's blog, you should scoot right on over there because there is a totally AWESOME cartoon by yours truly posted.

PS! I just got my new mini-laptop. My kick-ass husband left work early and came home with it to surprise me!

Look, This Is Going To Be Totally Random...

While watching fastfood commercials I decided my husband should call my private parts "Tender McChicken". Mostly it's tender but not so much McChicken.

In addition to this? I decided that the Boston accent is single-handedly and dually the most annoying, yet KICK-ASS accent the United States has to offer.

Also? I decided that this argument on the Original VS. Faux Stiles has to be the most insightful thing I've ever read (while drinking vodka). Only it's not so much an argument as it is a complete tranformation of your life if you read it. You've been warned.

Additionally? I have declared that if you name your son Adam 'PacMan' Jones then you are pretty much dooming him to be the caveman with athletic talent that he turned out to be. Seriously? Stop going to strip clubs with guns, dude. Is it that hard? And I'm sorry, but I've never been to a strip club that served food at 1:30 in the morning. (Take that as you will, because obviously calling my kid Crazyman Jones is setting him up for a much better, XGames based lifestyle.)

Also? I swear that his lawyer is the same guy that defended the "Zoloft made me kill my grandparents" kid and let me tell you, Zoloft never made me want to kill anyone but occasionally Cymbalta makes me want to shoot people with a BB gun.

And for those of you that do things like call the cops because someone twittered about putting their kid in a dog kennel, please don't. I don't even own A bb gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack. What am I gonna do with a gun rack? And just yesterday my husband said that THAT movie had a time and a place and it has passed but I will stand here and beg to differ.

And now you know.

Do You Smell That?

I am not a naturally likable person. I just don't know how to be and furthermore, I don't think I care to be. I spent many adolescent years worrying about what all my wretched, pimply-faced peers thought. Many nights were wasted in torment. Stressing about the gelatinous form that is the pubescent social life. It was easier for me to plan out my wardrobe for a month than it was to fathom just how to stay in cheerleading, prom-queen, backseat slut, Suzy-lou's good graces.

It's because of this that I never formed a real personality. Instead I have this wavering existence that is just me and my insulting nature. I'm really good at being insulting. It's like my thang. In all other things I'm awkward except in being insulting. You can stretch it and call me witty but wit gives way to pith more than not. Salt covered remarks fly about on a whim and if I have to restrain them it's like my head will literally explode.

Funny thing is? Most people don't like to be insulted. They love to hear others being insulted but it's only a matter of time before my verbal katana is turned in your direction. That makes my social life scarce. So does lack of effort.

Slapping false smiles on my face is difficult. I know how to do it but if it manages to come across as believable, then I come across as being shallow. And while I'll accept the shallowness, I cannot accept soul less. It's like my soul dies when I'm being nice just for the sake of being... nice. And yes, bleach blondes with fake racks have souls. Just very tiny ones.

That's not to say I'm not a naturally nice person. I am. I know for a fact that I have a big heart and I care very much about those around me. Sometimes I care so much about others, I can lose all care for myself. Caring for others becomes "me". What I don't care about is what you did last week or your fuzzy pink sweater. Instead, my brain is buzzing with some quick remark of what an asshole that scarf makes you appear to be. Before training my mouth to slow down my brain, I turned people away in droves. I don't care about smiling at your spouse at a work function and making small talk. If the small talk doesn't come naturally to me then I don't try. If I feel an ounce of judgment in your presence, well, I really don't try. If I feel you are bullshitting me then I'm repulsed and the smile fades fast. Unfortunately, I have a bullshit meter that must have been designed in the private sector because government funding couldn't pay for something this high functioning.

I am my own enigma in the fact that I've been told that I'm a "smiley" person and also that my son has my smiling mouth.

I'm poor at telephone communications. I can't think of any reason to stay on the phone for any length of time that runs past the point of my call. I don't like to recall the events of my day. When my day is done I remember it as being fine and typically move on. The exception to this rule is my husband. I share all things small and big with him, much to his dismay. I like to think of it as the gift that keeps giving. He probably thinks of me as the nag that keeps nagging.

I can turn on sunshine in the blink of an eye. I can be charming and wonderful. I can be a social butterfly, flitting about a room, warming all with my smile. But if I'm not feeling it then I'm a thundercloud raining on your smiley people parade.

So when I hear little conversations around my office that bounce about their plans with each other for the coming weekend, talks of casseroles and potlucks, the teenage girl in me that wants to be accepted is instantly wrought with worry and thoughts of "why isn't that me?" and then I remember.

I'm tired.

And awkward.

And I smell bullshit every where.

The One Where I Finish Turning Off My Readers

I'm sure you've noticed recently that I went out on a limb and I used the word retarded to describe myself. Being the uber-sensitive, easily hurt person that I am, I thought about this before I did it. I thought a lot.

I stopped using the word retard for a very long time because too many people associated the word, for obvious reasons, with the mentally challenged.

I get that. I get that it is used in a hurtful manner and I would never use that word to describe anyone other than me, or my husband at times. And only because he has issues. He lives with me and loves me.

When I use the word I'm not even using it to say that I'm mentally challenged. I'm using it to say that my thought processes at that very moment were retarded in their development.

So when an email popped up in my inbox just moments ago that addressed my very usage of the word, my heart strings just about popped straight out of my chest. I expected it to happen. I had attempted to take back a word that has been so dirty and hurtful and use it in a light hearted way because, well, because I challenge society and stigmas like that.

The email I received was very thoughtful, kind and from the mother of a boy with Down's Syndrome. My response was this:

Hi "super mama of a very lucky little boy",

Thank you for the extremely thoughtful response to something that could be viewed as horrible.

I realize that. If only you knew how much thought I put into the use of the word retard and let me tell you why.

I would never use this word to describe anyone other than myself. When I was pregnant with my daughter I went through tests and sheer torment because they thought she was going to be born with Down's Syndrome. I wasn't tormented because I thought she might have it, I was tormented that I didn't know. And I wouldn't have the test to find out.

And then many years later I gave birth to my son who had so many problems, we can't know if he was mentally challenged or not. Chances are that he was deaf and we know he didn't have a left lung among many other things.

I put absolutely no stock in the word retard, none at all. Which is why after questioning my use of it, I thought to go ahead and say it anyway. My inclination was that it would take away a stigma.

Children with Down's Syndrome are NOT retarded. They are beautiful and wonderful. Mental retardation is just that. A mental retardation. I use the word retarded as an adjective as in my thought processes are obviously retarded at times. And again, I have to explain that the process is retarded in it's development. I don't think things through.

Again, thank you for your kind and thoughtful note. Retarded does not mean the same to me as it does to you and that is again, why I relented in my hold on using it on my blog.

Please accept my apologies on hurting you. I know your little man is wonderful and what an awesome mommy he has.

Betsey

With that being said, if I was viewed as being thoughtless or hurtful, well that is the chance I took.

And a chance I won't take again. My apologies.

Chew On This

I'm not sure how to start this post. Do I start off light and then whammy you with the shitastic thing that hit my email this morning or do I go opposite?

I would devote an entire posting to what I found in my inbox this morning if I thought it deserved my time, but it doesn't. The email I received was not only a knock on our President-elect but it was also racist.

The thing that blows me away is who it came from. I consider this person to be a friend and while I knew "flaming Republican" was an accurate portrayal of them, as well as "NRA supporter", I had no clue that racist could be thrown in that mix and I hope it's just a matter of ignorance. Also? As much as I fight against the stereotype that those labels denote, they are glaringly accurate here.

Please let ignorance be the case. I just don't know how it could be though. Last I saw, this person wasn't actually living under a rock.

I didn't address the racial issue of it in my response. I think I was in shock and just wanted to ignore it. Mostly? I just wanted to think that if I didn't address it at all, it would be understood how beneath me I really felt it was. One of my other co-workers received the same email and was equally as unimpressed and as surprised as I was.

We thought maybe it was sent to us because he and I live in the Southern most points that could still be considered rural parts of our city. I don't know, mostly I just want to ask if the dry cleaner hangs the noose neatly on the hanger with the white hood or do they come back bagged separately?

The email was subjected: Breaking News. The body read: Federal agents have uncovered what they say may have been a plot to kidnap
Barack Obama..........

This picture was attached:



Are you fucking shitting me? My response was:

Thought you should know that we’re card carrying Liberal Democrats in our house.

Thought my tattoos tipped you off on that one.

But what I really wanted to say was, are you fucking shitting me? Are your family photos still in black and white? Did you have a mammy? And do you have a lawn jockey? Oh and you forgot the fried chicken and orange soda, asshole. You'll never catch one like that.

And mostly I just wanted to say, do you have no shame? Aren't you even embarrassed by your views? Because while I know it's still out there, haunting us, I just really thought most people kept it deep in the closet, with the rest of their family skeletons.

So while I was all prepped to talk about how my booger headed kid is cutting four teeth at once while coming off of his rashy, double-ear infection awesomeness and how I found out he only throws fits for his father and me, and not anyone else who takes care of him - what it ends up as is that I'm mortified that he has to cut those teeth in a world that still possesses this ugliness, finds it funny and doesn't even have the good sense to hide that shit. Yeah, cut your teeth on that junior, and don't trip on the flaming cross in the yard on your way to school.

Oh and look at that, I ended up devoting an entire post to it. That pisses me off too.

The One Where I Lose All My Readers - All Two Of Them

Look, I've got nothing today because I have a rule that I stick to. As a matter of fact, as I write this, I overhear my co-workers discussing politics and it makes my skin crawl.

It is such a dangerous issue to approach with anyone as it creates such passion and is wrought with personal preferences that are established for reasons that are important to that individual.

However, I feel I have to say something. Just some little thing about the fact that I had the overwhelming feeling that I was witnessing a huge piece of history in the making last night as I watched the Democratic National Convention.

I don't think that I've ever pulled any punches when it comes to the fact that I am NOT a Republican. That doesn't always mean I'm a Democrat, it just means I am certainly not a Republican.

I tread lightly because of friends and family that I respect. But I would go so far to say that for the most part I might even be considered anti-Republican. Mostly because it really pisses my childhood friend off. She not only is a flaming Republican but she may or may not have even worked in Washington for a Republican Senator. Seeing her turn red in the face when I rail against everything she believes in, gives me tiny bits of satisfaction for all the crap she pulled on me in our puberty years.

So now that I've driven most of my readers off, let me go on to say this: my husband avoids politics like the plague. His take is that they are all liars and deceivers. That they are all in it for their own purposes and he is particularly displeased with the administration for the last 8 years regardless of the fact that he is from Texas. When election time rolls around the most I ever hear him say is something about the fucking commercials and what assholes they all are.

Last night I went to bed early. PMS struck and I wasn't pleasant. I laid there, cranky, watching TV and I clicked onto the DNC just in time to see Obama take the stage. I lay there, watching, nervous. More nervous than I had ever been while watching a candidate speak.

Shortly into his speech, I hear a great "whooooop" come from the basement. One I typically only hear during sporting events. Softly, I crept down our dark hallway, confused. I walked down the stairs and there is my "anti-politics" husband sitting there watching Obama's speech. He looked at me, bright eyed and said, "this guy is kicking ass!" I've never seen him hang on someone's words like that before.

I sat with him, carried away by his enthusiasm. While I've been solidly in the Obama camp, Jason's interest locked me in further. Something about sharing that moment with my husband made this Presidential race all the more personal to me.

This morning I used all my will power to not ram my car into a the back of a vehicle plastered with a NOBAMA sticker.

Sucka, puhlease.

But I drove on. This post swirled around in my mind in the dark, early, quiet hours as I lay awake this morning, still hearing Obama's words in my mind. I woke up and decided I wouldn't say anything.

But I've never been one to follow good, sound advice. Even my own.

While Looking for a Stationary Bike

I found this.

I'm sorry, but this makes me laugh my ass off. They have to keep pedaling or the screen doesn't work. Our kids are likes rats in a maze going after the cheese. My husband's response was priceless:

"And we still have fat kids in this country. Lazy bas**rds"

He also said it was funny and genius.

Sad, Brown Eyes

I encounter many homeless in my day to day life. I don't work with the homeless, I just happen to work in a part of town that is heavily infested with them and even as I type the word infested I'm sickend by myself.

I get entirely annoyed and disgusted when they bother me and the reason why is because it affects me. It cuts right through to the heart of me to see these people, in a place in their life where they are even beyond helping themselves.

I don't really care how they got there or why they are there. It's not my business and I know a good majority of the time it's their own fault. But what does that matter to me? It's not my place to judge and if I'm going to be entirely honest, I've been perched upon the lip of a bottle many a time ready to fall in and let my whole life follow me to the bottom of it. So many times the numbness provided there has seemed like sweet solace from the course of my life that has offered up the suggestion of jumping off the top of the highest building that I can climb onto.

It's not me though. I have too much pride and self-preservation instinct to ever fall into that abyss. My husband and I have a relative that is now homeless. He sleeps in homeless camps, he begs for change and he will do odd jobs for places that will let him sleep on the couch behind their place of business. Knowing someone who has actually made this choice is gut-wrenching and eye-opening. And he did, make that choice. It was a choice and one I don't understand from him.

This morning as I was walking into the post office, that wasn't even open yet, I was approached by yet another homeless. This was the same post office where the guy ran to open the door for me only to ask for a dollar on my way out. I was ready for it. I was prepared with my stock reply of "I don't carry cash."

Today though, today was different. My heart is still lurching from this encounter.

I've seen this person before. I'm sure that she prefers to be called she, so I will do just that. She can be seen walking down the streets, flamboyantly most days. My daughter once saw her and looked at me astonished and said "Mom, I think that was a man." I smiled a little and said "Yes, but she prefers not to be."

As I walked up to the doors I saw her come stumbling out. Doing the "one foot swings wide in front of the other" drunken walk. She eyed me up and down and said "My, you look so pretty." I politely said thank you and hesitated to walk away just yet. I knew what was coming. She looked at me again and said "When you're done doing your business inside do you think that you could spare a bit to help me get a small burger or sandwich in my tummy". With that she jingled the change in her hand and rubbed her belly like a hungry little girl.

I looked into her sad, blurry eyes that sat under perfectly drawn eyebrows. Her face was carefully attended to. As I scanned down, her coat was dirty and her shoes were shabby and those of a man. She would have wanted to be dressed so much differently. She sensed my hesitation but misunderstood and said "I'm sorry but because of my gender issues I prefer to approach women."

Looking into her eyes again, I knew this was her line that she used countless times in a day but the sadness I saw there was like a punch to my carefully dressed gut. All this person wanted in life was to be me. Even on the days where I don't want to be me, she would give anything to be me and she had been abused most of her life trying to be just that.

I had no cash. I never do, but I pulled out my wallet and dug out whatever silver coins I could find. I offered them up with a quick apology.

I shouldn't apologize for giving her all I had to spare and I know in my heart I wasn't. I was apologizing for the hand that life had dealt her. Regardless of whatever choices this person had made in life, many of them were made for her by the unacceptance of others.