Brian M Nolan, wherever you are.....

14 years ago I lost my best friend. He didn't die; I just misplaced him somewhere in New York. In the days following 9/11, I googled him and searched for him online, scared to death that he was a victim. Today I do the same thing. Wherever you are, Brian Nolan, I hope you are safe and unharmed.

Damn religious platitudes

Praying instead of planning, giving control of your life over to God, and trusting that He has a plan and a reason, it's all like climbing over the console into the passenger seat while the car flies down the freeway at $75 miles per hour. Somebody needs to be in charge and it ought to be you! There is no guarantee that there is a plan, that somebody is in control, or that everything does happen for a reason. The only thing we can be sure of is that you are there, living your life, and if something needs to change or be saved, that you can do it. So do it, already! And stop posting motivational sayings to pinterest and facebook about how great it is that you're sitting back doing nothing because you have faith.


*I would like to add that I have no problem with people praying, or trusting in their particular God, or believing that everything happens for a reason. I just get so tired of seeing good people, friends of mine, sit on their asses with their eyes closed waiting for circumstances to magically change while they take no physical actions to change them. If you need more money, don't just pray for it, job-hunt, too. If your family is sick don't just solicit prayers on facebook, make some chicken soup and take steamy baths, too.  But don't give control of your life over to God. He may be a little busy with that whole hurricane-in-Manhattan thing right now.

All the better to blaspheme Xmas with, my dear

Remember way back when, before I had sons and my only major psychiatric issue was with turning 30? Remember the flaming gay nativity I made up? I think I shall make up something new this year. Possibly a wreath that I will make in actuality and hang upon my front door. I am taking suggestions. So, any idea?

Shit that pisses me off.

A friend once told me that I don't have pet peeves; I have whole kennels of irritations. In that spirit, I am posting a list of things I hate, in no particular order.

1. People who think they're clever by taking slang literally when I'm always mad. "Oh, shit makes you angry. As in actual pieces of feces that somehow annoy you? hahahaha." To which I respond, "Yes. For instance, you are a piece of feces and you're making me mad."
2. People who think they're clever by pointing out my typos to use against me since I hate spelling and grammar errors, as if they're the same thing. And they're not. A spelling or grammar error is when somebody doesn't know any better or worse, when they don't care. A typo is when you know how to spell the word but you hit the wrong key, or hit the right keys but in the wrong order. Mocking me for a mistake because I don't like ignorance, because you can't tell the difference between mistake and ignorance, shows your ignorance. Got it?
3. When articles about a violent death include details of it. The family sees those headlines, even if they don't read the articles. No one needs to see a big old headline about how their daughter was raped and killed and nearly beheaded. Have some damn respect.
4. When (some) conservatives accuse liberals of being intolerant because they don't like anti-gay speech/actions. "Liberals are always talking about tolerance and acceptance but they sure as hell can't tolerate any opinion other than theirs." Seriously? So it's intolerant not to sit and listen to the KKK without objection, too? We let you say your hate but we don't have to take it lying down. You have a constitutional right to free speech, but not to free speech without consequence. 
5. When dogs try to lick in my mouth. Kiss my face, fine, but stay out of my orifices.
6. When I look for tubas on google and get French horns instead. WTF people?
7. 
   

An email to Ryan's Scholastic Bowl coach

Dear Mr Smith (if that is indeed your real name),

I fear I am an idiot and have misplaced the Scholastic Bowl schedule. Could you please email me a new one? I promise not to lose this one.

Sincerely,
Charlie Melton

Dystopia is not supposed to be pretty

I would love to see a dystopian TV series or movie with realistic looking characters. Or, for that matter, a visually accurate primitive one. For instance...

Xena the Warrior Princess never had split ends. And she wore eyeliner and lipstick, and shaved her legs and armpits. In ancient Greece, while camping.
Hercules never much more than a 5 o'clock shadow. And Autolycus shaved around that little triangle thing, apparently every day.
In Falling Skies, aliens have landed and taken over the world. Only a small band of determined humans fight back, in the form of rudimentary militias. And while some of the men have beards, none are sporting the bushy, long-haired, wildman look, and the women still wear make-up. And the ubiquitous sweaty hot chick in a tank top never has armpit hair. (I hate to dwell on the pit-hair but it does exist and it should be present in a dystopian future. When survival is fought for every day, a Lady Bic just wouldn't be priority one.) And no one has, or is beginning to have, dreadlocks. Who is manning the shampoo factories? And where are these people washing their hair now that all fresh water has to be saved for consumption?
In Revolution, there's been no electricity for 15 years. And they still look like they wash their clothes daily, in gentle detergent which doesn't fade the colors. And the women wear make up (not Hollywood make up, but there's eyeliner and blush on just about everyone.) Who's making this detergent? Who's making the make up and shampoo? 

I want to see a show where the future survivors of the end of civilization look like shit. I want the women to be hairy and haggard and sun-burnt and have matted hair cut with jagged hunting knives. I want the men to look like the Unabomber, wearing the skins of animals they've hunted for food. I want a little more realism in my television. At least in the gritty dystopian television.
And please, when you make the next Merlin movie, give the man nasty hair and a bad beard. No medieval wizard had access to that much conditioner.

Texts between Ryan and I, after I gave her a shitload of grief about her grades, right before school

Me: I'm sorry I made your morning suck  :(

Ryan: It still sucks.

M: Why? What's up?

R: Testing!!!!! No!!!

M: Relax. You always do great on tests. You can do this.

R: But the computer isn't working.

M: Oh no :( Bitch to the teacher.

R: They're trying to figure it out. Another computer has the same problem.

M: It's not a virus, it's a computer PLAGUE!

R: AAAAH

M: What if all the school computers get the plague and die but in the past they got zombie virus and I.T. never noticed so when they die of computer plague they come back as zombies and kill everyone in the computer lab?

R: You just made me lol. And most all of the computers are messing up in some way.

M: And then the zombie virus & computer plague become airborn & the smart phones catch them & all the popular kids hiding in the bathrooms are attacked by their own front pants pockets (OUCH) & you are the only survivor because we are too cheap to get you 3G. YOU'RE WELCOME!

R: lol

And then she never said anything else so I assume that either the computer glitch got fixed and testing resumed, the computers killed everyone, or she got busted texting her mom during class.

My kids deserve crappy pictures.

I hide from cameras. I always have. When I look in the mirror I always suck in my stomach, and tilt my head to minimize the double chin, and when I see pictures of me where I didn't do those things I just hate them. So I have it stuck in my head that I look bad in photos. So I hide from the camera. But I'm not going to do it anymore.
I read a blog this week where the woman said that her mother died and there were no pictures of her because she hid from the camera. And the woman said that when she did find pictures of her mother, she didn't notice bad hair or extra pounds or wrinkles. She just saw her mother's smile, and kind eyes, and the lap she used to climb up on.  My mother is dying and I'm struck by how few pictures there are of her, and I realize that I'm not looking for flattering outfits and good lighting and clear skin. I'm looking for Mom, for the cheek I kissed and the face I wanted to see after a bad dream, for her smile. And that's what my kids will want to see someday. So I'm going to stop hiding from cameras. I won't look at the pictures I'm so critical of, but I'll be in them. Someday my kids will want pictures of Mom, and I'll make sure they have them, blotchy skin, extra pounds, double chin and all. Because my kids deserve to be able to remember me.

Don't we all hate her, a little bit?

This is a lovely viral photo. It's been getting a lot of reactions. Mine has been one of the negative ones. For one thing, I think there's a problem with the wording. If it said "No excuses", I'd be fine with it, but it doesn't say that. It says, "What's your excuse?" It specifically asks what my excuse it, what the viewer's excuse is, as opposed to just stating a vague message that there are no excuses. It also completely ignores the difference between excuses and priorities.
Would I like to be as thin as her? Sure. Do I think it's a worthy goal? For some. Do I prioritize it over other things? Nope. I prioritize it under bacon, and coffee with milk and chocolate, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  I prioritize hour-long work-outs under spending time with my kids, relaxing with my husband, and just plain relaxing (especially now that I'm on 1200mg of may-cause-drowsiness pills). And in a much more philosophical way, I prioritize my appearance under intelligence, sense of humor, and companionship, all of which can be improved in the time it takes to work out and diet.
I hate that weight can be seen. I hate that we can instantly be judged on it. There are many things we're "supposed" to be perfect as, as women, wives, and mothers. But weight is the one that can be seen. No one can walk up to Miss Bikini Mom up there and judge her for not being a gourmet cook. No one can say "Why aren't you a gourmet cook? Why don't you only eat organic and make your own bread every day? Susan does it, Jodie does it. What's your excuse?"  No one can look her up and down at the gas station and think, "Why isn't your laundry done and folded every day? Why aren't all the beds made before school? Why isn't your house spotless? Joan's is, Barb's is. What's your excuse?"  But weight, weight is something we all get judged on. Angelina Jolie had twins and was in a slinky dress on the red carpet less than a month later.  Women who should, in all honesty, still be passing massive post-baby blood clots into pillow-sized maxi pads are out on photo shoots wearing size 2 jeans  in Hollywood. And now we have Miss Bikini Mom up there to compare ourselves to, too.  It's ridiculous. I suppose there are no excuses, in her life. She obviously has someone to watch those 3 kids, and time to work out, and a budget to buy the healthy low-cal food. She's not suffering from post partum depression, or the after-effects of gestational diabetes, or a c-section incision that prevents immediate crunches and sit-ups. She doesn't have a husband who stays away for days on end, and she isn't a single mom with no husband at all, nor the money for a sitter during work-outs. She isn't on a Top Ramen budget. She has a good thyroid. She's not on birth control or mood stabilizers that cause weight gain. But hey, What's your excuse? 
My excuse is that I don't want to be her. I like stretch marks, and wrinkled cleavage, and baby-chewed boobs. I like my mom-body, and I really, really, really resent the implication that I shouldn't, and that I'm lazy for not having her body. Her passion is working out, and kudos to her for pursuing it. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sacrifice for her passion rather than my own. It's not an excuse. It's a priority.