When I'm in charge

I'm outlawing Wednesdays.

For real.

They're not even allowed on the roster.

Also:

MY SISTER IS COMING TO VISIT THIS WEEKEND.

So much love.

And.

Ummm...Blake?

Is there something you want to tell me?

Happy Earth Day!

Some people are just stupid

Really.

So, in a previous post I discussed my love for Mommy Blogs.

On the list of ones I love dearly is that belonging to cjane.

You should read her stuff sometime. She's really quite talented.

So talented, in fact, that someone (or several someones?) have been stealing her work.

You can read the details here, here, here and here.

I'm kind of amazed (but not really because of who she is and how many people clearly adore her) that so many of us have rallied to stop this crazy from infecting the blogosphere.

Sidenote: bloggers can be MEAN when one of their own has been wronged. I love it.

The offensive blogs in question have since been removed.

I'm sure I've been inspired in reading Courtney's posts to write some of my own.

I'm sure that others have inspired me to do the same, as well.

But the result has been my own.

Something I created.

My ideas have always been my own, even if someone else helped me get there.

Because isn't that kind of the point of all of this?

Never, never have I stolen a whole entire post.

And never would I be moronic enough to do it from one of the most well-known writers on the internet.

I'm also probably guilty of maybe posting a photo and not giving proper credit to my source.

Lesson learned.

I mean, duh people.

Come one.

How dumb does one (or a couple, for that matter) person get?

Also: not that this would ever happen because I have about 3.68 readers.

But.

If someone ever did that to me?

It would be Hammer Time.

Fo' shiz.

I'm going to drink the rest of my blueberry jasmine green tea now.

Thank you, and good day.

Edit: In second guessing myself, as I am wont to do, I've combed over my previous posts to make sure that I'm not a jerkface like *some* people.

I don't think I am, let me just say right now.

As an English major and seasoned writer myself, I'm pretty good about that sort of thing.

Do unto others, and whatnot.

But just to be safe.

Because no one like a hypocrite.

Least of all, a sarcastic one.

Arachnophobia

I love our new apartment.
I really do (pictures coming soon).
It's very pretty and brand new, not to mention a hell of a deal rent-wise.
Also: Bryan and Lara are moving RIGHT NEXT DOOR.
Supreme awesomeness, yes? Well, almost.

You see, there are some issues with our new apartment, some of which I've discussed before. The screen issue has been amended, the air conditioning one has not. Which is okay at the moment, since I'm still rocking the heat set at 70 (because that's as high as Blake will allow me to set it) and about five blankets when I sleep. Thus, I do not consider this to fall under the category of "pressing."
What I do place in that category, however, it the complete and utter infestation of SPIDERS that have invaded my dwelling.

Which is so not okay.

I am not a sissy. Really, I'm not.
I like to camp and be one with nature and shit. Really, I do.
When I fish (which is not often, trust) I can bait my own hook. Really, I can.

But things that crawl on me without my permission are, in a word: unacceptable.

The other night as I was laying in bed and Blake was brushing his teeth, he came in the bedroom (which is actually the office but is currently being used to sleep in because we still need to move my bed from the old place to the new place...convoluted, I know) to say something to me with a mouth full of toothpaste. Instead of instituting the intended conversation, his eyes darted to the wall above me, grew to the size of Wiley Coyote's right before Roadrunner dropped an anvil on his head, whispered "don't look up", and exited the room.
So what did I do?
I looked up.
Of course I looked up.
Wouldn't you look up?
Except I really wish I hadn't.
Because about two feet above my head was some sort of creature with approximately 5263 legs and all sort of grossness.
I, of course, froze in fear (I chose not to scream because we've got neighbors and I'm polite like that) until Blake returned with a wad of Kleenex to dispose of the freakish beast*, at which point we discussed how it could've entered the apartment and the possibility of it's friends following suit.
This did not please me.
*He also plunges toilets. I think I'm in love.

Granted, our unit is "garden level" (aka half basement), so creepy crawlies are logically more apt to finding their way inside than they would be in apartments that are totally above ground. However, as I mentioned before, it's also brand new. This means that there should be no cracks in the dry wall or foundation, and therefore a very slim chance of outside intruders. It was during this conversation that we made a discovery: an uncovered electrical outlet on the ceiling. Perfect portal for arthropodic foes.
And don't try to tell me that the cats will protect us. Presley is fat and lazy. And Kitty is way more interested in her catnip mouse than defending me from insect attackers.

Needless to say, I felt like I was being smothered by bugs all night.
It was like a bad episode of "Fear Factor."

And then...
AND THEN
As I was typing this post a few minutes ago, I happened to look up (what is it with me and looking up? Why must I always look up? Ignorance used to be such bliss) and saw another enemy...spider this time...chilling out on our ceiling.
Naturally, I enlisted the aid of my former defender, who told me I would have to wait until he finished the game of Halo he was tied up in.
So valiant, he is.
It was during this waiting period that the spider decided to shimmy down it's little thread...directly into the ceiling fan.
It never knew what hit 'em.

Now, there are either spider guts all over my bed, or a very pissed off and possibly paraplegic arachnid lurking somewhere in the dark corners of my bedroom, plotting his revenge.
Tonight is going to be awesome.

Edit- I went to climb into bed (heavily medicated, of course) just now, and discovered this hiding underneath the covers:Shortly thereafter, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water in order to calm my nerves, and this was waiting for me in between the refrigerator and the wall:

Blake wants everyone to know that it was the best $1.99 he's ever spent.
Previous statement of love and adoration = retracted.

I hear you Lolcats

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

I hear you.

Your prayers have been answered

I know, I know.
That last post was a little bit...well, you know.
So to make up for it, I am giving you this.
Double your Molly, double your fun.
Something like that.

There's something I need to say

"I would be remiss if I didn't mention wanting to punch the universe in the mouth right now.

Really hard."

Thanks, Whoorl.

So, I will preface what I am about to write by saying that I am not a mother. Not unless you count my cat (plural now that I am cohabitating with another person), but I don't get to count him as a tax deduction so for our purposes today he will not be considered my offspring.

No I'm not a mother. But I know mothers. I have a mother. And I love mothers.

Occaisionally, I read Mommy Blogs even though I'm not a Mommy Blogger. I also hate the term "Mommy Blogger" because I think it's slightly derogatory. Like, "Oh, is that all you do? Raise children and write on a blog. Hah." Do not mistake, people: keeping up with a blog is h-a-r-d. I've heard that raising a child can be mildly challenging, as well. So the combination of the two is most likely somewhat of a task.

I guess I read blogs written by mothers because it moves me to see how much one person can be inspired by something that they love so deeply. They paint such a clear picture of the beauty and depth of this world, even though this world seems very ugly and shallow at times.

The best example of this is Nie Nie.

She was my first foray into the world of Mommy Blogs. I found her little piece of the internent though a link on MSN (of all things...this was back in the days when MSN was my end-all, be-all of popular culture...gross) that was part of an article describing her horrific crash and how the world rallied around her after news of it got out; people donated money, food, gifts, time...anything that they could contribute.

I am, despite my sarcastic and sometimes cynical hard-candy coating, a gooey-centered individual with a penchant for human-interest stories. This little blurb drew me to Stephanie Nielson's blog, and into her beautiful life.

From there, I found her sister Courtney's blog that narrated her own life as a mother of one small child, and then as mother to her sister's four children while their parents were recovering from their injuries sustained in the plane crash.

After that, there was Dooce and Anything Said, and Gorillabuns.

All of these women have children, yes. But make no mistake: they are not defined by being mothers.
They are defined by the person motherhood has made them become.
Each and every one of them discusses often and at length the changes having children in their lives has brought upon them. It's difficult, yes. There aren't any lies about how seamless and easy motherhood is (I know this because I babysat every kid on my parents block...maybe it's not quite the same but it's my only point of reference here). But being around young, inexperienced minds seems to add a different sort of clarity to life.

Maybe I'm just a big dork because of all this.
Whatever.
There's a point to what I'm saying.

A few days ago, Melinda from Anything Said wrote a brief post about how Shana from Gorillabuns had tragically lost her infant son, Thalon.
As I read the original post, the comments, and all the subsequent posts linked to the first, I started to cry (yes, at work again. Lara is going to fire me).
Like I said, I realize I'm not a mother.
But when I think about how I would lay down in oncoming traffic for Sophie and Ethan, who are my cousins and NOT my children, it proves to me that the power of being a parent is real and not just something people make up to project an image of domestic bliss.

And it is with this thought in my head that I cannot even imagine what it is like to be Shana right now.
I don't know her.
And she sure as hell doesn't know me.
I've never commented on her blog or linked it or officially followed it or anything like that.
It was just a peek into a life that didn't belong to me, narrated through a funny and intelligent voice.
And that's the other thing: I think everyone expects mothers, particularly ones with small children to be all about Gymboree and diapers and graham crackers. But read these blogs and you will be amazed, as I was.

The problem I've always had with organized religions is that many of them put their faith in one entity. Which I'm sure gives people comfort, but is also really scary if you think about. One being. One being for all these people.
I know that God or whatever you choose to call it is supposed to be omnipotent and doesn't make mistakes. That there's a big plan and everything happens for a reason or whatever.
But a plan that involves taking someone's child away from them?
A plan that causes someone so much emotional pain they can't breathe?
A plan that allows someone to create a life through love and happiness, bring it into this world, only to have it taken away from them before they really had a chance to show it the full measure of everything this world has to offer, thereby leaving this person to feel like they've done something wrong?

That is a plan I cannot support.

Because the point is that bad shit happens.
And sometimes there's nothing we can do about it.
More often than not, the awful things that happen to us make us stronger and more determined people.
But sometimes...sometimes the things that happen to us are so painful that they don't make us stronger. They tear us apart and we're never completely whole again.
When we did nothing to deserve them.
And there are those who would try to tell me that something planned for all of this? That there's a bigger scheme out there that involves to total and utter destruction of a person's character?

How is that fair?

Oh wait. It's not.
Not to Shana, not to Thalon, not to anyone who has ever had to deal with the kind of pain that only that kind of loss can bring.

I know that this is usually a venue for me to sit and talk about how I ate too many cookies or my car blew up or something like that.
But occasionally, it becomes necessary for me to say these kinds of things. Because they're important to me, and they should be important to you too.
I'm not trying to offend anyone (all four of you who are reading this).
Sometimes, certain things just need to be said. And quite often, I'm the one saying them even though I probably shouldn't.

I'm going to step off my soapbox now.

Thing I don't understand about the universe today

Why do cute shoes always mangle my feet?
I feel as though everytime I find a really cute pair, the rip my feet up. It's not fair.
I bet if I could afford Manolos like certain New Jersey socialte/nannies/lawyers/bloggers that I am aquainted with, my feet wouldn't look like raw hamburger.
Raw hamburger covered with bandaids.

Why do married men hit on me?
And only married men.
Swear to Jeebus.
Like I give off some sort of "irresponsible and a good potential midlife crisis candidate" sort of vibe.
It's very weird and confusing.
Anyone else have this problem?
Probably just me.

Why do Peeps taste better stale?
The only food in the world that falls into that category.
Also very weird and confusing.

What the F is up with this weather?
Stupid April. It supposed to be warm.
And stuff.
This is not conducive to my cute dresses and sandals plan.
Time for Plan B.
Except for too bad I don't have one of those.
So, let's get with the program.
Do you hear me, Spring?

Ugh.
Time to go move more shit.

In other news: WE GET INTERNET TOMORROW!

Sooo...maybe I'll be doing some posting from home?

Maybe?