Betchfest Ahoy!

Catherine from Her Bad Mother and Her Bad Mother's Basement came up with a stellar idea: a week of anonymous or semi-anonymous rants on other people's blogs. Stuff you wouldn't normally say on your own (maybe) but that you just have to get out of your system.

I got this via Josh at Raging Dad. It was supposed to be on a different blog, but he got stuck with me when she dropped out. Dude included a bunch of photos with instructions about how to justify them. Josh, have you ever seen this blog before? I am so proud I figured out how to change the text color in my template, and that was 3 years ago and I haven't changed anything since. So. You gets what you gets.

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I am sitting in front of my trusty Raging MacBook, trying to decide what to rant about. What an opportunity: Space on a total stranger's blog, where I can go on and on about how irritated by people who are more than likely reading my blog already, rendering it a useless vessel with which to gripe about them.

And I've got writer's block.

Don't get me wrong, I've got plenty to complain about, just ask my wife, Raging Mom. She'll tell you I complain all the time. Isn't that irritating? Man, she can just... Oh, I guess I just made my point, didn't I?
What to do. Here's something that bugs me: Raging Mom is totally afraid that a serial killer will crawl into our children's windows at night, and we need to lock up like Ft. Knox as soon as we go to bed. This spring we had new windows installed in our house, so now we can "vent" them at night now, as long as they have the little plastic tab sticking out to prevent Jack the Ripper from getting through the gap where precious, precious fresh air can openly pass. 'Cause he couldn't break those little tabs, you know.

How was that? Yeah, uninspired. Certainly nothing to force me to make this an anonymous post. And really, Raging Mom actually has a good point anyway. I read Under the Banner of Heaven, and that shit is SCARY.

Okay, let's try this. I have issues getting along with one of my twin boys, Sonny. He is almost four, and I am totally irrational about how I let him get my goat and lead me to drink from the Trough Of Insanity. Oh wait, I already openly blog about this flaw of mine at my own blog. I sure do love that little kid. And the others too—we have an almost six-year-old daughter and the twin boys are almost four. But I already said that, right? Focus, Raging Dad! You are rambling!

If only I could just focus. I can't seem to do it to save my life. Have I always been this way? Shit, I've already covered that topic too.

Here's something that bugs the hell out of me: What is with this Sarah Palin decision? I mean, does McCain really think that the women of this country are that naive? Do they think that simply having a vagina is gonna be enough to sway the women of America to vote against their interests? I mean, we've never done THAT before as a nation. Oh wait, yes we have. Seriously, though. Isn't that a bit insulting?

Did you like that? It was original material, baby. You won't find any of that genius over at http://ragingdad.net. Just call me Raging Ponyboy. Stay gold, Raging Pony, stay gold.

Here's something ELSE that pisses me off. Oh, does this just get me riled up: The Oxford Comma. I know, I know. I should have warned you earlier that I was gonna bring it up. What can I say, I am just naturally prone to throwing controversy out there, unannounced. But really, doesn't it just get you foaming at the mouth? To crib from one of our modern-day greats, "People who put in all the commas betray themselves as moral weaklings with empty lives and out-of-date reference books." That's Lynn Truss, in her brilliant 2004 book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves, p. 97–98. But don't look it up unless you are ready to take this subject on. Oxford Comma, why do you vex me so?!

In closing, here's one more thing that I'd like to gripe about. I hate it when bloggers totally take advantage of a serious opportunity to get some real issues off their chest, and just bombard me with their own crap. Who do they think they are? What a bunch of Raging Jerks!

Hey, if you enjoyed this little "rant," make sure to come over to my blog to see what a real Bitchfest post looks like. This fine mommy blogger actually took the assignment seriously and posted some serious shit that really out to be read. You can skip all the other crap you'll find over there. :)

One for Elvie

The World's Smartest Bird?

Via Heather at Oh My Stinkin Heck.

Mini bitch fest AND Pimpfest

Megan Hook from Undomestic Diva got this party started with her post: "Mini Bitch Fest. Join me. It's free!" so I thought: GREAT IDEA. At last, a hobby I am GOOD at! Here we go:

1. Three hours after I had my car washed at the REAL car wash, not the squirt-it-URself for $2.25 place, my neighbor sprayed his hose all over it. In beautiful So Cal, our water makes spots LIKE CRAZY. Blue car, white spots. He had to spray his freaking hose at least 15 feet to hit my car. Oh well, at least I got to enjoy a nice shiny car for three hours.

2. Pundits who say Hillary's speech wasn't strong enough in endorsing Obama. People, the woman had her hopes and dreams CRUSHED by a tiny tiny margin. Even I, as a big Obama fan, will admit that. Personally, I would not have been able stagger out on stage without busting into big whooping sobs, so give her some props. She played it so well, a real class act. So shaddup.

3. My Spirituality and Health teacher. Make that my EX-Spirituality and Health teacher. Hey, wench, if you are going to call a class "Spirituality and Health," make sure it has something to do with both those subjects. Just having a touchy feeley class on exploring basic spirituality that has nothing to do with health AND no discernable lesson plan? Not good enough for college level, not even community college level. DROP. Bye.

4. The guy in the tan speedo who comes to the pool 20 minutes before aqua aerobics is over and who paces around the edge waiting for class to be over? Your little pissy expression is not gonna help get our class over with faster, fella. It is ONE HOUR A DAY. Wait your turn, and in the mean time, get a better swimsuit. That thing makes you look naked and blank, like a Ken doll.

5. Lady parked in the loading zone for an hour: thank you. My handicapped mom had to walk much farther and I had to park halfway out in traffic as she painfully hobbled to the car. I hope your kneecaps disintegrate, too, so you find out what it is like.

Ok, five is enough. Anyone? Bueller?

PS Go vote for my choice for Hottest Female Blogger, Deb on the Rocks, at the hottest blogger calendar thingy. She is about 10 down from the top.

Why Deb, when so many hot bloggers are on the list? Deb makes me laugh every day. She writes about sex in a sexxxxay way. She's a lesbian, and I am all about the Diversity and Kumbaya while holding hands thing. She was a fellow community keynote speaker at BlogHer 08 (yes, there were other people besides me, as much as I try to downplay it). And um what else? She's hot in a totally anti-Paris Hilton kinda way. I mean, if Paris Hilton were forced through a Black Hole and into an alternate universe and she came out bigger, better and equipped with a stellar personality and sense of humor, she would be Deb. Go vote.

PPS Anyone else sob when Hillary made the motion to declare Obama the nominee by acclamation and everyone shouted "Yea!!!"?? So happy.

Barack's booty call

About what, a month ago, the Obama campaign got me to sign up to BE ONE OF THE FIRST to find out who his vice presidential running mate was going to be.

They were going to send out the news via text message. It was going to be so cool!

Here's how I imagined it would go down: I would be at Farmer's Market or getting a coffee and suddenly all around me, people's phones would begin to ding and buzz.

We would all fish around simultaneously, read our text, and look at each other. We would smile knowing smiles, chuckle, and say "How about that?" It would be a fun little community Democrat bonding experience.

But instead we waited. I haven't waited so hard for the phone to ring since I dated flaky guys in my 20s. Days went by. Weeks.

I started to get pissed off. "Dude is NEVER gonna call," I thought. "I bet that jerk lost my number."

By Thursday or so, it became apparent that we were going to be the FIRST TO FIND OUT but NOT BY VERY DANG MUCH. We were special, but not THAT special.

Last night, I was surprised how little Twitter buzz there was about it. It seemed that people, like me, were pretty much over it.

I awoke this morning to find a text had been sent at 1:48 a.m. WHO DOES THAT?

People don't text about important decisions at 1:48 a.m. They send booty calls. They drunk-message things you don't want to read.

Lame. The whole thing was the emotional equivalent of a guy who whispers "Oh baby, it is gonna be so good," for weeks ahead of time. And then the time comes. And baby, it ain't that good.

What's For Lunch?

Moose in the Kitchen is talking about food today, considering vegetarianism, veganism or every-other-Tuesday vegetarianism.

I have been a vegetarian for 20-some years. I went through my annoying Multi-Level-Marketing-like veg phase in the early days. You know, the person who everyone avoids because every conversation begins with "Hey, I've got something interesting to share with you!"?

In the MLM person's case, it would be about Fabulous New Cleaning products. In mine, it was all about How Cows are Destroying the Environment.

I have mellowed a bit since then. Ok, a lot since then. I have even stopped being a Very Good Vegetarian. What I have become is a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" vegetarian.

Pretty much every book on diet and food choices and vegetarianism will spend a few paragraphs describing the levels of vegetarianism. What is acceptable to one faction won't fly with another.

A few years ago, I decided to stop caring about labels and factions and do whatever the hell I wanted.

I was at a potluck when a vegan woman flipped OUT because someone had put clams in the dip. She threw a spectacular fit. She reached into her mouth and scooped the dip out and flung it in the trash and began sobbing about EATING DEATH while she ran for her toothbrush.

Ah, to be such a sensitive soul that one cares about every little dead clam of the world. Yes, clams die, every day, and perhaps someone should shed a tear over that fact. But it won't be me.

Oh, please. Meat is not POISON (oh, I know there are a couple acres of the internet that are just waiting to pounce on that one. Impacted Fecal Colon Matter! High Cholesterol! Clogged arteries!). It is food, food that has fed billions of people for tens of thousands of years.

But I choose to avoid it as much as I am willing to, for environmental reasons and also because I just don't like it much.

For me, this means that I don't buy meat, cook meat or order meat dishes in restaurants. But I also choose not to quiz beleaguered waiters about what is in the soup stock - chicken or veg? I don't ask in Mexican restaurants, where I am fully aware the beans may be swimming in tasty pork fat.

If I want to eat a fish taco once every couple months or eat half a piece of bacon to amaze my friend Steve, who loves to nag me about being a veg by waving crispy fried pork products in my face, I will damned well do so and I will still call myself a vegetarian and if that make you a little nuts about how wrong that is, haha. Joke is on you.

I also fully support people who want to raise their own meat or who take steps to assure that the meat they eat is raised humanely and organically. I think every step in that direction is a good step. I'm done guilting people and harassing them. All it ever did was make people miserable.

If this makes me Not a Real Veg, sue me. I'm over it. Bandwagon, done.