On This Last Day of My 26th Year: Part 2

I'm operating under the assumption that you have done the Googling I mentioned in the last post.

If you don't know, or didn't already google what Agent Orange actually is, I will give you a brief summary.  However, I encourage you to Google pretty much everything I'm telling you, because I am not going to take the time to put all the links, and there are thousands of links regarding Agent Orange, who manufactures it, their crimes, GMO's, and their blatant disregard for the health and lives of Americans and people around the world.  As you will find out, nearly every other industrialized country in the world has banned or severely restricted nearly everything produced by the two most vile offenders; Monsanto and Dow.  If you would like to do a quick sanity check, type "Monsanto" in the Google search bar.  You don't even have to press enter to see that I am not alone in my assessment.  

Agent Orange is a herbicide/defoliant, that was created by two companies for use during the Vietnam War.  Those companies were Monsanto and Dow.  The US military sprayed Agent Orange all over Vietnam in an attempt to kill pretty much anything and everything green, in order to make it easier to spot the guerrilla fighters hiding in the brush.  The story goes, and I will allow you to make up your own mind regarding this, that the chemicals that were used to make up Agent Orange were accidentally contaminated with an extremely toxic dioxin compound.  I know nothing about chemistry or dioxin compounds, nor do I know the likelihood of such a contamination taking place.  I am desperate to believe in the whole "accidental" claim, so for now we will assume I do.

If you did your Googling, then you saw the effects of Agent Orange on children that are born in 2012.  Such severe deformities and infant mortality, all caused by a herbicide that was sprayed in Vietnam in the 70's. It was only literally in the past few days that the US agreed to a "clean up effort".  Whatever that means.   

Thailand wasn't the only country exposed to this "herbicide".  Several other countries were used as dump sites for agent orange, as was Pacific ocean.  And shockingly, a Department of Defense report released in 2006, (according to Wikipedia) admitted to storage, testing, and disposal at 32 different places in the US.  And finally, the US was using Agent Orange in our national forests in the 70's, until the EPA forced them to stop when women living around the forests were found to have triple the miscarriages of an average woman.  I have no clue where these sites are, but I haven't found any evidence of them being "cleaned up" as of now.  Again, whatever that means.  It is important to note that I hold the soldiers in no way responsible for any of this.  They actually sued the government for the effects it had on them, and a fund was set up for veterans with health issues associated with the effects of Agent Orange.  

Monsanto and Dow, the manufacturers of Agent Orange, were never, as far as I am aware, held accountable for this tragic "accident".  Unfortunately, accidents do indeed happen.  And Monsanto and Dow seem to be very "accident prone".  We will get to their other currently known "accidents", which were found to be not accidents by a long shot, but blatant disregard for human life.  

I feel like I should have said this already, but if everyone already knows this, and they just don't say anything because they know about some hit squad Monsanto and Dow employ to kill anyone who talks about this, then please make me aware.  Otherwise, there really is only one of two possibilities for citizens of this country's seeming lack of knowledge.  People either know and don't care, or somehow this company is so powerful that they have been able to keep it from the majority.  Again, if everyone knows and simply doesn't care, then let  me know.  I will start to pack my bags.  

In installment 3, we will talk about two different incidents, one involving Dow, and one involving Monsanto, completely unrelated, where both companies KNOWINGLY dumped chemicals, LITERALLY in people's backyards, then knowingly hid it from them.  In each case, it took people dying and devastating health issues of nearly everyone in the community to sound the alarm against these companies.  In both cases, the communities they dumped their toxic waste in were mostly poor minorities with little recourse; but that was obviously strategic on their part.  I will also fill you in on their confession, established guilt, and subsequent punishment.  

Finally, I will tell you how much a human life is worth. In US dollars. 

On This Last Day of My 26th Year: Part 1

Tomorrow is my 27th birthday.  When I was 17, I couldn't even imagine what my life would look like at 27, much less think it was actual possible to get that "old".  In some ways I admittedly feel "old", and in other ways not really.  Most people wouldn't consider 27 to be a "milestone" birthday, and for most it rarely is, but my 26th year was so life altering that I suppose one would say my 27th is indeed a "milestone".
Before you rush to bathroom to vomit, this isn't some weepy story about Rebel, and how it feels to be a mother, etc.  Obviously, having a child is life changing.  It also is the greatest love you could ever feel for someone, but I'm pretty sure most people that have children already know that, and those that don't can imagine, or don't want to imagine.  HOWEVER, just in case you forgot how adorable my aptly named Rebel is, there is a reminder to your left.

While becoming a mother was indeed the catalyst for my life altering 26th year, I really have to credit Mr. Rick Santorum for opening my eyes, and altering my views on nearly everything. WAIT…PLEASE DON'T STOP READING. I'm not going to be preaching party politics, I promise.  I have come to the conclusion that there is an actual yet to be discovered gene, in which all politicians are born with, Democratic and Republican alike, that makes them conniving, lying, immoral thieves.  Or perhaps all people born with this gene, know that politics is the way to go when you have a desire to be a horrible human being, all while you smile and kiss babies for the camera.  Either way, on that front, I think electing "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" to run the country would be equally as effective as our current choices.

Moving on. I'm fairly sure that my days as an actress, (auditioner) are in the past.  Kissing people's asses never has been a strong suit of mine, nor has anorexia or bulimia for that matter.  Contrary to belief, it is actually fairly easy to make it in Hollywood. However, selling your soul to the proverbial "devil", really is the only way.  When I speak of "selling your soul", that means many things in which you probably don't care about, or won't really understand unless you experience it.  So I think I shall leave it at that.  The whole point of bringing up my "retirement" from being an auditioner, was so that I could speak of my new career.  It actually isn't a career at this point, and I will probably never get paid for it, but you could say that perhaps I have found my "calling".  And that is where Rick Santorum comes in. AGAIN, HE IS ONLY IN THE FIRST FEW SENTENCES…NO PARTY POLITICS. I SWEAR.

When my little five pounder came into this world, unlike most other mothers, I had TONS of free time on my hands.  Of course, whatever I did in my free time, must be something I could do with an infant that I never put down.  Not even to sleep for the first 4 months of her life.  So as you can imagine, I watched a lot of TV, and surfed countless hours on the internet, and read many books.  I didn't bathe, or do laundry, or anything that I'm sure the rest of you non-heathens did in your early days of motherhood.  I took care of my daughter, AND I developed an obsession.  One that I spent hours upon hours, and days upon days, researching and staring at the computer in disbelief.  And here is Rick and the big, but super short role he had to play in all of this.  One day in early January, I was flipping through the channels, and I still can't figure out to this day why in hell I would stop on coverage of the GOP candidate race, but for some reason I did.  I admittedly voted a straight Republican ticket the first year I was eligible to vote, and last election I didn't vote at all.  I really didn't care.  Just like I have no clue why I voted Republican in the first election.  Someone probably told me to.  Anyway, Rick was speaking, and it caught my attention.  I'm not going to bore you with the details of it all, but everything he was saying sounded particularly appalling to me,  so I started researching him,  then that led to many other things that have absolutely nothing to do with him or with politics.  All of which led to my life altering year, my new "calling", and my mission to at least make people aware of things happening all around us that have severe implications for us concerning health and otherwise, and dire implications for our children.

I AM NOT INSANE.  I feel like I have to say that, because if I was whoever is actually reading this right now, I would think I was totally insane.  Everything I have to say over the course of the next several posts, is well documented and searchable by everyone.  Ok…I really am starting to sound insane.  It is in the interest of everyone that is HUMAN and living on this planet, particularly in our country, to at least be informed about our surroundings and everything that comprises them.  It is particularly dire to be aware if you have children.  And EVEN more important if you have young children, pregnant, or planning to have children.  The world isn't ending tomorrow, so please don't think I'm sitting in my apartment with a glass of Kool-Aid, wearing my black Nike's.  I am going to break this down for you, for those of you with time constraints, and for those of you who want to stop reading and alert the nut house.

For now, all I want you to do is type something into Google images. Type in "kids born in 2012 agent orange".

More to follow.

The Mommy Wars? Uhhh…I Guess

The Mommy Wars?

I am so sick of hearing about the so-called "Mommy Wars".  Exactly where ARE all these supposed "battling mothers"?  We aren't part of a play group or anything, so maybe I am missing something here.  Is that what goes on at Sara's second birthday party?  I live in a city where having a baby at 26 is fairly young, so I don't have many friends out here that have children.  We haven't been invited to any birthdays yet, and I have thought about a play group before, but my daughter's definition of "play" is smacking you in the face and trying to scratch your eyes out.  I can't imagine we would last too long in a play group.  Perhaps we would join one when she is a bit older and less violent, but not if it is just a whole bunch of passive aggressive women arguing about who's kid started walking first.  Someone please warn me so I can steer clear.

I don't deny the fact that women can be catty, (to say the least) but I'm now prone to giving mothers a sympathetic look when their child is laying down in the isle of the grocery store kicking and screaming like a little brat.  I thought I was now part of a "club" where we all knew what it felt like to lose sleep, hair, and patience.  As long as you aren't raising Honey Boo Boo II, I consider you to be doing a pretty fine job.

While I have not personally had any of these things said directly to me, I have heard quite a few women telling everyone that "I had my baby naturally", like everyone was supposed to stand up and applaud.  Personally, I could care less how you had your baby.  Guess what, I had mine "naturally" too, and that was because I was given three epidurals that didn't work.  I sure as hell wish I hadn't done it "naturally".  Other than the fact that you were in a massive amount of pain, I hardly believe your experience differs greatly from every other woman who has given birth.  You can choose to have your baby however you want to, but it doesn't mean I want to hear about it.  Most likely no one else does either.

Despite shows such as "Toddlers in Tiaras" showing pathetic mothers spray tanning their three year olds, I think most mothers have their children's best interests in mind.  Let's support all mothers doing their best for their children, in whatever form that may take.  As long as it is not in the form of a reality show.

The United States of Honey Boo Boo

I am full of shame this morning.  I did indeed watch TLC's latest tragedy, "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo".  I mustered all the restraint I could, but the urge was too strong.  I do realize that my viewership encourages TLC to make shows such as this, but I couldn't look away.  I wanted to look away, trust me, but I simply couldn't.  Please tell me I am not the only one with no self control, when it comes to trashy reality TV.  I'm not, right?  Right?

Obviously I'm not, since our TV's have been inundated with reality shows for over a decade now.  They are undoubtedly getting more horrific as time passes, and it really has me wondering…what will rock bottom look like?

I might as well tell you the entire story.  Before watching "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo", I watched two episodes of "Toddlers and Tiaras".  I have of course seen the show before, but after having a daughter myself, it REALLY began to disturb me, so I pretty much nixed it from my repertoire of trash TV.  Well…let me tell you, watching those two episodes last night really taught me a thing or two.

Please allow me to share:
1. It is apparently legal for a four year old to be a stripper.
2. Red Bull is the choice of toddlers these days.  It really gives them that extra pep in their step.  Note: always remember to put it in their favorite sippy cup. (Or bottle if you are a REALLY good mother)
3. Someone FINALLY created a channel for pedophiles! ABOUT TIME!

The biggest lesson I have learned since becoming a mother, is to not judge other mothers.  I have repented for all the dirty looks I have given bedraggled mothers, walking around dazed with dirty screaming children.  Being a parent is the most difficult job in the world, so I make it a point to give all parents the benefit of the doubt.  Even if they are dragging little Bobby out of Target by the ear.  He probably deserved it.  This show is a different story.  I'm bout to get real judgmental.

Admittedly, watching the show does really give me a confidence boost as a mother, but I must set aside my pride for not yet or ever planning to whore out my daughter, and focus on the issue at hand.  I think we all see what is really going on in shows such as this.  The mother has MAJOR issues, and is trying to live vicariously through her daughter.  Most of these issues are beyond obvious.  The 300 pound toothless mother was never pretty and knows that she must pounce on the precious few years that her child could be considered mildly cute while wearing pounds of makeup, before becoming an exact replica of herself.  The other scenario is the mom who could be considered mildly attractive, but never left her hometown because she got knocked up by the local drunk Jimmy in the bathroom at prom.  Either way you slice it, mommy has some issues, and daughter isn't too far behind.

Here is the most bizarre part of this whole travesty…no one is ever in the audience, except for the girls and their mothers! Sometime their toothless dads show up, but for the most part there are tons of empty chairs in a room full of obese woman and their toddlers dressed up like hookers.  Can't they just have a pageant in their living room and save themselves a crap load of money?  Really, what is the point?  I would at least think that having an actual audience would be necessary to make it worth the trouble.  (I do realize that they have a TV audience now, but this idiocy has been around for quite a while).  These mothers spend far more than they could ever win, yet they keep at it.  I am quite sure that not a single one of those girls has a college fund.  I suppose they are betting on little Susie becoming Miss America so she can pretend to be a good Christian girl who doesn't want gays getting married, but is okay with making sex tapes while unmarried and getting boob jobs  win a scholarship to college. HA. Fat chance.  Literally.

Really though, who cares, it is only children they're ruining, right?

On to America's new little darling, Honey Boo Boo.  I have to admit through most of the show I was trying to guess their combined weight, but the parts I did manage to process had me laying in the bed with my mouth hanging open in disbelief.  Usually I just laugh out loud at how idiotic these people are, but I was just plain embarrassed.  I was embarrassed for everyone involved, and those not.  I have many foreign friends, and they practically already thought America was something like this, now they will have the proof.

I do admit that little Honey Boo Boo has quite the personality.  She is also well on her way to type two diabetes, but that isn't her fault.  Perhaps if Big Mamma, or whatever the hell they call her, didn't refer to cheese puffs as "the breakfast of champions", little Honey Boo Boo might not have a heart attack before the age of 40.  Isn't this some sort of abuse?  Perhaps I'm over reacting.  Maybe they just eat like that on camera; surely off camera they eat…I don't know…a vegetable?!  I think it is more likely they have never seen a vegetable.

Things aren't all bad though.  Big Mama did give our little Honey Boo Boo some time off from dressing like a child hooker, to attend the local KKK rally  MENSA meeting for some good ole bobbing for pigs feet and belly flopping in the mud, which luckily her pregnant seventeen year old daughter declined to do. I think.

I guess all that is left is to give a big congrats to TLC for yet another quality program.  After so many years of the Kardashians, we were in desperate need of a show that represents the REAL American family.  I'm sure Honey Boo Boo, Big Mamma, Sugar Bear, Fatty, and Prego will be around for at least 15 more minutes.  We might even be around to see Mamma reach her goal weight of 200 pounds.  We can only hope.

I'm not going to lie, I will probably watch it again.

Who the Hell am I?

Clearly it has been a hot minute since I last posted on this precious little blog of mine.  I am the world's most impatient person, and since there weren't like 10,000 people following me after 3 days, I decided to give up.  Needless to say, I have rethought my position on that, so lo and behold…I'M BACK!  I finally realized that my blog rants are a cheap form of therapy for myself.  I also hope to make people laugh, inform people, and perhaps even have some positive effect on someone.

The last time I posted on here was sometime in May.  I have become even more neurotic during my absence.   Having a child changed my life drastically.  I know that everyone says that it changes you, but I think it made me a completely different person.  It has changed me in many ways. In some ways that are wonderful, and some ways that are beneficial to my daughter, but super annoying to everyone else on the planet (including her father).  Having a child forced me to really open my eyes to the world around me, and it has admittedly made me more of a "doom and gloom" type of person than I was before.  Ignorance really is bliss, and if my daughter was taken out of the equation, I would have chosen to stay that way.

Obviously I won't be posting a 45 page essay on all I have learned and would like to share today, even though I know you are DYING to know.  One day at a time folks, one day at a time.  I just wanted the 3 people who follow this blog (if they even still do), to be aware of my return, and that this time, I am more committed to posting.  If not for your sake, than for mine.

Ladies, Gays, and Boys Who Like Makeup…

Once in a life time there comes along a makeup product so wonderful, that you wish you could start your life all over so that you would never have to live a day without it. Ok…maybe that is a bit extreme, but this magical cream is legit. Garnier BB Cream is really hard to explain. It evens out your skin tone, It moisturizes, it has SPF, and you won't look like Snooki.

Apparently, this BB cream thing is something that all makeup lines are coming out with. I have only tried two of them, but Garnier still seems to be the cheapest I have found so far. Somewhere around 13 dollars. Totally worth it.

With that said, I also have the more expensive version that I prefer, but only SLIGHTLY. It is called Dr. Jart+ BB cream. I feel like it may be a slightly less greasy, but putting less of it on might solve the problem.

Oh…and the Garnier one smells YUMMY.



*Please let me know (ladies) if you care about these reviews at all, or if I'm just wasting my time

My Plan...

Soooooo…I was thinking…instead of just writing totally hilarious stories, about my totally hilarious life, I might throw in a bit of education. Of sorts. Such as reviews of products I have tried, things I love, things I hate, etc. Don't fret, I'm still going to make fun of everything and everyone. Anyone interested in my reviews? No? OK. BYE.

I'M BACK

Most importantly, I would like to mention that Lady Gaga wore ANOTHER meat dress this weekend in Tokyo. Why you ask? Because she is weird.

My Daughter Puts Me in My Place, And Willie Stops By.

I still have not been to bed yet. However, I have noticed a schedule of sorts in teething hell. Hourly, I think.

1. Rebel screams like a freak, rips my hair out, claws and punches me in the face for the first 15 minutes.
2. I put her in the swing with magic cancer sweater as she screams with delight for the next 15.
3. I pin her down on the bed as I shove teething tablets in her mouth, which start foaming up everywhere, as she is spitting them out, snorting them up her nose, and rubbing them in her eyes for the next 15.
4. Half heartedly claws and punches a little more, and falls asleep for the next 15.

REPEAT.

I have just figured out what it means to be a mother. As my daughter violently ripped fists full of my hair out, scratched half my face off, and gave me a black eye, never once did it occur to me to make her stop. I just thought, "I hope this makes her feel better".

Side note: Luckily she was in the swing for magic cancer sweater time, when Willie Nelson, our lovely neighbor, came by to meet me for the first time. I opened the door and he said:

"Hi. Is Steven here?"

"No. But his boss is. How may I help you."

"Listen. I really don't want to be your enemy."

All I could do was smile and nod. Smile and nod. Finally I had to let him know magic cancer sweater time was coming to an end, and it is was time to shove little white foaming pills in my child's mouth while she snorts and gags. Possibly go glue some of my hair back on when she falls asleep.

I'm pretty sure the police are on their way.

Proof I'm Not a Racist, and why Candy the Prostitute Should Always Carry a Gun.

We all know "neighborhood watch" groups are for douche bags with no life. Such as myself. With that said, I live in Los Angeles. I assure you, someone in my neighborhood will be shot tonight. Why watch for it? That is probably why I am not a member of one. Also, because I don't care about your house. I care about mine. If I'm watching your house, who is watching mine? Let's all just watch our own houses, shall we? Then if we are all watching our own house, we'll know which neighbor's duty it is to kill the kid walking down the street with the Skittles and black skin.

I realize I live in the big ole city, so unlike most other people, I have seen a stranger walking down the street at night. Even black ones. I think there are even strangers walking through my neighborhood right this very moment. Sometimes, that happens. Sometimes, people you don't know are seen in and around your neighborhood. Sometimes, their reasons for being several hundred feet or more from your home are suspect, but most of the time, they're just walking down the street, going somewhere. Say…their dad's girlfriend's house or something.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a problem. If you haven't already heard, or been following the CASE of the gun slingin, neighborhood watchin, trigger happy George Zimmerman and his victim aggressor, the seventeen year old Trevon Martin, who was seen by Zimmerman wielding a bag of Skittles and being black, please do click on the link and take a look. Has anyone spotted the problem yet? No? Allow me to explain.

So, what exactly IS our problem here in the good ole US of A? A little something called "The Right to Bear Arms". I'm not talking about wearing tank tops folks, (though I do think there should be stricter laws on that too) I'm talking about guns. We LOVE our guns. And we LOVE our right to bear em. Now hold on…before the Texans reading this call TSA and blacklist me from my visit in a few weeks, hear me out.

Do I believe we should be allowed to own guns as civilians? Yes, I do. I believe in your home, or shall we say dwelling, you should be able to have a gun. Should anyone break, walk, run, or otherwise enter your house in any way that is menacing, feel free to blow their head off.

If you work the night shift at the local 7-11, and someone walks in for a Slurpee, your money, and perhaps your life, by all means, please feel free to put a few bullets in em.

If your name is Candy, and your down on your luck with kids to feed and a crack habit, I don't know if it is smart for you to have a gun, but I would recommend having one when getting in the car with strange men. After all, serial killers DO love em some prostitutes.

Fun fact: While enforcing stricter gun laws would probably benefit our nation greatly, it would indeed not greatly affect your chances of being killed by a serial killer. Guns are not often their weapon of choice. They like to get up close and personal. Stab you, strangle you, something like that. So we won't use serial killers in our argument for stricter gun laws.

However, we will use Mr. George Zimmerman as an example.

I'm a reader. I LOVE to read. I love to read non-fiction. Mostly about criminals and serial killers. Mostly serial killers. I know it sounds weird, but it is very interesting to learn the similarities and differences between killers. Their childhood, profession, social life, etc. The similarities are astounding, but not surprising. For example, if your kid is a little over zealous with the matches, likes to kill the neighborhood cats, and wet the bed till he was 14, he most likely is going to be a serial killer. And, most likely it is your fault. Here I go again, talking about serial killers. I Love the subject. I could talk about it for hours. I swear I would have been a detective or something, if you didn't first have to be a police officer.

Wait, what? A police officer? DING DING DING. Someone gets a prize if they connected the dots on this one.

I'm not calling George Zimmerman a serial killer. He probably isn't. However, a great number of serial killers, (ie: people who murder people) are wanna-be cops. They have cop buddies, scanners, perhaps they even applied to the academy and were denied for some reason or another. What does this have to do with George Zimmerman? Well…

What was he doing the night Treyvon Martin was walking down the street with his skittles in hand (or pocket)? He was "patrolling" his neighborhood, on a volunteer basis, in his SUV, looking for suspicious characters. WITH A GUN. He called 911, just as any good citizen should, and was told not to pursue, that the police were on their way. He ignored the 911 officer and pursued Treyvon Martin anyway. Does anyone get where I'm going with this?

In my opinion, this case should end here. Anything that happened after the 911 officer told Zimmerman not to pursue, and he did it anyway, is his own fucking fault. If the kid did indeed punch him, he got what he deserved. I can hardly believe that is the case though.

George Zimmerman had a case of the "I wanna be a cop" syndrome. He had it bad. So bad, that he committed a good amount of his time, unpaid, to patrol his neighborhood. What a great guy, right? Not so much. More like, what a guy that should not be allowed to have a gun outside of his dwelling.

George Zimmerman IS the reason for tougher gun laws. Johnny down at the local florist, probably has little reason for packing heat, when his nine to fiver involves arranging roses. Johnny needs to give a good reason to conceal a deadly weapon. Just like anyone else that is requesting to carry a concealed firearm outside of their home. If Johnny can't come up with a GOOD reason, he should be required to keep his weapon at home. Why was Zimmerman carrying a weapon that night? I know that if I was ever douche enough to do a neighborhood watch, I sure as hell wouldn't pursue some six foot plus stranger walking down the street. I would, as most, call 911, and give myself a pat on the back as the cops arrived. Or, feel like an asshole when the kid had a reason for being there. I sure wouldn't pursue him with a gun, unless, perhaps I was feeling a little more like "Officer Zimmerman" that night, then I did "Volunteer neighborhood watch weirdo carrying a concealed weapon, George Zimmerman".

Do I believe Treyvon Martin pursued George Zimmerman in any way, prompting Zimmerman to shoot him out of self-defensive? Absolutely not. Do I believe George Zimmerman is protected under this bull shit "Stand Your Ground" law that is kind of like self-defense, but requires less evidence? I do not. I think he was looking for trouble and when he didn't find it, he created it. Was Treyvon a sweet little angel faced, straight A student? I don't know. Probably not. Was he a thug? I don't know. Probably not. Did he have a reason to be where he was, doing what he was doing that night. Yes, he did.

Zimmerman does most likely have some sort of mental disorder. He probably imagined "saving" the neighborhood many times before. He had dreamed of this day. The local hero. Officer Zimmerman. Oooppss…I mean George Zimmerman. This man is guilty as the day is long. He felt like playing a little game of cops and robbers, and now a seventeen year old kid is dead.

He should be held accountable.

This proves I'm not a racist, right?

Mr. Rogers is NOT Our Neighbor.

Oh man. Am I in a state this morning or what? Luckily I have Smiley Cyrus (my nickname for Rebel when she smiles) laying next to me, to keep me from flying into a rage.

So if you don't already know, we moved into a new apartment. It is pretty much perfect. Or so I thought. 

I think I already mentioned how I was scolded by the mail lady for not checking my mail everyday. Apparently that is "what we do in this building". I was slightly peeved at her finger wagging, but last night my neighbor took it to a new level. Or rather, his bitch wife did. 

I didn't mention that a week or so ago, the neighbor came and knocked on our door, and asked us to be quiet or something to that effect. I honestly don't remember. Too many Clonapin or something. I didn't talk to him, Steven did. I didn't really think it was that big of a deal, and pretty much forgot about it until last night. 

It was around midnight and Steven was playing with Rebel on the bed. Yes, I said midnight. (we will get to that in a minute) He was attempting to distract, then remove this huge booger that was blocking her entire little nostril. I had tried like twice during the day, but I can't stand when she screams bloody murder, so I was saving it for Steven. He is the resident booger picker anyway. He normally can get them pretty quickly, but we both had tried several times and had to stop because she was screaming so loudly and throwing punches left and right. His distractions were failing, so we resorted to pinning her down. Still, she was too Ninja for us. Finally we gave up. The booger must remain. 

Shortly after admitting defeat, there is a knock at the door. We both look at each other. I don't know what Steven thought, but I was sure it was CPS, removing Rebel because of our aggressive booger picking tactics. 

"Should we answer the door?", Steven asks. "I don't fucking know. See who it is." Steven opens the front door and apparently it was our neighbor. The same neighbor who was sent over by his wife to complain previously. Steven said he looks like Willie Nelson or something, but is really nice. He said "I know you have a baby and all, but my wife…she can't sleep…and she made me come over here because the baby was screaming. Is there anything you can do to quiet her down? It is past midnight. Shouldn't she be asleep already?"

EXCUSE ME? 

Now, anyone that knows me, knows I play the defensive asshole, never the apologetic understanding type. That is why Steven answered the door in the first place. I don't know exactly what he said, but he was apologizing, saying we would try and keep her quiet, blah blah blah. Now, I would say she was screaming for a total of a minute and a half. Trust me, that is plenty, but still nothing to go knocking on your neighbor's door about. Whatever. They are old and annoying, and they can take it up with the landlord about his cheap-ass thin walls. Then, I totally lost my mind.

That guy just said "It is past midnight. Shouldn't she be asleep already?" Normally that wouldn't even cross my mind.  I don't know, should she? Is that some sort of rule? Did I miss the memo? Are we awful parents? Is his wife a child psychologist, who knows that having your infant up past midnight is damaging to their mental health? All these things started running through my mind. Then I started googling. OH MY GOD. 

After reading around 7,000 parenting websites, blogs, and governmental recommendations, I was totally freakin out. Everyone keeps talking about "schedules". Get your baby on a schedule. Schedule your baby's naps. Schedule your baby's feedings. Schedule your baby's shits. Get your baby a Blackberry and schedule their schedule's schedule. Whoopsies.

Rebel has no "schedule". She eats when she is hungry. She sleeps when she is tired. Craps when she wants. I guess you could say…she is allowed to be a person. I thought that was how it worked. She just turned four months old. She is a freakin baby. I had planned to give her a hot minute to be in this world before I gave her a datebook. I guess I was wrong. As I kept on reading, I was thinking, "We might have fucked up big time." 

One lady complained "My son is three and a half weeks old, and he isn't on a schedule yet. So frustrating. He wakes me up twice a night. What should I do?" For the first three and a half weeks of Rebel's life, I SLEPT twice a night. For about 30 minutes each time. Another said, "My daughter is 8 weeks old and sleeps through the night. Once we got her on a schedule, she just started sleeping through the night on her own." Whoa, now. It sounds like they're talking about magic, not schedules. The complaints and congrats go on and on. One lady talks about letting her 2 month old cry for an hour and a half, alone in his nursery, and somehow that got him on a schedule. Several said that getting them on a schedule is a "must". (side note: must is a weird word) 

Then is dawned on me. Schedules ARE important. FOR PARENTS. So parents can sleep, work, function, etc. I am fortunate enough to be able to stay at home with my baby. In order to do that, her father works late, most of the time not getting home until nine or ten at night. That is after working for 12 or so hours. So if I put her on a "schedule", she would be in bed every night when he got home, and he would never see her. And I would be bored out of my mind. Every apartment in this building would be Shabby Chic'd all to hell. 

I literally have nothing to do but cater to her needs. I don't do Pilates, I don't sew, or have a social life. I just hang out with her. Not because I have to, because I want to. If you think I'm all liberal, hippie mom, then so be it. We don't even have the crib set up. Never have. People seem to be horrified by this. YES, SHE SLEEPS WITH ME. There I said. We tried the bassinet, but she won't sleep in it. She sleeps on my chest, with her face an inch from mine, so that I can hear her breathe. No one can roll over her, and she can't smother. This works for us. Would I ever allow Steven to sleep with her like that? Absolutely not. He tosses and turns all night. I don't move an inch. And yes, she will probably still be between us when she is two. Get over it. 

In this house, we order take-out every night. We paint random walls and doors with chalkboard paint whenever we feel like it. We sleep when we are tired, and eat when we are hungry. We co-sleep. We use organic everything on our baby, but load our own bodies with chemicals everyday. Rebel has the big closet full of clothes. We have the small one. We forcefully remove boogers at midnight so our child can breathe. (Steven uses "the snot sucker" on her. If you don't know what that is, it is where you suck the snot of your kids nose with your mouth. There is this filter little thing, but I still have not been able to bring myself to do it. I don't even think Steven has a filter on there.) Nothing we do makes sense, yet it works for us. We know this because Smiley Cyrus is happy and healthy. So please, the next time you feel the need to come knocking on my door asking me why my child isn't asleep at midnight, you better think twice Willie Nelson. The third time around Steven won't be answering the door. 

**There is a happy ending to this story. About 5 minutes after Willie left, Steven had Rebel sitting on the bed, facing away from him, and she was looking at me make faces out her and giggling, and he ninja'd his way into her nose and picked the booger so fast she didn't have time to cry. She looked stunned for about 2 seconds, and then went back to being Smiley Cyrus. 

Bits of Wisdom I Hope to Impart to My Daughter

Bits of Wisdom I Hope to Impart to My Daughter:

1. All men are full of shit. Find the one that is the least full of shit and pick him.
2. Don't dress like a whore. If you're showing your legs, cover your boobs. If you're showing your boobs, cover your legs. (Not literally showing your boobs of course.)
3. We live and die Dallas Cowboys. Be prepared for disappointment, but be forever loyal.
4. I promise to openly accept you, whatever you may be. Gay, straight, bi, forward, backward, alien, etc. But please don't be a serial killer. Or a stripper. That one's on your dad though. In the words of Chris Rock "You know you fucked up as a father if your daughter's on the pole".
5. You don't have to "be ladylike" or "act like a lady". Be appropriate. There is a time for cursing like a sailor and it is not at your boyfriend's grandma's dinner table. There is a time for spitting, farting, and burping. It has to do with being a human, not a lady. Learn to judge accordingly.
6. If someone tells you that only inner beauty matters, that is total crap. You will constantly be judged on your outer beauty. Give yourself time. When you find yourself staring at an awkward teen with ears that stick out and horrible teeth, take comfort in the fact that you will grow into your ears, and we promise to get you braces. I was fairly unfortunate, and not a single boy was interested in me in high school. I lived through it. You will too.
7. Learn what "don't bullshit a bullshitter means". You're going to hear it a lot.
8. If you ask your father a question the answer will always be "Go ask your mother." Always.
9. DON'T EVER, FOR ANY REASON, NO MATTER HOW "IN LOVE" YOU ARE, MAKE A SEX TAPE. EVER. DON'T EVER DO IT. EVER.
10. Be nice to everyone,especially the weirdos. You don't want trench coat boy looking for you when he storms the lunchroom with an AK-47.
11. Always say please and thank you.
12. If you go out on a first date with a guy and he doesn't pay, don't ever go out with him again. He is a cheap asshole. (If you're a lesbian I'm not sure what to tell you. Flip a coin?)
13. You can do anything a man can do. And should. But it is always acceptable to ask your Daddy to do it for you.
14. Be extra nice to your godfather Avi Gandhi. He is paying your college tuition.
15. Learn the rules of making fun of people. Don't make fun of someone for something they can't help. Wearing Ed Hardy is open season. You get the idea.
16. Getting drunk can be fun, but it almost always leads to someone doing something really stupid. Everything in moderation my dear.
17. When people constantly ask you about your name, feel free to say "because my parents are assholes". We're okay with that.
18. I am a horrible dancer with no coordination. Your father is the opposite. Sorry in advance.
19. In fifth grade, I threw my lunch tray at a girl twice my size. I don't know what I would have done if she had taken it further. Make sure you can finish shit if you're going to start shit.
20. I'll bail you out of jail, no questions asked. ONCE. ONLY ONCE.

10 Things I Probably Shouldn't Say Out Loud. (Or Blog About)

1. I can sympathize with being pregnant, but Jessica Simpson is fucking huge. She looks like she is having 4 adults. Girlfriend ain't never gonna be the same.
2. Most people only wash their hands after leaving a public restroom because they fear judgement from other restroom goers.
3. I had a sex dream about Barack Obama like two weeks ago.
4. The mail lady came to my door the other day and was like "In this building, we check our mail everyday." Okay so I didn't say it out loud, but I'm thinking "Bitch, do you live here? I pay for this apartment so I can check the mail whenever I fuckin feel like it." Of course I went and checked the mail right away because I didn't want her throwing away my "O Magazine" or anything. There was one piece of mail, and it wasn't even for me. Why she be trippin? Great. I've already been labeled "the tardy mail checker" in the building. If I see her again Ima let her know.
5. Steven and I spent over $900 on eating out last month. Actually, eating in. I'm a terrible house-wife.
6. I actually giggle with excitement when I think about reading all the pissed off facebook posts about Obama's reelection. Gas prices is gonna be like $100 a gallon ya'll!!
7. I don't like dogs. Partly because I'm severely allergic, and partly because they smell, and they slobber on you and are like in your business. They always smell gross. No matter what.
8. When I see someone that doesn't have either a Blackberry or an IPhone, I'm like "Ewww…what's that??!!"
9. Steven and I spent the entire car ride to the Bay for Thanksgiving making up "Sandusky" jokes. TOO SOON.
10. I really feel sorry for Margo Lang. I hope she can get some public assistance or something.

I'm a Blogger Ya'll...

Since like four of you find me entertaining, or idiotic, or a combination of the both, I did indeed start a blog. It is going to be about random shit. And I probably will say the word "shit" a lot. If you find that offensive you might want to follow some other bored, stay at home mom. I'll probably talk about how stupid I think Republicans are too. Maybe a bit about my baby's daddy. A line or two about trailer parks. My love for the gays. How cool my friends are. My current decorating obsession. I will make fun of celebrities all the time. But mostly I will be talking about how sad it is that Margo Lang is going to be poor for the rest of her life. She received the news today. Sad, sad story. Okay, let's get this shit started.



Sweden has gone a bit cray cray. READ HERE to learn about Sweden's implementation of gender-neutral pre-schools. The teachers refer to the children as "buddies" instead of "boys"or "girls". They have even added a gender-neutral pronoun to their encyclopedia. "Hen". BTW...If you read the comments, tons of people think they are referring to a female chicken. "Hen" is a Swedish word you idiots.

I'm pretty fucking liberal, but I still want to be a girl. I think women are superior to men, so why would I want to be brought down to their level?

Okay, so I ain't no psychologicator, but I do understand that we start enforcing gender stereotypes at birth. Or before. Blue for boys, pink for girls. Dolls for girls, trucks for boys. Shit like that. Do I think that is wrong? I don't know…? I know that if my daughter, Rebel, goes to the store and picks out a truck instead of a Barbie, it wouldn't matter to me. "That shit better be on clearance though."(That is something my baby's daddy would say) So, do I think making her put back the truck and get a Barbie is wrong? Yes. I think forcing a certain toy or item of clothing on a child because it is more fitting to their gender then their preference, is a total Republican dick move. They probably think there is some Bible verse about children's toys. "Thou shalt not let thy son play with thy Barbie". (That is in the New Testament I think.)

Fun fact: In the 1800's blue was for girls, and pink was for boys. Figure that shit out.

While I agree with Sweden on the need to enforce gender equality, there is no denying the differences between boys and girls. Especially physically. What happens when the children that go to these "gender-neutral" pre-schools start going to elementary school? They aren't going to know if they are a boy or girl, then everyone is going to be pulling their pants down to compare. It will be a hot mess. I think you can teach equality, without denying reality.

If this question ever arises with Rebel, I will simply say "You can have a baby if you want to. And you're less dumb." There ya go. The difference between a boy and a girl. I'm sure the Swedes can come up with a program that enforces gender equality in a less weird ass way.

With all of that said, I've actually been to Sweden. I have this cute plaid button up I bought there. They aren't super weird or anything. Their food is kind of gross and comes in tubes, but besides that, I don't have anything bad to say about them. They have an Ice bar there. And a big wooden ship. I can't really remember much else. Oh…it was cold.

Too bad Margo Lang wasn't born in Sweden. Then maybe she wouldn't have to use her boobs to get my daughter out of jail.