Please come find me here:

http://beachxbit.wordpress.com

Thank!

http://ignorantchristian.wordpress.com/2008/07/15/hate-crime-is-the-gay-agenda/

I happened upon this kid’s page the other day,

First off - for Christmas I’m buying him a dictionary … or some kind of program with spell check.

Now a lot of this banter was actually kind of funny, There was another post I got a kick out of where he actually said that “Gayness has killed more people than the Iraq War” … Lol. Right. There was also a little pearl where he explained that evolution must be a lie because his friends father broke a leg and the friend did not “‘inherit” this condition, he also pointed out that people have eyes [He's like some kind of genius, I know. Guess you can't blame the guy for being observant - I wonder how long he was sitting on THAT information]. Yes, humans can SEE! Ya hear me Darwin? Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

Please See:

http://ignorantchristian.wordpress.com/2008/06/19/chalenge-for-evolution-agenda-people/

So, the guy has 6 [any higher and I suspect he would have lost count, perhaps after the dictionary I'll buy him an abacus for Easter] reasons why evolution is gibberish. [And] OH MY! Are these ever well thought out. It’s just a plethora of useful information… Half an eye is ”no good” and “What hap[p]ens in Earth life is bad.” (Mars life however, is quite pleasant! – I think he must be a Harvard boy). He IS right though… half an eye is “no good” – perhaps I should convert.

I have to admit his grasp on Darwinism is a little bit scary. If you’re going to argue against something, don’t you think you should first understand it? [It helps prevent that whole ... coming off like an "ignorant jackass on a mission" thing].

So let me clear things up – No, if your father breaks his leg, you wont have a broken leg… you can’t inherit something that was incidental… and Yes, eyes are good, perhaps one of the driving forces behind that we evolvedto have them. Those with eyes were better suited to survive in their environments, those without were not and thus perished eons ago… survival of the fittest and all that. [Let's all hope for the sake of the species this guy hasn't figured out how to procreate quite yet]. Please note however – Plants… do NOT have eyes. So obviously God does not exist. [So there!].

NOT that I think explaining any of this to him would make the slightest difference at all… But I ask - If you’re going to make assaults on an entire system of reasoning you might want to check your facts first if you’d like your point to be well received.

Moving on – I’m generally not much for attacking other bloggers. Honestly, I was just going to leave some kind of passive-aggressive comment telling him he’s a jackass and that there is no “E” in AIDS, then I got here:

“See?  It was drugs.  Liberals love drugs, they want to make marijuana legal so more gay people can get killed,”

Whaa…?! LOL OMG. LIBERALS LOVE DRUGS! So quick everybody let’s smoke some pot to rid the world of all this lethal “gayness” (Haven’t you heard it’s killing more people than the Iraq War?!) Let’s continue shall we?

“So what that maens is any kind of critique you can give em is a hate crimes!  Just to condem sin they want it to be illegal to say “stop sinning!”  You beleve that?”

I’d like to first point out that Yes, he said “is a hate crimes!” … plural, more than one, just so we’re clear. [And] To answer his question, “You believe that?” … No. No, I don’t believe that. You know why? Because that’s not what they’re saying. Nobody is trying to infringe on your free-speech. There is NO hate crime legislation condemning anyone from SAYING anything. I don’t know anyone who has ever been arrested for simply announcing “Stop Sinning!” Here, wait, I’ll try…

STOP SINNING!!

[give me a moment while I wait for the SWAT team...]

Ok *phew* they musta missed that one. [Or maybe I'm not in fact wired for sound - either way]. Hate Crime legislation is designed to prevent people from committing violent acts against their fellow man solely on the basis of such persons sexuality (but alsorace, religion, etc.) AND in case you hadn’t noticed… committing violent acts against your fellow man for ANY reason – is also a sin. btw. fyi. Oh yea, and one last thing:

“Hate crimes is just reverse descrimination which is part of the gay agenda.”

Reverse discrimination… THATS a hoot. I ask you, when exactly was the last time that someone refused to hire you, serve you, or speak to you on the basis that you were in fact NOT gay? I mean, just out of curiosity.

Now, In closing, I’d just like to say that I’m willing to bet all this rampant “gayness” was not created by a coalition of christian-haters somewhere out there with the intent purpose of raining on your little Holier-Than-Now parade.

That said – I’m almost 90% sure that your entire blog is so rediculous that it MUST infact be satire. In any event, It’s been a lot of fun, Thanks for playing, but you’re beginning to give me a headache.

Being with a non-coffee-morning person is a challenge, but we’ve worked it out pretty good. I like to get up really early and West likes to sleep late. This means that I can get up and palpot and/or stare into space for my hour (or 2) before West even turns over in the bed. On the weekdays, I get up to go to work much earlier than he does, so I usually get dressed in the quiet and I use this as my time to wake up. Its a flawless plan. A solid morning routine is truly key to a happy marriage (at least MY happy marriage).

…There are times though when West needs to get up early with me and it really just throws me off kilter. He’ll talk about the weather and his schedule and what we’re doing tonight. All the lights are on, music is playing, the TV is blaring (or sometimes music blaring and TV playing). Then the cat’s bouncing all over the place. It is so the opposite of quiet at 7:30 in the morning that all I can do is straighten my hair and count to 10 (about 100 times).

Not. Funny. And definitely Not. Quiet.

In any event… to my point, every morning I wake up to the same routine in my house.  Throw cat, Hide under blankets, Throw cat, Try to resist the urge to kill cat, Give up, Get up, Feed cat, Make coffee, Palpot outside chain smoking while drinking coffee, Drag my tired cranky ass inside, Plug in Straightener, Do make-up, Hunt for pants, Put on said pants, Do hair, wake up hubband, out the door, stop for redbull, head to work.  Its simple, its precise, its predictable, and its quiet.  And we all know that I desperately need my quiet in the mornings.

But something happens when I get in my car.  Tension.  Stress.  Anxiety.  Anticipation.  I’m like a high school wrestler right before a match.  Why, you ask?

Because I have no patience. I’m a commuter.

I don’t quite understand the psychosis behind what happens on the road between 7:50 and 8:15 AM, but it is quite amazing really.  People go insane.  Really.  Insane.  They bob and weave, they tap their breaks, they drive slow in the fast lane, they don’t signal their lane changes.  Why is it that during commuting hours, all laws of traffic go out the effin window?

And how about those morons who go flying 90 miles an hour through stand still traffic?  Where do they think they’re going?  You cut me off so that you can stop immediately in front of me?  Let me give you a hint:  There’s no finish line when you’re driving to work, people.  And that’s the other thing.  You’re driving to WORK.  What is the hurry?

Just for kicks this week, the state police have decided to start pile ups on the northway by staging police cars every few exits.  They don’t do anything.  They don’t even have lights on their cars.  But they sit there to freak people out.  You know who that freaks out?  ME!  That’s right, because I’m the one who almost slams into those idiots who see a police car and immediately slam on breaks, whether they are speeding or not.  Every morning I come around the same corner, and there is the same cop car, and traffic instantly slams to a stop.  Its the transit equivalent of the phone ringing during sex.

But wait! It gets better!

[Although this part is really my own fault, because as I should know by now, sarcasm is not always well received...]

So, I’m at the store buying my redbull this morning (as per usual) and the cashier is going on and on to me about her new car. Being conversational I ask “What kind of car do you have?” she immediately tenses up and snaps “WHY!?” … … … because she’s an ass I decided to try to difuse the very unusual tension with a joke (what was I thinking, right?) I say (sarcastically):

“… … because I’m planning on stealing it and I need to find a chop-shop. I can’t very well be troubled with those innane details while in the process of hijacking it, now can I?”

I know, I know.

Needless to say, I think there is a possible arrest in my future. Yep. I love mornings.

ANYWAY, By the time I get to work, my serene morning has been shot in the foot.  I walk in the door just proud to have made it to work.  Usually I have spilled my redbull on me at some point, I am running late because someone cut me off and made me miss my traffic light, so I’m hauling it in heels.  Clothes flying.  Hair crazy.  It is never pleasant.  But at least I survived.  Its a minor morning miracle.

all I have to say is …

omg I’m old.

yea, *sigh* so I’ve decided I’m now going to start lying to you all about my age.

again.

just so you know.

it’ll be much like in highschool where I said I was 21 to get into bars…

except this time I’m telling you upfront… and we’re going in the opposite direction now. (much like Selena and I have been doing for years, so it shouldn’t be that much of an adjustment).

anyway – so far it’s started off well… I’ve gotten both elbowed and clawed in the face, and was forced out of bed at 6am. On a Sunday. (For more information as to why, please refer to previous post “Night Terror”.)

as for how you can help… please see final paragraph of “Didn’t we used to Have a Good Economy”.

lol. ok that is all. byes.

For one, my social security number was wrong. (Seems like an important thing when it comes to checking credit right?) Addditionally, it listed my ex-boyfriend as being my husband, claimed I had lived at his mother’s house for a time, as well as Char’s Dad’s house…? My phone number was my father’s office, and my employment still listed me as working at TGIFriday’s and being a Student. (In it’s defense, my name was at least right, and it did show several previous addresses that were correct). But wait, it gets better! On my credit history it shows the first credit card I EVER had (a visa from Bank of America) as having a $0 balance (which it should – cause I paid the whole thing off in 2004) but as being over 180+ days late…? So I owe nothing… but I’m late (VERY LATE) in coughing up the nothing that I owe them. In fact it’s been almost 4 years since I made a payment on a card that I close out several lifetimes ago.

I also apparently owe $87 to “SHCS” whatever the hell that is… and that appears on there twice. Not sure why. Putting it on my credit once obviously wasn’t going to hurt it enough. My Chase Credit Card doesn’t actually acknowledge getting a payment from me since Dec. of last year (which while I’ll give them that around March I fell a couple months behind) they see it as being more like 8 months behind… I guess they’re allowed to round up. It also shows my “Credit Limit” as being $100… but there is $16,000 on the card. I wonder how the hell THAT was possible? “She’s over her limit by TEN THOUSAND dollars…, but fuck it, why stop her now.”

On the upside, my car loan showed up accurately as being never late and then paid off. That was about the only thing on my credit report that made any sense. (Well that and I DO owe Chase just a rediculous amount of money.) We’re not done yet though. In the not bad, but still definitly unusual column, It shows me having a credit card with HSBC Bank (that IS in good standing) with a credit limit of $1,000 that I apparently opened in May of 2007… while I was sleep walking because I have no recollection of doing this. Also no card to speak of that bears any resemblence to a HSBC Credit Card. Go figure.

All in all, it was a very eye-opening experience. I learned that I’m married to Jared, take calls at KAPL, live with Char’s Dad, work at Friday’s while going to school, randomly open credit cards at Banks that I’ve never been to, and have been wrong about my Social Security number for pretty much my entire life.

We got West’s credit report too and his, I suppose, made a little bit more sense. They had his address wrong, but as far as important information goes, it wasn’t entirely as bad as it apparently could have been. We DID learn though, that at some point his parents took out a school loan in his name… and then decided that it only needed to be paid 3 times over the past couple years (aka… ever since it was opened.) So on his credit he discovered a loan he never knew existed that has now fallen a year and half behind… what I’m trying to tell you… is I think we’re totally f*cked here people.

So if you haven’t yet, I highly recommend checking out your credit report. They’re obviously just filled with little pearls of information. You’ll find it especially entertaining should you enjoy reading works of fiction. (That will have dire impacts on your future endeavors). But at least now I know, who I really am, and what my alter-ego has been up to when I haven’t been looking. *sigh* that’s all for now

Believe it or not, I’ve been having a good couple months. Sun shining. Children laughing. Hair cooperating. Cuddles, Love and Rainbows. The whole nine. However, every couple days It seems as though the skies keep opening up and raining on my parade. Waiting in my mailbox… Bills. Credit card bills (4 of them total – In my defense 3 of them are his… but mine is higher than all 3 of his combined… so maybe that’s not such a good defense after all. BTW whoever thought giving a credit card to an 18 year old was a good idea should be dragged into the street and shot… after he pays my Chase bill), then theres West’s Bike payment, insurances, and a medical bill from 1999 that I’m pacing myself in paying… That’s all I seem to get anymore. Just slips of paper that represent more money than God has. For those of you who have not chosen yet to go into debt up to your eyeballs, congratulations… [I hate you] and you can just stop reading now.

It makes it hard to save any real kind of money. West and I have talked a couple times about maybe trying to get a house. But let’s think about that for a minute. The racket in the mortgage crisis is not the inflated market or the interest rates, it is the fact that they don’t make you pay your first month living in the house. Oh, don’t you worry. You’ll pay it eventually. But the first month you are mortgage free. This means, you are able to walk around with lots ‘o cash in your pocket buying new furniture and paint and dog bed without a care in the world until, one day, you are blind sided by this daunting little payment book. Suddenly – WHAM! – the fun must end. You must drink heavily, take out your checkbook, and write this check that makes even the mailman weep for you.

What a dirty industry that mortgage banking business is. What heartless thugs. They give you a pretty little house and then expect you to PAY FOR IT!? Whose idea was that, and why wasn’t I involved in that decision? If I had been involved in that decision, it would look more like this: “Here, you adorable newlywed couple. Take this beautiful cape cod home, paint its walls, mow its lawn, say nice things to its neighbors, and always take down its Christmas decorations by New Years and its yours – for free!”

That said, I think we might have to wait on the house until I get three jobs, or sell a couple kidneys. I have enough financial problems. Didn’t we used to have a good economy? I remember when I first started driving, I was actually pissed off when Mobil tried to charge me $1.10 for a gallon of gas… now, if I could find gas for $1.10 I would literally be dancing naked in the streets. I’d probably jump out of my car immediately and hug the gas station attendant (regardless of how many teeth he did or didn’t have). I’m already at the point that I’d need at least two jobs just to pay for the gas it would take to get to my first.

[And...] If you smoke, the world is in an even worse place (if you smoke in New York anyway). It now can cost almost seven dollars for a pack of cigarettes. SEVEN dollars. In some countries I could get heroin cheaper. On another note… I guess it’s kind of a miracle that they’re even still allowing me to smoke. Sort of. Not anywhere inside, Not within 50 feet of any public building, Some places I can’t even do it outside. We’re only about 2 steps away from just rounding up all the smokers and shooting them. Who’d wanna do that though when there is so much effin money to be made off the fact that we’re addicts. “STOP KILLING YOURSELVES!!” (… but if you MUST, please pay us an arm and a leg and your first born child.) Greedy bastards. They must have Chase Credit Cards too. 

In summary… If you notice that I don’t post for a few days, its either because of the amount of alcohol it will take for me to write these checks or its because I have no access to my computer because I can’t afford electricity. In either case, send help in the form of more alcohol.

After giving it a lot of thought, I have concluded that… our new kitten wants me dead. Night after night all I’m trying to do is mind my own business and get a little sleep and yet every hour on the hour she wakes me up to try and claw my eyes out… yesterday I finally gave up around the crack of effin dawn and came upstairs to have some coffee because if I had stayed in the room I fear I might have killed her. (It would have been self defense after all).

This morning I made the same conclusion, except today it was a team effort. I finally gave up around 8am, when West stole all the sheets for the 100th time and backed me into a corner so that he could spoon the demonic beast. Yes folks, I have to beat out the cat if I’d like to cuddle with the husband anymore. (In his defense she is far softer and fluffier than I am… perhaps if I started wearing fur coats while I sleep we could put this whole stand off to bed – so to speak lol) If only he had known he didn’t really need to get a girlfriend, a cat would have sufficed just as well.

But this is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Not only does she steal my man, and half my bed, but she also steals all my pillows. Now this is just fine for West, she doesn’t mess with his, but I end up with only a quarter of the fom. (Yes, “fom” that’s what it’s called… strange I know, but take it up with the manufacturer, I’m in no mood.) She plops herself on top of the other two pillows – that I obviously only keep on the bed for her benefit (clearly the same reason I keep West there…) and then puts her head on the top part of said fom. leaving me with… well pretty much nothing. (All the while hubband is klepto-ing the sheets and inching me closer and closer to the wall.)

If I were to try to move her off the pillows, fom, or West… well that would just prompt her to start her hourly assault early… it would NOT however have any effect on when she began it again. The past two nights I have literally almost cried. I haven’t slept for more than 40 mins at a time (and that’s at best) and I have to keep waking up to something biting my toes, scratching my knees, assaulting my face, and hijacking everything that my previously comfy bed has to offer. Sometimes I’m even expected to function at ungodly hours of the morning, while I wake up to the sounds of her breaking something, or knocking it around the room, and I have to run the gauntlet getting everything off the floor and putting everything back in its place (at 2am… joy!)

Not to mention, I’m now becoming equally annoyed with the man. (It’s not his fault really… and in fairness it’s probably only brought on my jealousy…) He gets to bed [rediculously] early and then manages to sleep until like noon. Even better, he’s recently (and by recently I mean since we got her) started teaming up with the Damien of the animal world in her never ending quest to drive me to the brink of insanity. [And] even if the kitten were to try to kill him too, it really woudln’t be that big of a deal to him because he’ll just sleep for twelve years anyway. To top it all off, he’ll then wake up and tell me he’s tired… [while I try to resist the urge to smack him upside the head and tell him he doesn't know from tired].

*sigh* not entirely sure what it all says for the future of our relationship. I mean let’s face it – kittens are supposed to be easier than kids… right? (If that’s true then I’m no longer confused as to the real cause of Post-Partum Depression.) How the hell am I supposed to survive children when I’m driven almost to the edge everyday but something that chases its own shadow and runs into walls. I guess I just remain optimistic that my kids wont attempt to kill me in my sleep everynight (at least until they’re teenagers)… Of course even if they do it’s becoming obvious that I’m not going to get any support from the man. He’ll just sleep through it.

Now maybe I’m just cranky… overly tired… and over-reacting. In fact all of those things are probably true. I just don’t particularly care as I haven’t gotten a good nights sleep in forever and I don’t think the bedroom is an appropriate place to have death-match battles for my OWN stuff. I have way to much other stuff going on right now to be effin exhausted every day. If this keeps up I may very well be taking up residency on the couch. (I’m beginning to wonder now how many couples are listing “kittens” under irreconcilable differences on divorce forms…)

Send help please.

[Our first day before setting up the site] It’s actually been a really long time since the last time I went camping. An activity which – for the record – I’m pretty in love with. It’s quite relaxing, I think, to get some time away, be in the woods, make fires, go swimming, etc etc. It was definitly a much needed break from the stress and strain of our everyday lives.

[West tried to capture this frog... but he proved to be a little more elusive than intitially anticipated]. Anyway! We ended up going up to Moffitt Beach (It’s location has been a subject for argument, it may or may not be on Sacandaga Lake… depending on whether or not you believe there are multiple Sacanadaga Lakes… lol

But it IS definitly in the Adirondacks, and has some really pretty camping spots that I’m determined to go back too. The site we got left a little to be desired… but, again, it was fourth of July weekend, and we booked it 4 days in advance lol. The weather held out quite nicely though as there were zero clouds the whole weekend.

On another note… Camping is a lot more expensive than I remember though. Groceries alone were over $200, of course half of that was beer … and we gave ourselves WAY too much credit in that department as, upon returning, we could probably open a bar in our basement with what we have left. It’s also a lot more work than I remember. lol. As relaxing as it was, we had to drive the two hours home, unpack everything and then I spent the rest of the night doing three loads of laundry. (Incase you haven’t noticed, my life revolves around our washing machine. It’s highly stimulating.)

Not sure what else I can add at this point. So I shall leave you now lol. k thanks, bye

I was actually begining to make terms with that I am a very, very, pale person. To remedy this – I had promised myself that I was going to make a valid attempt at getting a tan this summer, a task which for me, is no easy undertaking.

Now common sense would dictate that a person as pale as myself should not just lay around outside without any sunscreen… luckily I am serverely lacking in the common sense department. As a result, I tend to get burned quite often, and have had to accept that there is probably skin cancer in my future.

I gave consideration to maybe sucking it up and slopping some of that sunproofing stuff on for a change… but that train of thought was short lived, although (to my credit), it was about as much thought as I had given to giving up smoking – which I have done many times, because damn it, I guess you’re supposed to at least pretend you want to live.

… Quitting smoking was an epic fail too, incase you’re wondering.

So, while I am probably going to to be afflicted by some form of cancer or another - that will be entirely my own fault, I might have at least [hopefully] managed to get a tan this summer (although that is probably still highly unlikely… Especially with all the effin clouds… and the fact that even if I DO manage to get something resembling a tan… it will not, for whatever weird genetic reason, be on my legs… because they never tan. Ever. The skin in that area is apparently hardwired with sunblock, thus causing me to periodically take on two ethnicities at once – [those being] white and practically albino). BUT, thanks to my complete and utter lack of will power, I will at least have made it a while without being arrested for all the killing sprees that I would have gone on sans nicotine.

I’m now going to grace you with a story… about a raccoon… It’s a story a friend told me some years ago, that a friends told her, about something that happened at her friend’s house. (… If you’re following closely, this happened to the raccoon of a friend of a friend of a friend.)

[So it must be true.]

Anyway… This friend of a friend of a friend, she had a raccoon in her yard, so she called the police. (Let’s assume the raccoon was rabid, or perhaps trying to steal her bicycle.)

When the officer came, the raccoon (who was apparently walking very slow or perhaps having trouble with the Kryptonite U-lock) was still there, and the officer decided the best way to handle the situation was to shoot him (Now, I’m sure you all know how I feel about this course of action… but for the sake of the story I am not going to go on a rant about it currently lol).

However, we will obviously need to make some assumptions… namely that the officer in question was new to the police force, perhaps he thought the raccoon was a member or a local gang and logically assumed he’d be packing heat, perhaps he was not familiar with all the paperwork involved when discharging a weapon within 100 feet of a domicile, or perhaps, that this raccoon lived in Montana and there were no domiciles with which to be concerned. I don’t really know.

In any case, the owner of the home was horrified because it took several bullets before the raccoon succumbed, and her son witnessed the entire episode. I guess it takes a lot for those Montana people to bring their kids inside. Me, we’d have never been out there in the first place, what with all the ticks (Montana… it’s a haven for those kinds of things), but if we were for some reason outside, the second that raccoon started trying to steal my bicycle, we’d, again, go right inside. I say, just take the effin bicycle, you can always replace a bicycle.

Anyway, my friend’s point was more about the raccoon itself. “Do you know why it took so many shots?” she asked me. In relation to its size, there is actually so little going on in a raccoon’s body by way of important organs, she explained, that it is very hard to hit anything in there significant enough to kill it. (If I happen to have any raccoon biologists among my readership, please don’t bother writing in with contradictory statements. Now is not the time to have facts blurring my story.)

This lack of stuff going on in a raccoon fascinated my friend. Mostly because she had hit upon a brilliant model for explaining the emotional (and on some days, intellectual) content of the human male. There is so little going on in there, she extrapolated, that it takes a lot of repetition for them to actually get what you’re saying.

I’d giggle over this story every so often – and even repeat it to other friends, in the way frustrated women often do, as a means of coping.

… But I didn’t actually think it was true.

Until today that is, while trying to calm down my friend Aimee, as she looked on in horror, watching the two males in her life, ages 3 (nephew) and 28 (husband), whiling away an afternoon in their hammock, blowing ginormous soda burps into each other’s faces, and laughing hysterically… totally oblivious to that they had forgotten about the grill… which had now gone rogue and caught fire to half the things in their backyard.

“Aimee,” I said, “Let me tell you a story. It’s about a raccoon…”