Jan. 15: Professions I wish I had

Jen E posted a list this morning that got the wheels turning in my bloggin’ noggin. Here goes my version (and I promise never to use the phrase “bloggin’ noggin” again; that was really terrible and I am very, very sorry):

Professions I Wish I Had

Event Planner. I love, love, LOVE all the planning that goes into parties, weddings, travel, and holidays, but I much prefer to be paid for it.

Artist. But-cept I can’t draw and I get tired of art projects before they’re done.

Fertility Counselor. I have no background or experience helping people who are infertile, but there are lots of people out there who have no business being parents. I am perfectly willing to be the person who tells them that. Then I want them sterilized. And fitted for a Cone of Shame.

Fashion Cop. I don’t want to do the awards shows, necessarily, or even the “What Were They Thinking?” pages of celebrity magazines. I’d be perfectly happy arresting the people at the mall. Exceptions would be made for women who have thrown on yoga pants, a baggy sweatshirt, and fake Uggs to run errands—those women are well aware of how horrible they look and just hoping no one sees them. (Ahem.) It’s the people who got dressed using pictures of Justin Bieber and/or Ke$ha as a guide; those people should be arrested, according to Jen’s Book of Fashion Laws. (It’s not so much a book as a pamphlet. Really more of a paragraph.)

Supreme Court Justice. Duh. In fact, I can think of several friends who should serve on the Supreme Court with me: Loveliest Lori, Val, Dina, Larry, Laura LL, Jack S, Tracey, and Mike D. That’s nine! Don’t worry; if any of them are unfit to serve (never!), my list of alternates is crazy-long. I have many Supreme Court Justice-worthy friends.

Asshole Detector. Society could really benefit if someone would just let me hang big neon warning signs on assholes.

Flight Attendant. I’m always super-nice to flight attendants because I think they are secretly willing and able to decide the evacuation order of a plane afire. I would like to be at the front of that line, if it’s not too much trouble. So, if I were a flight attendant, I would make sure everyone on the plane was convinced that I had that power. Fun times.

Cat Lady. Not a Crazy Cat Lady. And I’d have dogs too. Well, one dog. Maybe two, if they’re not Lucy-huge. But I do love the kitties, and I could easily adopt six or twenty if given the chance. I would totally hire a professional litter box emptier though, because YUCK.

Billionaire. Seriously, I would be soooo good at being a billionaire. Gimme a chance and I’ll prove it.

What professions do you wish you had? You know you want to share. I promise I won’t judge.

P.S. I will totally judge.

Dec. 13: In which Jen bitches a whole bunch

Before I get to the funny pics, I need to vent. It’s my blog, so I have the right to do it and I’m gonna. So pfffftt.  Note: I removed a section of this post, for several reasons. I’m sorry.

1. On Tuesday there was a random shooting at Clackamas Town Center. This is scary for tons of reasons, but for us, Clackamas Town Center is the mall we shop at most often—it’s LITERALLY too close to home.
   
   I’ve always joked that of the three largest malls in the Portland area, the worst crimes shoppers might face would be…
   1. Lloyd Center: gunfight or gang activity
   2. Clackamas: fist fights or gettin’ beaned by empty PBR cans
   3. Washington Square: whapped by a Coach purse in a random swinging
2. Turns out I was wrong, and that makes me mad.
3. I know we’re supposed to focus our thoughts on the heroes of the event—the positive things that happened during this tragedy, the ways people showed kindness to strangers—and all the ways it could have been so much worse, but what I think more than anything is that people are assholes. The shooter’s aforethought (stealing the gun, getting dressed in camo clothes and a hockey mask, planning for a crowded mall, etc.), not caring at all that it would affect thousands of people for the rest of their lives… only an asshole would commit a crime like that. Maybe an insane asshole, but definitely an asshole. Also a coward, who shoots himself at the end.
4. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE. There was recently another tragedy in our area in which a father woke his kids up in the middle of the night and shot himself in front of them. How do witnesses ever recover from something like that? I don’t think they do. Yep, all signs point to ASSHOLE.
5. GUNS. Say what you will for or against gun control; I don’t care. I just hate guns. I hate them, hate them, hate them.
6. I’m not done venting! (Does that make you mad???)
7. WHO MAKES THESE DECISIONS? Clackamas Town Center used to be in Clackamas, but now it’s in Happy Valley. Clackamas is not actually a city. There’s a county called “Clackamas,” and Clackamas is a region that makes it on the news when, say, Tonya Harding does yet another stupid thing, or when there’s a mall shooting, but that’s it. Wikipedia says Clackamas is a “census-designated place” (well, that clears it right the eff up!). On the other hand, Happy Valley, which is all around Clackamas, is a city. Happy Valley has changed its boundaries about eleventy times since we moved here in 1997, and I honestly don’t even know where we live anymore. There are signs in three different places on the way into my neighborhood that say “Welcome to Happy Valley,” but technically we are still in Clackamas. Why doesn’t stuff make more sense?

And now I shall share the silly stuff I’ve been saving up for y’all.

 

Mother Maaaaary:

 

 

Y’know how the past few election losers have quietly disappeared
for a while, not giving all sorts of reasons/excuses the other guy won?
I respected Dole, Gore, Kerry, and McCain for their post-election behavior.
Romney, take a cue and shut the holes in your perfectly-coiffed head.

 

Redneck advent calendar

 

 

Aug. 22: Another post

I’m running on two hours’ sleep (ten for the week so far), with a meeting at 10am and another at 7pm. It’s either gonna be a long day or I’m going to the 7pm meeting with some really bad pillowhead (but alert!).

Here’s some misc stuff:

• My dreams—few though they’ve been, given the number of hours I’ve slept this week—have recently been all about the Manullang Geisha House. I’m reading Memoirs of a Geisha and it has completely invaded my unconscious and I’m not OK with this. I mean, I have nothing against geisha, but for the last four mornings I’ve awakened angry at Victor for starting this little family biz. Why would he do that? We don’t have enough going on already???
• Today is Mike Devitt’s birthday, according to Facebook. Happy birthday, Mike! Here’s a balloon.

• I’m kinda pissed because yesterday there was a shooting at the Clackamas Fred Meyer and my friend Stephanie was in there with her family at the time. She was neither the shooter nor the victim; in fact, her family got out unharmed, but STILL. Scariest thing EVER. People are assholes. Not Stephanie. I love Stephanie. And I’m glad she’s alive. Grocery shopping shouldn’t be this dangerous.
• Grimm is back! I think it might annoy me this season. Cliffhangers at the end of every episode? I usually hate shows like that. Also, for you locals—what hospital was that in Monday’s episode? My guess was Good Sam; Vic’s was something else but he was wrong.
• Have I told you lately how much I love football? I haven’t? Hm.
• Chuckles:

 

 

Let’s all take naps today. Seriously. We’re gonna need ‘em. Especially Mike, who is super-old now.

Aug. 16: IDCEAYWTPFriday

I know, two weeks in a row of shirtless Ponch. I cannot believe it also.

• Jack’s football draft has finally finished and… well… he’s on a team. Today we got an email from the coaches, and besides a schedule that has entirely too many practices and games that involve football, it listed lots of reminders like these:

Parents parent, coaches coach, referees ref, kids get the fun job to play. Any time we cross someone else’s job description, problems will arise.

On game day: parents stay in bleachers, not on the track or sidelines.

At practice: parents, no shouting instructions or commands at their own child.

If you have a legitimate concern, talk to me at practice and ask for a time to meet the following day. No emails, VM or text. Talk in person (away from other parents).

Parents: Please try watching the entire spectrum of players, not just your own child. The best parents are those without kids, the best coaches have never coached, the best marriage advice seems to come from divorcees and single people.

• You know what that stuff makes me think? They tell us these things because parents have given them reason to and therefore, parents are unbelievable assholes! I can’t believe people need to be reminded to be decent human beings. I’m running for Football Parent Non-Asshole of the Season. It sounds like there might not be a lot of competition.
• Last night Dina and I went to The Bloggess’ reading/signing at Powell’s in Beaverton. Powell’s waaaay underestimated her popularity—they didn’t have ticketed signing and they ran out of books. It was insanity. And so was her presentation, but in the best way. I adore that woman and her very twisted sense of humor. If you have not yet read the silliness that is her book, put it next on your reading list.
• Why did the Olympics have to end? Pffft.
• The other day I straightened my hair. It took approximately four hours, and that’s why I was late to everything that day. The most frustrating part was not even how long it took, but that five minutes later my hair started telephone cord-ing up again.

• Here’s my advice: if you have chemo and your hair starts coming back all curly, don’t believe people who tell you how lucky you are. You are going to fight with that hair until the end of your days.
• There’s something wrong with Vic’s car and that sucks.
• There’s something wrong with my new laptop and that also sucks, though Vic might suggest his problem is worse. Whatevs. My laptop is making a loud noise that’s super-annoying, but I suppose it won’t break down on I-205 on the way to work.
• Here’s a picture for Sonya, my fab sister-in-law. I can’t wait ‘til she looks like Kim Jong Il!!    (And no, I don’t feel bad, because the Caucasian aging process is way uglier and starts happening way sooner, IMO. Like, in my case, at 32.)

• Did you see the season premiere of Grimm this week? It was edge-of-your-seat kind o’ stuff. I hate two-parters, but I’m glad there’s some new TV to watch, so I’ll let this one slide.
• This weekend Vic’s extended fam is going to Great Wolf Lodge. I love it there, but since I’m not a swim-in-public person, I have opted to stay home. BY MYSELF. It’s possible that I still win.

Apr. 13: On unfriending and world peace

Like many people, I am in-real-life friends with about half of the people on my Facebook friends list. And, like many people, I have a very loose policy on friending and unfriending. OK, loose-ish.

I know this for sure: I won’t friend anyone I have no connection with whatsoever. Why do people send requests when they don’t have even one friend in common with me? Or an interest, or past, or anything? They’re collectors, I assume—they want to be the Facebook user who has one beeeellion friends. Ugh.

I also know this: it takes a LOT for me to unfriend someone. I’m not talking about the cleaning-up stuff, the I-barely-know-this-person-why-are-they-on-my-list unfriending, but consciously clicking “unfriend” because you are saying I DO NOT LIKE THIS PERSON.

Because, and you know this if you’re even a little bit FB-savvy, if a friend drives you nuts you simply remove them from your feed and voila! You rarely see the things they post. This is the best way to handle people you like and/or are related to but have, say, polar opposite political views. Or they turn out to be the type who needs to constantly share every one of their emotions as they occur. Or you just don’t have the heart to let them know the minutiae of their lives does not really matter to you. These kinds of friends *might* be harmless, but they also might be the people who can mess up your mood in a single post.

“Hide” is a fabulous little housekeeping tool.

Cleaning up my feed makes my visits to Facebook an absolute joy. Well, most the time. Sometimes the people in my feed share bad news. That sucks. But I don’t take it personally. (Ha.)

I avoid unfriending because it’s such a passive-aggressive way to tell someone how I feel. Although I’ve probably been unfriended more times than I know (that fbDefriended app came along long after I joined FB), there have been just a handful of times that I’ve really cared. The first time I was unfriended, I was hurt—it was someone who had become dear to me, and it showed me that we weren’t friends in real life after all. The second time someone unfriended me, I was baffled. It was in response to an exchange of emails about our kids. In talking with mutual friends afterward, we concluded that this woman is cuckoo-crazy—not because she no longer wanted to be friends with me, but because her response to our conversation was so rash… also because she continued to harass me indirectly by telling her kid that I didn’t love mine, and sending nasty letters to the school principal. WHAT!ever.

The third time I was unfriended broke my heart, and I won’t talk about it here.

I’ve got a short but powerful “blocked” list—I don’t see them and they don’t see me. There are three or four people on my list that are there because I don’t want them to find me or the people I love. The others are people I absolutely do NOT want to see when I’m going along my merry Facebook way, enjoying my very filtered feed. La la la la la la life is better if I pretend you don’t exist la la la la la!

I’ve with-malice-and-aforethought unfriended people on Facebook two times. The first time was soon after joining, when the person posted “I’m almost to 1,000 friends! Help me get there!” I clicked that unfriend button soooo hard. Not a fan of the collectors!

The second time was today. I know, I know—passive-aggressive. But, to be fair, the person I unfriended today is a complete asshole.

And yet I still feel like a total shit for the unfriending. I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t tell this asshole to its asshole face that it’s an asshole, given the opportunity (which brings up an entirely different type of guilt, that it would be so easy for me to say that). I gave this a lot of thought;  it verges on the ridiculous that I took it so seriously. While it was the right thing to do to keep my mental state in the she’s-not-going-to-explode range, I have an icky, I’m-a-terrible-person feeling, which is weird because I’m pretty sure the people who have unfriended me haven’t given it a second thought.

Geez. I like life way better when everyone’s getting along and bad stuff doesn’t happen and people are happy and nothing changes and I don’t feel frowny-faced and I don’t do things that make other people frowny-faced and the sky is sunny and blue and I’m thin and gorgeous and I don’t pop the blood pressure cuff. It sucks to pop the blood pressure cuff.