Happy f'ing New Year!

This is dedicated to all of the uptight fuckers who got upset when I said the word "fuck."



Happy 2009! I plan to say it many, many more times!

Tag!

I got tagged by D (who, like me, started writing political letters when she was 12), so now here you all are.

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

My six:

1. My parents told me from day one that there was no Santa and no Easter Bunny. They made me swear not to tell my friends in kindergarden. Guess who made the announcement at school the next day? Guess who had to go back and say, "I was just kidding!" So my parents made me LIE!

2. I once interviewed Dan Quayle. I thought maybe - just maybe! - the press had given him a bad rap and he might be able to string a sentence together. I was wrong. He didn't even know where his press office was.

3. I like to say the word "fuck" a lot. (Big surprise to blog regulars.) Once, in college, a guy I went out with told me he didn't think it was "very ladylike" to swear. "Fuck you," I said.

4. I went to high school with James Franco (that cute guy in the Spiderman movies.) Of course, he was two years younger, so I didn't know he existed.

5. I have never had stitches. I suppose there's still time.

6. I got married in a red dress. This distressed the alligator-hunting Republican side of the family.

I'm tagging:

Darth Weasel

Scarlet

Granny Annie

Pheromone Girl

Shionge

Mr. Riot Kitty

Holidays

We had a really nice Christmas with my husband's family - and it reminded me that, Yay! One of the things I love about being an adult is that I get to choose whose house I go to on holidays, and who can come to mine.

One more excellent thing about not being with my ex-b.f. is that I didn't have to go to his evangelical relatives' house and hear all about how God didn't spare the World Trade Center, on purpose.

Other things I love about being an adult during the holidays:

I can eat the damn pie when I like.

I don't have to wait for my mother to put on makeup before we open presents.

I don't have to hear that I'm "ungrateful" from my own evangelical relatives because I don't want to sleep on the floor in their house where there is a big, stinky dog...

I could go on and on, you know?

I think these pics of our nephew are even cuter because of his chocolate Joker smile, don't you?
He even offered to leave his new (awesome!!) remote-controlled tarantula for Mr. Riot Kitty to play with.

I wasn't that thoughtful when I was 7...I don't think I'm that nice now, actually ;)

Rest In Peace, Eartha Kitt

She was sexy and successful as all get out, but did you know Eartha Kitt was an activist for voting rights, HIV/AIDS awareness, and spoke out against the Vietnam war?

She was just awesome...enough said.

The whitest fucking Christmas, ever.

So call me Scrooge. For reasons unbeknownst to me - because it does freeze now and again each winter here - the Portland, Oregon metro area refuses to invest in de-icing, de-snowing technology on a scale grand enough that we can escape our homes when the weather hates us.


Some statistics for you:

In the past 8 days, we've gotten 14.5" of snow here - a record - the last time we had that much was in 1968.


Said snow is more than the total snowfall for the entire winter each year, for every year back until 1980.

Stir-crazy, Mr. Riot Kitty and I went out to get groceries and coffees today. When they played "Let It Snow" at the cafe, I thought there would be riots.

"The people making money," he notes, "own body shops." Pause. "And 976 sex hotlines."

My new mantra: Let It Melt! Oh please, please, please.

Because I am turning into Scrooge.

PS! However, lest I get too Scroogey...check out Darth Weasel's hilarious post about snow shoveling as it relates to weight loss...

How did you get your name?

Instead of ranting about corporate fuckheads and the impending loss of jobs for nearly everyone at Mr. Riot Kitty's work, I thought I'd come up with something with slightly less bile.

I have been snowed in most of the week, doing what work from home that I can, and reading news stories in between. Once a reporter, always a news junkie...

Anyway, I came across a list of the top 100 baby names for 2008. Mine wasn't in it at all; Mr. Riot Kitty's was #51. Actually, his middle name was #51 - his first/legal name is his late dad's name, but he's always been called by his middle name so they wouldn't get confused, and it just stuck.

Just curious - how did you all get your names?

I was named after a Beatles song. (And no, it wasn't "The Yellow Submarine," smart ass.)

My dad says before it came out, hardly anyone in the U.S. had heard of that (French) name. Now everyone just mispronounces it...

When I was little, I kept telling my parents that I had changed my name. Then, when I grew up, I changed my middle and last names - just because I felt like it.

When Mr. Riot Kitty and I got married, a few people asked why I didn't change my last name to his.

I replied, "I like my last name. I paid $500 for it!"

And the letter of the day is...fucking brr!

OK, I grew up in Minnesota - but I haven't lived there since I was 6.

It snows maybe once or twice a year where I live in the Pacific Northwest, and usually it melts quickly.

Yesterday, we got 5 inches of snow and with the windchill, it was 7 degrees.

I think it should be illegal for temperatures to have less than 2 digits, don't you?

I know...most of the country is probably laughing at us for all of the closures. Mr. Riot Kitty was sweet enough to go out in the morning yesterday, before the snow really came down and the roads were closed, and got me a coffee for yesterday AND for today :)

In the meantime, it's pretty, but I'm a bit claustrophobic. Let's just say I'm dreaming of a greener Xmas.

Is it so difficult?

Have you ever noticed that, when you're out in a public place - say a restaurant or cafe - the people who have the loudest voices have the most irritating, mundane things to say?

I mean, when is the last time someone interesting was audible?

It makes me want to turn around and go, "Oh, REAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLY? How Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinteresting," with a fake Russian accent.

My little social editor doesn't always work, you know.

What have you overheard lately that has made you laugh?

Holiday card etiquette and alligator-hunting Republicans

I've blogged before on family and how I believe we create our own.

I don't think blood is thicker than water - because I get along so well with my (step)brother. I think of Mr. Riot Kitty
and the cats and myself as a rather neat and tidy, loving family unit.

(Case in point from my little bro: we went to see Nine Inch Nails Sunday night, and I told him that I had finally found someone - Trent Reznor - who said "fuck" more than I did. His reply: "You'll have to work harder, then.")

And there are definitely family members with whom, as my dad said, I can't possibly share any DNA...

Which brings me to holiday cards.

I am sending out personal ones with photos of our catley children to friends and family, but I bought a box of "peace on earth" dove-type cards today for another category of people that I'd like to send cards to, but not ones that are as personal as signing off as, "Love, Earl Grey, Lucky, Mr. Riot Kitty and Riot Kitty."

You know - volunteers and board members I like working with, etc.

Is that weird?

And then there always comes the question: do you have to send holiday cards to people with whom you theoretically share DNA, but don't really care for?

My unofficial rule is that if I receive one, I send one back...

We were discussing this at the bookstore tonight when I was ringing up.

Bookstore employee: "You know the cards are buy two boxes, get one free?"
Me: "There aren't that many people I like."

Pause.

Me: "Really. One side of my family are alligator-hunting Republicans."

This sent a couple of customers near me into frantic giggles, but it's true! I couldn't make it up.

What do you think? Who do you send cards to this season?

Social change: yes, we can!

Fred Phelps and his hateful followers were planning a protest at a community college in a town about an hour north of me, because the college is putting on the play "The Laramie Project."

Several fearless feminist, progressive friends of mine (is that redundant?), who didn't think Phelps and his fellow assholes would show up, nevertheless went to the counter-protest supporting, well, the opposite of hate.

Phelps didn't show - but about 300 people against his hateful antics did!

I am amazed because this is a super conservative mill town (I used to work there. Guess who didn't fit in?) that's typically behind the social times by about 50 years.

My three friends were debating whether or not it was better to go or not to go, because to go would give Phelps attention if he and his minions showed up - but this was my (straight) friend's take:

My take on it is:

Fuck them.

This isn't for the Westboro Baptist Church; this is for all the good citizens of Cowlitz County who so dutifully rallied around the "Celebrate Diversity" mantra last year without even once mentioning the word "gay". This is for all the folks who marched in the diversity march because they so self-righteously stand behind rights for African Americans and yet feel that they can hide behind their religious beliefs in order to discriminate against gays.

As far as I'm concerned, it's more of an in-your-face "Accept all types of diversity or go stand on the other side of the street with the Phelpses, assholes!" message to this community.

There's absolutely no message that the Phelpses are going to hear and comprehend so I repeat--Fuck them.

I was proud of her.

And my god...if that many people can show up on a winter day to protest anti-gay hate, we are moving forward toward civil rights for all.

I am looking forward to that day.

How do you order new karma?

Mr. Riot Kitty tells me the universe has interesting kinds of karma.

"My kind," he says, "is that people don't see me. Your kind is that no one ever gets your order right."

Apparently the building I work in has karma, too.

A couple of months ago, the owners of the building moved all of their people to another one. They're selling the building, but my work and another nonprofit are still using space there.

As a result, there's no longer a receptionist, ergo, the mailman doesn't bring in the mail. There's a slot in the front and we asked ahead of time for him to leave slips (like you do) if we have packages. This was after he said, "I'll just leave your mail outside in a bin from now on."

To which we replied, "No, that would be illegal."

It's too much trouble for him to ring the buzzer and wait for us to open the door and pick up the mail.

Apparently it's also too much trouble for him to put the mail in the slot. We came back from the Thanksgiving break and found our FUCKING PAYROLL INFORMATION, as well as envelopes with checks for our annual appeal, on the grass. Soaking wet. Out in the open, for anyone to take.

My mother-in-law, god bless her, works for the post office and is getting to retire at the end of the year. She works in customer service and I imagine she's counting the days. She has actually intervened for me before, when our home mailman was putting the wrong mail in our box. (She asked: "How hard can it be to put the right mail in the right slot?" Apparently, this, too, is part of my karma.)

I know there are people who call who are real jerks. All the more reason for them to take my polite and very real complaint seriously, right?

Silly me.

In my dealings with the post office, I was repeatedly asked all kinds of ridiculous questions before anyone would take my complaint.

Why hadn't we complained before? (We did.)
Why would he want to put your mail in a bin? (My guess is as good as yours.)
Had we talked to the carrier? (Yes.)
Why, then, did this keep happening? (You tell me?)

My favorite question, from the regional post office in our zone:
"Is the slot right near the ground? Is that why he'd put mail on the ground?" (The slot is waist high. As for his motivations, search me.)

And then the final question, which was what made me reach my limit, because I'd heard it so many times: "Why would he put the mail on the ground?"

My reply: "Presumably, because he didn't want to put it in the mail slot."

Who knows what will happen now? Maybe he'll spit on it. I'd like to order some new postal karma, please.