Monday, April 20, 2009


disclaimer: this would be a poem. Insert monologue here about how poems are not necessarily based on any truth whatsoever, nor are they necessarily any reflection of the author’s beliefs. With that said, well, you know me…

We must protect our turf against outlaw regimes even if this entails atomic gleam.
Where once the land continued past the edge the earth is knocked clean, as we pledge
allegiance without reading the fine print like resting yr head on the pillow w/out removing the mint.
We must disarm the ghetto and give guns to the official militia, (none of whom are senators’ sons), and we will enact our television fantasy of John Wayne and Dirty Harry in hyper-masculine ecstasy!
We will take it to the desert, sell it as a pay-per-view concert:
The Outlaw Regime versus Wild West—Without our UN tagteam.
Live Rematch: US vs. Iraq!
Buy the lunchbox, t-shirt, backpack!
We’ve sold out our citizens, our culture.
There must be something in the water there, something that makes them all so angry.
Us/them Crazy/angry.
There must be [oil] in the water, and we imbibe that as excuse to slaughter.
The president has ordered troops to take a pill that will make it guiltless to kill.
Robots have an easier time obeying the chain of command.
They follow through as planned and die in their smiling prime.
Robots are expendable, rebuildable—not born with a spoon up the nose—not worth more than the rifle they carry, and are rechargeable.
It goes to show—goes to blow-by-blow award-winning coverage on the evening news.
news you can use to rock the vote.
The vote we rocked…ballots rigged like raffles at the church bazaar.
He rocked, she rocked, we rocked while the clock sped from November across winter,
and there was no consensus, and there was democratic chaos.
We, as in the brotherhood of broken states who fixated on Clinton’s boxers instead of forced burkhas;
We, who gyrated in the New Year as suicide bombers descended on Israel.
And explode in Northern Ireland, Chechnya, and explode over all those places ignored by our media, and we think, yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to go, this broken down connection.
We’re supposed to be siblings and I guess we are, disowned.
All I hear is how we’ve got to protect our own we’ve got to make our presence known.
I object to guilt trips based on lack of evidence when we reverse our policy of innocent until proven guilty.
And there are everyday explosions that we turn away from because there is a hot new unreality show to pacify and entertain us.
Us/ them Crazy/angry out of touch/out of sight.
out of our minds with fear.
Did you buy the fear of smallpox and rage of a madman? Did you?
Are you buying the propaganda?
I’m not.

Protecting the Unborn

It's cases like this in which we need legislation to make murder of unborn babies punishable. I don't buy any of the bullshit that yadda yadda yadda it'll be the slippery slope/domino effect and then abortion rights will be revoked. No. Two very separate things. A fetus, 9 months in the womb, is a baby for all intents and purposes. Clearly the mother was set on having this baby, and some asshole with bad aim shot her.

On a similar note, this is irritating to read about, at the least, because I am going to Boston next month.

Happy Birthday Jack!

My puppy is 2 years old today. He's still very much a puppy - licking, shaking his tail into everything, and loves to follow me around EVERYwhere. I open the cellar door and he RUNS from wherever he is in the house to join me. You're going downstairs, mommy? Can I watch you doing laundry? OO, are you going out to the porch? Can I join you? How about me almost knocking you down the stairs at every chance?

He is trained - he actually went to puppy camp last summer, so he does listen well. In fact, he listens better than Maggie a lot of the time. Maggie is STUBBORN. Jack will come back with ONE call. We got both dogs as 7-week-old pups, and boy, have they GROWN!

And he is a LOVE. He likes to curl up on your lap and snuggle in. Someone should tell him that he is a DOG. Nah. I like him this way. I like him climbing in the dishwasher when I clean up. Sorta.

So Jack, my furry buddy - my hairy little friend, happy birthday! And thanks for crappying on the carpet the other day.

Bow, BOW!

Sweetpea helped me write this post, since, after all, Blue is her FAVORITE character EVER!

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Unleash the HOUNDS!

Hubby had a wonderful idea today - why don't I bring the dogs to the dog park for a little run? There was some rain overnight last night, and they were calling for thunderstorms for the late afternoon and evening, but there was a nice window of nice (albeit humid) weather, perfect for a little pooch exercise. Hubby was working, kids were resting. I actually like taking the dogs out to the park alone - it's a relaxing time. Pups, want to go for a ride? Circle, circle, bark, squeak, WOOF!

When I got there today, there was 1 other car there, with the owners and the pooch playing in the field. Btw, this field has a fench on the side where the entrance is, with 2 gates along it. We used to live closer to this park, but we still manage to drive there when we can, to give the dogs a big field to run and play. And this park entertains all sorts. Young, old, nice dogs, mean dogs. There are rules. And there are nice people and biotches.

Today was the day of the bitch.

Let me explain. I parked RIGHT next to one of the gates, and because my dogs didn't have leashes, my plan was to open the gate door, open the van door and get them into the field asap. Now I am a responsible dog owner, and I have respect for other dogs and their owners. I saw the wench/bitch...ah..OLDER WOMAN with her 3 pups - a golden lab, a pug and a little brown YIPPY Dachshund - drive up. She had them on leashes, BUT I didn't see her bring her dogs into the field through the other gate until it was TOO LATE, I GUESS!

Mind you, I was trying to be quick with my dogs. Parked right next to the gate. I opened the door, then turned to open the van door. Mere seconds. And all of a sudden, I heard a voice resembling my mother's:

CLOSE THE GATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DON'T LEAVE THE GATE OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It rang so loud and so shrill that I think everyone in the 10 town area heard her. I was instantly a 10 year old girl getting in trouble for leaving the door open. "Do we live in a BARN?" My mother was the disciplinarian. The one who wore the pants. The bitch on wheels.

This woman instantly got my hairs up. I shut the gate quickly (as I saw her little yippyskankpup - and I use that term with the most love I can muster - coming towards my ankles, although it would've taken that dog a whole day to get to me, it was so small) and proceeded to get my dogs out of the van, put them on "heel" so they didn't run, because you know, I train my dogs to not run after STRANGERS, and got them into the field safely.

You know, I have no problem understanding that I should be sensitive to others at the dog park, and I have no issue with other people asking me to close the gate. In fact, I could understand an emergency tone to a person's voice, if they were nervous about their dog's safety. But to SCREAM at me? CLOSE THESE, BIOTCH!

Where the HELL were this bitch's MANNERS? Ever hear of the word PLEASE, lady?

I got my poop bags from the dispenser and led my dogs to the other SIDE of the field, where I didn't have to talk to that witch. We played fetch with tennis balls (I use something called a chuckit that makes the balls fly far) and kept to ourselves. And if she said one more WORD to me, I would've unleashed something like, "you know, I expect my preschool children to struggle with manners, but not a grown WOMAN!" I'll be damned if I was gonna take any more crap from this woman. She was probably over on the other side of the field telling all the old people who arrived after me that I was a thoughtful 41 year old who WAS GOING TO LET HER DOGS GET RUN OVER BY A TRUCK BECAUSE, after all, THE PARK WAS ON A ROAD TRAVELED BY 6 TRUCKS A MONTH! Heaven help us. And what would've happened if that little yippyskankpup bit me? I would've dropkicked that beast into next WEEK, I kid you NOT!

Ahem. But I digress.

After a nice 40 minutes of playing, the rain came down, and we all made our way back to our vehicles. And this woman. Ugh. As she drove away, I saw that she was sporting Florida license plates. Let's HOPE that she isn't here for the entire summer. Hopefully she was on her way HOME.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009


Okay, cool. My account's all set up, and this is officially a his n hers blog. Kev's much better about update-age than I am, so you'll be hearing much more from him than I.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

My kids are funny

From a forum my wife frequents: here's a note she posted today:

"Posted: Fri Dec 10, 2009 3:24 pm Post subject: Poor confused Alexander.

Alexander is definitely a 21st century child. Today at Target, I bought a drying rack for some of my sweaters. The kids were watching me set it up, and Alexander looked all around the bottom of it, and asked, "Where does it plug in?" "It doesn't plug in, honey. The sweaters just lay on it and get dry." He didn't miss a beat. He plopped down on the floor next to it, got comfy, and announced, "I'm going to watch how it gets hot." So I had to explain. "It doesn't get hot. It doesn't plug in. It just sits there with with sweaters on it, and they get dry." He eyeballed it for a minute, gave me this dubious "If you say so, lady." look, and wandered away, totally bored with the whole thing."

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Post-binary Gender Chores

Clarification is the strongest ally of mine, so I am going to focus and expand on ideas I have previously written on: genderfuck and prescribed gender roles.

What is known: Gender is different from sex, though for the sake of simplicity in public schools (and not wanting to say “sex” to 8 year olds), the two terms begin to weave together to mean the same thing. They don’t. Sex is chromosomal. Sex is penis or vagina. Sometimes, we know, that people are born with the variety pack of sexual equipment. I do not know how often such an event occurs. That is not really the point. The point I am trying to make is that while my vagina does not interfere with my ability to reason, endure, or perform, it also does not determine any other emotional traits. One is not born predisposed to frolicking in the mud versus playing My Little Ponies.

What I am adding to this: I identify as a woman because I have all the girl parts. What is the difference? Do I therefore think only girl thoughts? In my Composition Theory and Rhetoric Pedagogy class several years ago, we studied the concept of gendered writing. Allegedly, men would write in a more direct, assertive manner than women. I can never figure out what is true or not because I think of myself as the odd one out, rather than normal enough the gauge such things. My academic writing is assertive as hell. I have a clear understanding of rhetoric, and I am not afraid to use it. My journal/blog writings fall into a different category because my imagined audience is different. I don’t know if my writing has gender. Maybe I could post a sample of my academic writings, and ask for a consensus. If boys are taught to be more assertive, then it would logically translate into their writing. . .but we are entering a different time and place. Girls today seem a whole lot more assertive than when I was their age, and that was not too long ago, so I can only imagine what the gap is like for those even older. (It’s a pain trying to maintain control of a classroom because of this, but it does make me secretly happy that girls are as willing to tell me to “fuck off” as the boys are)

Traits obtained through socialization are capable of being eradicated. I know I was not born with the desire to ask forgiveness for things that are not even my fault, and so, I changed this a long time ago when I realized I had taken up the habit I considered insipid and unnecessary. I’m not sorry for the way I look. I’m not sorry if I’m taking up too much space. I’m not sorry if I have offended anyone ever. I’m not sorry if you bumped into me. Somewhere along the way, we pick up these things. Women pick up the idea that they need to be nice to everybody all the time. That’s dangerous, in a bad way. Once we figure out that the snake is a snake, then we should work on subduing it, if we are not fond of snakes. I guess if somebody likes being a simp, they can take that route too.

What is the difference between boy and girl? Where does this intersect? I understand the need for women’s literature classes because women are still ignored by the canon, But, I fail to see how it is a genre. What is exclusive to the female experience, and what applies to the human condition, without gender specificity?

Genderfuck. I’ve written a lot about this one, and I don’t think I have come close to exhausting it, but I will address that in my zine. I have trouble understanding the idea of a “woman trapped in a man’s body” (or vice versa) because I can not grasp that the difference between man/woman, other than in the physiological sense. A woman may give birth, but she may be sterile, not interested in babies, in female-female relationships, or practicing safer sex. Childbirth is not mandatory (or womandatory, if I want to be cute about it). Is there anything non biological that is unique to sex and gender, beyond the response of culture and society to the gender?

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

Coffee is SO Gay

Normally I run away from the business section of the newspaper as if it were contaminated with anthrax (or austin power's mojo), but this caught my eye. It caught both of them, come to think of it. GayCoffees. Yes. For real. I guess I picked the bad time to give up coffee. Hook Flaming IV in my arm and let's call it a day.

Send me GayCoffee, and I'll love you forever.

Wait, if you think you're straight, but you drink GayCoffee, what happens?

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Where I've Been

Here's a map of Where I've Been (traveled to, driven through, visited, etc).

As you can see, I'm not that well-traveled (and that's fine by me!).

create your own personalized map of the USA