5 Ways The Hobby Lobby Ruling Affects Women

Yup, that's Mr. Rogers flipping the bird.

Late June is a pretty awful time, because that’s when The Supreme Court Of The United States (SCOTUS) rulings are typically announced. The Supreme Court, with its unchecked omnipotence, makes me nervous. I wait on tenterhooks to find out which of my rights will be taken away every June.

One decision that I knew was coming soon was the ruling on Sebelius v. Hobby Lobby. If you’re not familiar with the case, I wrote about it when SCOTUS decided to hear it here.

Basically, Hobby Lobby and a few other corporate holier-than-thous challenged the Affordable Care Act’s mandate to provide birth control for their employees on religious grounds.

The decision came out today. SCOTUS sided with the corporations. The 5 to 4 majority decision said that privately held corporations with religious convictions have the right to withhold certain forms of birth control from their female employees if they go against corporate religious beliefs (if it were up to me, “corporate religious beliefs” wouldn’t even be a thing).

Really, this decision isn’t all that surprising since in the Citizens United ruling, SCOTUS said that corporations are people. As people, corporations have the same rights to freedom of speech as, well, people.


I simply cannot tackle the Hobby Lobby ruling head on without the use of satire and dripping sarcasm, so here are some positive things for us womenfolk that are sure to come.

1. We no longer have to think for ourselves.

Women, good news–we can rely on our employers to plan our families for us! We don’t have to decide how big, if or when we want a family. Our employers can legally do that for us. If we don’t want or can’t afford to have children, it doesn’t matter. Christian employers can be all up in our reproductive rights and there’s nothing we can do about it. Clearly, corporations know what’s right for us and our families better than we do. Just shut up and let them do the talking.

2. Standardized health care isn’t required.

If we work for a non-family owned for-profit business, we can get birth control as part of the Affordable Care Act. If we work for a religious non-profit or privately owned company that’s religious, they don’t have to provide it. So, if we want less health care options than comparable employees at other companies, all we have to do is go work for Hobby Lobby or any other privately held religious company. They can totally force their ideology on us, even when it comes to our medical care, regardless of our own beliefs.

Corporate beliefs are way more important than individual beliefs anyway, because corporations create jobs or something. I don’t know; I’m just a dumb girl. If it wasn’t for corporations, we wouldn’t have any rights to take away!

3. Discrimination based on gender is fine.

Men–The Hobby Lobby ruling essentially only affects women and all the babies we’ll be forced to have now, so you menfolk can just sit back and relax. It’s not like you have a role in raising babies or anything. Men will still have a full range of health care options.

Women, on the other hand, depending on what company we work for, will not. If we live in small towns and the only employer available to us is a private Christian business, well, too bad. We should move someplace with more employment opportunities if we don’t want to have babies.

4. It opens the door for all sorts of complaints.

Privately owned, for-profit companies, Christian or otherwise–the great news is that this ruling paves the way for all sorts of other complaints based on religion. You don’t agree with vaccinations, stem cell research or blood transfusions? No problem! Pretty soon, I’m sure you’ll be able to take away your employees’ rights to all life-saving treatments if they clash with of your religious convictions. Think of all the money you’ll save by not providing a full range of health care options.

The Hobby Lobby ruling only applies to a couple of forms of FDA-approved IUDs and birth control that prevent pregnancy, which Hobby Lobby and people/corporations like them call “abortion pills” even though they have nothing at all to do with abortion.

However, since the foot is now firmly in the door, I expect that all other forms of birth control will be taken away soon. This decision is really just an arbitrary line in the sand and can be easily pushed to accommodate your own brand of moral policing for your corporate workforces. Eventually, all reproductive rights will probably belong to employers and not to the owner of the actual vagina.

5. We can have all the babies we want (or don’t want)!

Women, go on and have that baby. Have three! Hobby Lobby and the Supreme Court encourage us to reproduce, regardless of our circumstances. It’s not like we have any other options now that contraception is unavailable. Of course, don’t expect Hobby Lobby to actually pay for any expenses related to child care, support public services or any sort of minimum wage increase. The expense of raising children is up to us. We’re doing the lawd’s work here, women!

Next up for Hobby Lobby: Pushing Bible study in public schools, because it’s not like that’s exactly what the Establishment Clause is meant to prevent. Why stop at health care? Hobby Lobby’s beliefs for everyone! If you don’t like it, move to another country or figure out a way to become a man (but we won’t pay for that either).


Ugh. That’s about all the sunshine and bullshit I can stand. Seriously, SCOTUS majority, get your fucking heads out of your asses. Listen to Ginsburg on this one.

To Hobby Lobby, Conestoga Wood Specialties, Alliance Defending Freedom and the rest of you assclowns trying to take our reproductive freedom away and replace it with your morals, this is for you:

Yup, that's Mr. Rogers flipping the bird.
Yup, that’s Mr. Rogers flipping the bird.

In case you didn’t catch it the first time, here’s two more:

1119
FUUUUUUCK YOOOOOU. You cannot argue with Mr. Rogers.

Why Do You Hate Me, Universe?

Our tiny little corner of the universe.
Our tiny little corner of the universe.
Yeah, I know. This is just the galaxy, not the whole universe.

I would like to know why you have it in for me. I’d also like to request that you stop fucking with me, at least, for a little while.

Hello, dear readers. I have been absent, because this week sucks.

Last weekend started off pretty well with one of the dog park regulars asking me if I’d care to apply for a job at her company. Yes! I would! But, I don’t have an up to date resumé. Booo. I’ll work on it over the weekend. Pinky swear.

Over the weekend, I discovered my house has a serious bug problem. Bug problems make me itchy. It’s not like I can say, “Oh, my house has insects everywhere, let’s just plop down on the couch and resumé some.” No, bug problems take front and center, even over getting a new job. Instead of working on my resumé, I spent Saturday and Sunday cleaning out every nook and cranny, and spraying some seriously toxic shit. Take that, fuckers! DIE, YOU BUG BASTARDS!

Seeing as that toxic shit I sprayed upstairs, where there is carpet, was toxic as shit, the animals and I had to move downstairs, where there are hardwood floors and less chance of bastard bugs. I slept on the couch. I hate sleeping on the couch.

Monday rolled around and I was going to work on my resumé only to realize, I didn’t have an old copy and would have to start over. Screw that. I have a copy at home, so instead, I drew a turtle. Monday night, I couldn’t find a copy of my current resumé. What the fuck? How can I not have a resumé of any sort anywhere? This is just not possible.

Monday night, while in a sleepy duel with my cat and my dog for space on the couch downstairs, I got the flu. I’m still not sure whether the flu was actually flu or just a reaction to the toxic shit I sprayed. If it was a reaction to the toxic shit, that’s fine with me as it was totally worth it to kill all those fuckers dead. DEAD. Get out of my house! I’d do it again (only this time, with a gas mask and better ventilation).

Tuesday, I slept for about twenty-two hours. I left the couch a grand total of three times. All three times were to walk the dog. I had so little stamina and felt like such crap that I had to stop and sit down every ten feet or so. So, there I am in my pajamas, looking like death, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk while my dog happily sniffs at this thing and that. Having the flu, a dog and no yard really, really sucks.

Wednesday passed much the same way as Tuesday, except that, by the afternoon, I could do no more sleeping ever. I will never sleep again. I did all the sleeping I’m ever allowed to do on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Fevers are weird. Somehow, I was hot and cold at the same time. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but it happened. I couldn’t think, concentrate or go five minutes without hacking up a lung. Eventually, I stopped getting the chills constantly. I’ve got to say, the chills aren’t an entirely unpleasant experience. At least, they’re the best part of having the flu. They’re very tingly. I was sad to see them go.

And, here we are on Friday, and I’m still running a low grade temperature. My head feels like it’s filled with cottage cheese. I can’t breathe through both nostrils at once. I can walk about a hundred feet now without having to take a break. Progress.

Meanwhile, I’m still on the damn couch. When I mercilessly sprayed upstairs for those bastard bugs, I left my room in total disarray. I also left the windows open and it still smells in there. I haven’t had the energy to put it all back together. Just the concept of making my bed makes me want to knock back a Red Bull and take a nap at the same time.

So, I’m still on the couch. I hate that goddamn couch. I’m going to burn it when I get my upstairs back. I probably won’t since I need a couch downstairs, dammit.

To recap: 1) Job opportunity! Yay! 2) Bug infestation. Ewww! Kill it! 3) Flooooooo. 4) Resumé just finished this morning on Friday, nearly a week after I was supposed to have my resumé finished.

So, universe, I ask you, why do you have it out for me? Why would you not want me to have a nice new job? I have been through an awful lot of crap in my short life and I’m really wondering why I keep having to trudge through life with a juggling bear balanced on my shoulders while riding a unicycle on a high wire blindfolded, whereas others just get to walk on perfectly normal sidewalks.

You know how I know this isn’t all some sort of shitty coincidence and that you’re actually out to get me? I checked the mail yesterday after being sick for days and there was a jury duty summons.

Jury duty.

Because fuck yeah. :|

10 Things I Hate Part 10: Thing 100 Edition!

10thingshate

Part 10 officially marks 100 things I hate! I never would have figured it would have taken me nearly a year to get here.

1. I hate the stupid things people put on their cars. I’ve never been one for bumper stickers since I don’t like the concept of people making brush stroke summations of me based on how I decorate my automobile, but some of these people out there on the roads are crazy. Some specific things that annoy me:

1a. I just saw a car on the way home with a vanity plate of a sports team surrounded by a matching license plate holder, the team’s name spelled out across the top of the car and no less than three bumper stickers of the team logo. What’s with putting several of the same bumper sticker on your car? Is it just in case we missed it the first three times?

1b. Vanity plates. What do they mean? First, it’s called a vanity plate which means you have to be vain to get one. It’s right there in the title. Second, half the time, I can’t make sense of them at all. Even when I do understand what the truncated gobbledygook is supposed to mean, well, they still don’t make sense. Why would you spend extra money on that?

1c. “My child is a…” whatever stickers and “Baby on Board” signs. I hated Baby On Board signs when they were popular in the 80’s and I hate them now. One would think that this idiotic trend would have died out by now, but alas, I just saw one the other day. What is the significance of these stupid signs? Every time I see one of these, owing to my contrary and violent nature, my first instinct is to ram the offending vehicle at high speed. Fuck you and your fucking baby. Seriously, I don’t care what you have on board.

1d. Lined up stuffed animals in the back shelf. That shit is just creepy.

1e. Truck nuts. Why in the name of fuck would you ever hang a pair of plastic testicles from your tow hitch? That’s just gross, wrong and stupid.

2. Priuses, Priusii or whatever the plural of the goddamn Toyota Prius is. I fucking hate these vehicles. The people who drive these idiotic looking modes of transportation are morans. I fully admit that my attitude towards Prius drivers is not only a gross generalization, but it is quite possibly, a cultural thing. People in other parts of the world might not have a clue what I’m talking about here. Lucky them. I’m also willing to admit that not all Prius drivers are selfish, oblivious, inconsiderate jerkfaces. That being said, these cockroaches on wheels are everywhere in LA and their owners are fucking idiots who don’t know how to drive. I have many hypotheses on why Prius owners are such dangerous, entitled nutbags:

2a. In the state of California, if you drive one of these stupid cars, it comes with a sticker that allows you to get in the carpool lane even if there’s only one idiot in the car. Because of this aggrandizement endowed to Prius owners by the Republic of California, all Prius owners literally think they own the road.

2b. I have a hypothesis that Priuses come with a speed limiter that makes them go 10 MPH slower than any other car.

2c. They have a time lag on their turn signals so that they don’t come on when the turn is commencing, but a full ten minutes later when they are not even turning. They only turn off again when the Prius intends to turn again.

2d. Prius mirrors are only designed for hair adjustment. Prius drivers have gotten used to switching lanes (sans turn signal, of course) without even looking in their mirrors because we are in their way after all.

3. Jumpy passengers. I’m not talking about bracing yourself because a Prius just pulled out in front of us without looking and we almost hit them. I’m talking about the more passive aggressive type of passenger. I am referring to the variety that hold a firm grip on the door handle at all times, straighten their legs to brace themselves every time we come to a stoplight, or yell “Watch out!” when there’s a car five football fields away. Nobody really likes being a passenger and I’m all for pointing out an obstacle if it is clear that I don’t see it, but in general, if you don’t like the way I’m driving, get the fuck out of my car. You can cart your own lazy ass around town. And for the record, I haven’t been in an accident in over 15 years. I’m that good.

4. I hate when websites format short articles onto more than one page so they get more page views, i.e. more ad dollars, or put ads in the middle of paragraphs so you have no choice but to look at them. I know it’s hard to make money these days on the internet when everything is free, but that drives me nuts. It means that I am less likely to visit your site again, which means you get less overall ad dollars in the long run. The most atrocious internet formatting is articles that are in a slide show for no reason at all. Unless they are pictures, there’s no need for that. I also hate pop ups, things that flash at me and guerrilla ads dressed up in camouflage so that you don’t think they are ads at first.

5. Bad graphic design. Whatever it is that you do for a living, whenever you see it done badly, it will piss you off. I am a graphic designer. My profession, unfortunately, happens to be everywhere. It’s on semi-trucks driving down the road, the internet, junk in my mailbox, billboards, signs on stores; it’s literally everywhere. Non-designer people probably don’t notice it all that much, but I do, because that’s how I make my living and there’s nothing worse than bad graphic design.

6. I hate women who think that they don’t need manners because they have a vagina, e.g. not holding open a door. Common courtesy is just that – common. It’s not called male courtesy or penis courtesy. Hold the damn door open when you see someone coming behind you. It doesn’t make you any less of a woman.

7. People who let their dogs bark and bark. I have a dog now and she only barks when she’s excited. If she barks too much, I calm her down. I have neighbors with dogs and their dogs howl and bark all damn night. They’re your dogs so you must be able to hear them too, since they’re in your yard and all. It’s just inconsiderate to let your dogs howl. Some of us are trying to sleep.

8. Software updates. Why does a computer always try to update your software when you are right in the middle of something? I could be typing this very sentence and my computer will tell me there’s an upgrade for some application I hardly use. By the time I tell it to fuck off, I’ve forgotten what I was trying to say. I think they do it on purpose.

9. People who don’t take a hint. I’m not sure why they are oblivious to silent forms of communication such as body language, or verbal cues like sarcasm or tone of voice, but some people just don’t get it. Perhaps they just choose to overtly ignore it. I can be on the phone for five minutes trying to end a conversation and they’ll just keep blathering away.

10. I hate that there’s so much hate in the world. I’m not talking about my stupid little lists of things I hate, but real, judgmental hatred. I mean people who hate other people because of the color of their skin, because they think their religion is better or because the object of their hatred is attracted to the same gender. This kind of hatred needs to go away so that we can focus on the petty things like how much Toyota Priuses suck.

More Things I Hate.

The Zen Master

fineartamerica.com
fineartamerica.com
fineartamerica.com

My father is a Zen master. I can count on one hand the number of times in my entire life that I’ve seen him go ballistic. Fortunately, none of those seismic events were directed at me. If they had been, I would have crumbled into a pile of dust, never to return to human form again.

However, those types of angry outbursts on his part are almost as rare as Halley’s Comet and usually involve someone messing with his family. A word of advice, you don’t ever want to mess with my family or my father will turn into the Incredible Hulk. Most of the time, he is serene, placid and positively oozing with the kind of patience that would make a Buddhist monk jealous.

My mother, on the other hand, is a worrywart. She constantly frets and works herself into a lather at the slightest commotion. Somehow, these two opposites attracted. It seems to work for them since they’ve been together for nearly half a century. My father has a calming influence on my mother and her anxiety flows off of him like water off a duck’s back. It has very little impact at all.

Of the two personalities, I lean towards my father’s side. I’m typically easy going and don’t worry about things all that much. I take things as they come and very rarely do I work myself up into a tizzy like my mother. Like my father, I’m not concerned with material possessions; as long as things function within desired parameters, that’s good enough. I don’t get upset if events don’t work out according to some unrealistic plan I’ve worked out in my head. I’m generally tolerant, relaxed, and amenable to change. I bend like a reed rather than break.

I’m a lot like my father, that is, until you put me behind the wheel of an automobile. Once I’m in a car and I get to experience first-hand the soaring level of idiocy displayed by the human race in a way that could, quite literally, personally impact me, I’m no longer a Zen master. All of the teachings of my father, all the lessons he has imparted regarding tolerance and patience go right out the window, along with middle fingers and ferocious insults. I’m no longer capable of restraint and many not so nice epithets go hurling towards my fellow travelers.

Perhaps if I had lived in another era, things might be different. Maybe if I had been born into a future where we finally have the much touted Jetsons‘ cars that automagically take you to your destination without fuss nor muss, I could maintain my serenity a little better. Or, if I had been born into a pre-automotive era, I might be more capable of restraint. If I had a horse and buggy, I might not get so angry at vehicular idiocy. Although, I’d most likely be just as angry at fellow horse carts instead.

So, while I’m quite happy to be as much like my father as I am, I wish I was even more like him. I wish that my veneer didn’t break down in traffic. I hope that, perhaps with more age and experience, I will find a way to completely master my anger and only allow it to appear in defense of what I hold dearest like my dad. Perhaps when he was my age, he was just like me and it took him decades to hone his skill. One thing is for sure though, I couldn’t find a better teacher than my father. I will continue to follow his path and hopefully, eventually, master his Zen-like ways.

10 Things I Hate Part 4

10thingshate

1. I hate broken promises. Promises are how humans show loyalty.  They are what separate us from the rest of the animal kingdom. So, when you make a promise, keep it.  If you don’t think you can absolutely keep your promise, barring any unforeseen circumstances like getting hit by a bus, don’t make one.  It’s very simple.

2. I hate automated voice calls.  If you call me, you should be a person, not a machine.  Generally, the computer starts talking right when my voice mail picks up so that when I listen to the message, the important information like who the hell is calling and why, is cut off.  I’ll only get to hear ” it’s important that you return this call,” followed by a click. Even if I did want to return this call, I wouldn’t know who to call anyway. This brings me to #3…

3. I hate that voice mail prompts are no longer just, “Hi, this is Bob, leave a message.” They’re not physical machines anymore and they store your messages out in space somewhere or under the sea. Non-tangible message recorders do eliminate the dreaded tangle of tape, but they don’t seem any more foolproof than an antiquated, physical answering machine and they’re way more time-consuming. Before I can even get to Bob’s personally recorded message, I am treated to a thousand different prompts like, “The number you have reached for ‘Bob’ is currently unavailable. To leave a message, stand on one foot and wait three years for us to tell you other things you can do besides leave a message by hitting various numbers on your keypad. If you’d like to send the message via satellite, press one, by goat through the mountains, press two, to send your message in a bottle, press three, or to delete the message you haven’t even left yet, press nine. When you’re finished recording, please hang up or press seven for other options. Leave your message at the tone. BEEP. ‘Hi, this is Bob, leave a message.'” By that time, I’ve forgotten why I even called Bob in the first place.

4. I hate when people leave their crap out on the street. It doesn’t matter whether you live in a house or an apartment, if you live in a city, you have trash pickup. Men come to your residence once a week and collect your useless junk. Trash men take away all the things you no longer want to deal with. It’s an excellent service of civilized society and it goes altogether unsung. If you have large items that you no longer want, you can even arrange a special pickup. So, please, have the courtesy not to leave the sofa that your aunt Edna bought in 1968 out on the street. I know you’re deluding yourself into thinking that maybe someone else wants it, but nobody wants that crap.  Even if some poor, desperate soul does come around and collect it for firewood, it still doesn’t make it right. I don’t want to look at your ugly sofa any more than you do.

5. I hate people who try to skirt the universal law of first come, first served.  There is a proper order to things. It’s how society functions. If you walk into an establishment and there are nine people there before you, you are officially number ten.  You have to wait for nine people to handle their crap before you can. This goes both ways though. If you are number ten, you can’t be pushed back to number eleven just because some impatient douchebag can’t wait to get on with his own miserable life.  You wouldn’t like it if someone did it to you, so don’t do it to others. Stop taking cuts, people. Wait your turn like everyone else.

6. I hate passive racism, sexism, classism and homophobia. Granted, blind hatred and stereotypical bigotry are never good traits to have, but at least be honest about it. Don’t say I’m not racist, sexist or homophobic and not mean it. Don’t hide behind “I have gay friends.” when what you really mean is there’s that one guy at work who you presumed to be gay when you exchanged a three-word sentence with him that one time when you were alone in the elevator. Stop the hate and stop hiding. There are a million different reasons to hate people individually. We don’t need more hate based on blanket assumptions, too. If you’re an asshole, be proud to be an asshole. It’s the American way. This goes doubly for politicians. Whatever they’re railing about the most, that’s what they’re into themselves.

7. I hate people who are busy texting/playing games/Facebooking or whatever else it is that people do with their idiotic phones when you’re trying to have a conversation with them. Yeah, I know, we all hear that beep or buzz or stupid Top 40 ringtone, and we’re all just dying to see who it is that contacted us and what they want. It’s human nature. “Someone contacted ME! I’m important and loved!” I know, I get it. Take the phone out of your pocket, look at who it is, and put it away. Or, if it’s really important, excuse yourself for a minute, handle your business and then come back to the conversation. Do not sit there texting someone else when you have someone sitting right in front of you trying to have a conversation. You can’t hide the fact that you’re texting because we all know what you are doing.  It’s rude.

8. I hate the inevitable computer platform or cell phone provider debate over which is the best. You know why? Because they all fucking suck. Every single one of them doesn’t give two shits about you and your needs.  They only want your money and they will all do the bare minimum necessary to get it.  Nothing more, nothing less. Remember this the next time you have that conversation: THEY. ALL. SUCK.

9. I hate people who use the wrong words constantly. I had a boss who said “irregardless” all the time. That word makes me blind to the rest of your sentence. I’m sorry, but I cannot hear what you are trying to say because a word bomb has just exploded in my face and I’m in shell shock.  I’m too busy suffering from PTSD to get your point and it is lost forever. It’s either “regardless” or “irrespective”, it’s NEVER irregardless. That word does not even exist. The same goes for people who use words that they think mean something else. Peruse doesn’t mean to casually flip through, it means to scrutinize something carefully. Nonplussed doesn’t mean that you’re indifferent. It means that you are so surprised that you are confused as to how to react. I am nonplussed every time someone says “irregardless”.

10. I hate summer.  I’m not overly fond of the heat, but the real reason I hate summer is that people are forced to wear less clothing.  The American public doesn’t look at all like they portray it on the television.  It looks more like your Uncle Fred and Aunt Ethel.  Fred and Ethel haven’t been what you would consider attractive for nigh on four decades. Fred has a hairy back and a beer belly, and Ethel has had one too many ice cream sandwiches in her day. When summer rolls around, Fred will parade around in a tank top and shorts, exposing his back hair and his white, spindly legs as they’re busy carting around the result of too many beers and heavy meals over too long a period. And Ethel will be wearing a shirt that is two sizes too tight, showing the world her back flab as it tries to escape from under her bra strap, and pants with a three-foot zipper to be able to cover the entirety of her rotund paunch. Seriously, people, I know it’s hot outside. I know we all have things that need to get done on a daily basis, but, please, buy a mirror and use it before you leave the house. I don’t want to see that.

More Things I Hate.

10 Things I Hate Part 3

10thingshate

1. I can’t believe I made it to Part 3 before I brought this up, but I hate the way people drive. Some specific things that drive me crazy are as follows:

1a. You are never the only car on the road. The roads are not your personal property. Pay at least a little attention to the fact that there might be others around you because those people think they own the roads, too. This also applies to pedestrians.

1b. Signal before you turn. It does no good to put your turn indicator on when you’ve already slowed down or stopped.

1c. The traffic that is already on the freeway has the right of way, not the traffic that’s merging. The law of first come, first served applies to driving, too.

1d. Don’t block an intersection because you’re trying to squeeze into the two feet of space on the other side before the light changes. You don’t fit and you’re blocking traffic. Just sit at the light and wait your turn like everyone else.

1e. Do not drive on the shoulder ever unless you have a car problem or you’re being pulled over by the cops. People who drive on shoulders to get five cars lengths ahead are assholes. I won’t let you in if I can possibly help it.

1f. Just because your car has mirrors, it does not mean you should use them to put on mascara.

2. I hate textspeak. People have started to write with ‘super-cute’ textspeak like “c u ltr” no matter where they’re writing. In a text message, fine, but when you have a full keyboard in front of you, there’s no reason for that. Type the goddamn letters and punctuation already. This is not communist Russia; you’re allowed more than one vowel or comma per sentence. Or even worse, people who actually talk like that IRL. Like, OMG!

3. I hate reality television. Some people know every stupid reality show since the Real World. There are people who could tell you every winner of American Idol, but couldn’t name even one Supreme Court Justice. If you want a reality show, go outside. There’s tons of reality all around you. Camp outside a liquor store before it closes on a Friday night and you’ll see a reality show starring drunken frat boys and homeless drunks. If you give the drunks a dollar, I bet they’d even do a dance for you.

4. I appreciate the generous notion that you may think I don’t have my own music, so you’re willing to share yours with me. It’s very nice of you to want to share, but I do actually have my own sound systems in my house and in my car. You can stop sharing now. When I can hear, feel and actually see your music from blocks away like an earthquake, that shit is too goddamn loud. If I want to hear the latest crappy, rehashed, Top 40 nonsense, I can play it myself. Turn that shit down, please.

5. It seems to me that a lot of people are either incapable of thinking for themselves or they just don’t want to. Just buy/watch/wear/listen to whatever product everyone else is buying/watching/wearing/listening to, do a little research so you don’t sound like a total idiot when you talk about it and you never have to think again! Trends exist so that companies who don’t care what you think can make lots and lots of money, and so that people don’t have to think about anything ever. If I see one more douchebag with a corporate logo written across their ass, I’m going to lose it. It is unnecessary and it does, in fact, make your ass look fat, which brings me to number 6…

6. I hate people who wear corporate branding as a fashion accessory. Why would you purposely give a corporation free advertising?  Corporations, every single last one of them, are out to make more money. That’s the whole point. If they weren’t interested in making lots of money, they’d be non-profit. When you pay for one of their products and then give them free advertising to boot, who do you think is losing in the bargain? You paid money to be a corporate stooge. You actually paid money to turn yourself into a billboard so that other douchebags can go out and buy more douchebag apparel to freely advertise to other douchebags. It’s a vicious circle of douchebaggery. Stop paying money to give these corporations free advertising. They should be paying you.

7. I hate those little club cards that some stores hand out to trick you into thinking that you’re saving loads of money by using them. You’re not saving anything. All you’re doing when you swipe that little card is paying the price that things should be and giving the store valuable marketing information about you. The people who don’t use the cards are the ones who lose because they’re paying the extra markup. So, your choice is to either give them free marketing data or get ass-raped on the price of fresh peas. Either way, we, the consumers, lose. If I do fill out your little form for your stupid card so that I can save three dollars off of your ridiculous markup on bananas, my address will be 123 Evil Corporation Way, Gofuckyourselfville, The United Greed of Murrica. Which brings me to number 8…

8. When I buy something from your crappy, overpriced store, do not ask me for my phone number, area code or zip code, and expect me to give it to you. Fuck you. It’s bad enough that I’m giving you my money for your overpriced junk, but I’m not giving you my zip code. If you insist, I will tell you that my zip code is GETBE-NT. And, in response to the confused look on your sale associate’s face, I will say that they used up all the numbers, so zip codes are made of letters nowadays. Didn’t you get the memo?

9. I hate women’s bathrooms. They all suck. I’m sure that men’s bathrooms aren’t all that either, but since I’m female, I wouldn’t rightly know. There seems to be some sort of  complicated mathematical algorithm innate to females that I missed out on somewhere. This dirty math allows women, except for me and a few others, to know from inside the stall, just how big a line has formed on the outside. The algorithm naturally computes the number of people waiting in line into a precise duration to stay in the stall. The longer the line, the more time they take. It’s a fascinating process to watch really. Well, it might be, if I ever got to observe it without having to urinate really badly. A full bladder tends to blind me to scientific study somewhat. And, inevitably, when I finally make it into the prized stall, there is pee all over the seat, or worse.

10. I hate suburbia… all of it… everywhere. The suburbs are supposed to be cleaner, safer, better. I call bullshit. If by better you mean devoid of any sort of culture whatsoever, universally painted in shades of beige, teeming with chain restaurants and chain stores, and full of asswipes whose idea of the high life is having their windows smashed because they ridiculously live on golf course, then, maybe.  Personally, I’ll take the grime and noise of the city over your fake cul-de-sacs, your keeping up with the Jones-ism, and your homogenized uniformity any day.  Just driving through the suburbs makes my skin crawl. I don’t know how people live there.

More Things I Hate.

What Makes Me Roll My Eyes?

fffuuuuuu

This question would be a hell of a lot easier if it was “what doesn’t make you roll your eyes?”

People make me roll my eyes more than anything, particularly, the stupid things they say and do. For instance, the greed of a few corporate executives and financiers who crashed the entire world’s economy to line their own pockets, and got away with it, too. Or a major oil conglomerate’s failure to properly secure an offshore oil rig, and then taking months and months to fix it while the ocean off of not-their-country swelled with black tar balls.

Or the way that politicians say one thing and do another, and that you can’t even get to be a public official in this country unless you are rich and influential. The way that people don’t think for themselves and blindly follow slanted ideology spewed forth from slanted “news” sources. The fact that anyone would ever take Sarah Palin seriously on anything makes me roll my eyes.

Most things I hear on the news make me roll my eyes and lots of things make me do more than that.  They make me shake my impotent fist in the air at no one in particular because there’s not just one person who’s culpable. It’s a whole system based on incompetence and passing the blame, and the machine is just too big for one person to take on.

It starts with an eye roll and works itself into a full-on, angry lather when I realize that nothing is really going to change. The fact that nobody’s really even trying just makes me even angrier.  People will always be greedy, selfish assholes no matter what.  It’s all about numero uno. It’s the American way.

Powered by Plinky

10 Things I Hate

10thingshate

As I was writing that title, I realized that there is no emoticon for hate. That’s just not right. We have one for love, but why not hate? What is the opposite of <3? If it doesn’t already exist, someone should work on that.  We have the technology.

When I was a kid, my mom told me never to say “I hate” something; instead, say “I intensely dislike” whatever it was that I hated.  Well, in the interest of brevity, I’m disregarding that rule.

1. Facebook.  I hate Facebook in general, but I’ve broken it down as follows:

1a. I hate when single people who are recently no longer single put pictures of themselves and their new significant other as their profile picture on the Facebook. When I see that, it seems like that new relationship is just destined to fail. It’s like a harbinger of doom. Or even worse, when they talk about how in love they are and every little detail of their brand new relationship.  That’s retarded.  You just met.

1b. I hate when new parents put pictures of their new offspring as their profile picture.  That is not you.  That is a different person. You are not that young.  You have your own identity (maybe).  If you must post your newborn on Facebook (which I’m sure, as the proud parent of a new child, it’s impossible not to do), create an album. Failing that, a picture of you holding your baby will work. I think we’ll be able to figure out which is which.

1c. Other assorted FB nonsensery: quizzes, applications, friend requests from people I don’t know as if Facebook will bring us closer, invitations to events that I can’t attend because I live thousands of miles away, pictures of events to which I wasn’t invited, status updates about going to the gym and what you plan to do there, eating dinner, going to sleep, waking up, blinking, breathing, etc.  “I woke up after I went to sleep. I was blinking! I went to the gym and did 20 squat thrusts. I ate an artichoke. I plan to breathe some more tonight.” If I really want to know every little ordinary detail of your mundane life, I will ask you. Please, try to be more creative.

2. Fair weather sports fans and all this new-found sports crap.  For instance, the World Cup and the Olympics. These people are not regularly sports fans and all of a sudden they are.  Putting a flag on your car does not make you a sports fan any more than sticking feathers up your butt makes you a chicken.

3. I hate Oprah’s book club.  I will give her credit for getting her sheeple to read something besides People Magazine, but I wish she’d use her vast power and influence on more worthwhile subjects. Other than the very few classics she’s got tucked in there (As I Lay Dying, East of Eden, etc.) I’ve unknowingly read one and a half of Oprah’s contemporary book picks.

The first, James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, was pretty good, I thought.  When I was reading it, based solely on how much dialog there is in it, I surmised that it was not a true story.  It actually never entered my head that it was anything other than a work of fiction.  After I read the book, I heard that there was all sorts of Oprah-related controversy because apparently the author passed it off as autobiographical and it was not.  So fucking what? Most autobiographies are not factual anyway.  If an autobiography has more than a few scattered lines of dialog, it’s a lie.

The second book was Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.  I couldn’t even finish it; it was that terrible.  So, Oprah, thanks for taking up the mantle of reading, but could you be a little more selective in the books you choose, please?  There are countless authors out there who are preferable to Cormac fucking McCarthy.

4. Part-time vegetarians.  I’m talking about people who will eat fish or chicken, but not red meat, or those who will wear leather shoes or eat dairy or wear/use/eat any number of animal by-products, but won’t eat meat. “I won’t eat anything with a face.” Uh huh.

5.  Crazy Pet People. I’ve talked about crazy pet people in this blog before, so I’m just going to quote myself: “You know the type; the ones who buy little sweaters for animals that already have built-in fur, carry their babies around in little handbags even though they have perfectly functional legs, talk baby talk to them in public and always have pictures of their children in their wallet should the actual pet not be readily at hand.”

6. Ideologues. If you’ve thought through a certain system, policy or creed, and happen to agree down the line, then good for you.  But I’m talking about people who blindly follow an ideology or dogma.  It doesn’t matter whether I happen to agree with a stance on a particular subject, anyone who uncompromisingly tows a religious, philosophical or party line without thinking for themselves, really needs to start thinking.

7. Religion in government.  I’ve said it a thousand times; I don’t care what you believe, just don’t expect me to pay for it. Don’t practice it on public land, keep it off of my money, out of the Pledge of Allegiance and far from public schools.

8. Remakes.  Hollywood has always remade movies.  This is nothing new. They’ve done it since time immemorial, but recently, there has been a glut of remade television shows, foreign films, books, comic books, other movies and little else.  It seems that it’s all about the almighty dollar and creative thought is dead, or at least, it’s no longer being financed by the studios.

9. Sissy Hollywood movie stars.  Two words: Robert Mitchum.  Name one star working in Hollywood today who’s comparable.  Yes, there’s Clint Eastwood, but he’s like 90 now. And we still have Russell Crowe, but by and large, the masculine, manly stars of yesteryear, the Bogarts, Mitchums and McQueens, have all been replaced by girlie, hairless mini-men.  Hollywood is populated by Lilliputian, teenage-looking, effeminate boys whose voices are higher and whose hair is longer than mine.  Even their names are laughable: Leonardo, Orlando and Shia.  Really?  Where did all the testosterone go?

10. Either through selfishness, blindness, jealousy or wilfulness, there are some people who want to make everything all about them.  For instance, you tell them a story, and before you’re even done, they’re chomping at the bit to tell you all about their experiences, related or not.  “I just got back from the moon!  I was the first blogger to ever circle the earth.”  Followed by, “I see the moon every night. No big deal.” or “I went to the Arizona desert once, too. It looks just like the moon.  They say the moon landing was filmed there.  So, anyway, doesn’t my hair look awesome?”  Once more, I reiterate rule number one of the universe,it is not about you.

More Things I Hate.

Save

images

The world owes me. I don’t mean in the “I am entitled simply because I exist” sort of way.  I mean that all of you out there who have turned the world a stinking cesspool of inequality, unfairness and triviality, you owe me. You, who have turned the world into a place where the rich get richer and the humble stumble, where children have their innocence stripped away, where profit is the main motivator for everything, where everything and everyone is fucked, you owe me. You owe all of us. You have turned the world into a place where dreams are untenable, where hope barely exists, where selfishness and greed are the order of the day, and helping people is something only done for a tax write off. You’ve made a place where nobody can be trusted. You have turned the world into something that is barely recognizable. Humanity doesn’t live here anymore.

There once was a time, long before I was ever alive, where a dream was something to be nurtured. If you set your mind to it and worked hard enough, you could achieve anything. Children were told that they could grow up to be President or an astronaut or Miss America. The sky was the limit. But the American dream no longer exists. You have destroyed it for the rest of us.

I’m tired of living in a world where all news is bad news and fake, flash-in-the-pan, reality TV stars are more important than our next door neighbors. The truth is, I don’t care about your celebrities. I don’t know them. They don’t know me. They wouldn’t help me move, bail me out of jail or come pick me up in Bakersfield at 4AM if my car died.  I’m sad that celebrity X, Y or Z will no longer be able to give any more music/words/movies/whatever to the world, but am I sad about Celebrity X as a person?  Not really. Celebrity X made a mark. Celebrity X left a legacy. Celebrity X had a bigger impact than I probably ever will. I won’t cry for Celebrity X.

I’m sadder that there is some guy somewhere right now with a death wish because he just can’t take it anymore. I’m sad that there’s nothing I can do to help that guy. There are people who barely survive from day to day. There are people who are struggling with the most basic needs of existence. There are people – not numbers, not statistics, but people – who are thinking about ending it all right now because they see no way out. It happens every day. I’m sad for the countless struggling visionaries who will never be heard because they don’t have the opportunities we have; that the American dream doesn’t exist for that guy, not for any of us anymore.  And I’m very angry about it.

Where is my social security?  The baby-boomers will take it all.  By the time I reach retirement age, there will be nothing left.  Even the concept of “security” won’t exist. It will be stripped away long before then as the “me, me, me” generations who got there before us will have sucked it all dry, gorging themselves on our money like ticks on a cow.

There will always be evil and greed and selfishness and uncaring and dimwitted assholes. Somehow, injustice and I need to find a way to coexist, because neither of us is going anywhere. Fairy tale lies just aren’t cutting it anymore.  I want to set it all on fire.  I want it all the burn down, but I have allergies so actual fire wouldn’t do. I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Instead, I’m going to burn the world with words. This is my legacy; anger, hatred, disgust.

I am addressing destroyers of worlds, purveyors of lies, promoters of evil – pedophiles, terrorists, murderers, rapists, dictators, liars, cheats, warmongers, religious extremists, con artists, politicians, Wall Street greed machines, multinational corporations, bank executives – the machination stripping humanity away piece by piece and selling it off as a tax-deductible profit. I’m talking to  everyone who hasn’t even tried to make the world a better place, but only thought of themselves. I want you to really see just how fucked up everything is. You need to pay attention to what you are doing. It’s not about the almighty dollar. It is not all about you. It’s not about me, either. It’s not about any of us; it’s about all of us. We all need to share.  Stop ruining everything.  I am giving you the fucking finger like you goddamn well deserve.  Make it right.

 

MISSING: One Sense of Humor

Missing

Missing

I seem to have lost my sense of humor. The problem is, I can’t remember quite where or when I lost it. They say that when you’ve lost something, retrace your steps and figure out where you last saw it. I’ve tried, but I just can’t remember. It could have been stolen or it could just be under the sofa, even though I looked there, too.

What has replaced my funny are things altogether less appealing. In its stead, I have a great universal sadness and fear, irrational anger, a sense of foreboding doom and just generally fuzzy thinking. I seem to have misplaced my patience and tolerance, too. I think they must have run away with my funny. For what I would normally laugh off is now stuck to me like a magnet dragged through a pile of scrap metal. I am laboring under the weight of a half ton of unnecessary thoughts and emotions that I can’t seem to shake off. Without my sense of humor to protect me, I am collecting more and more detritus with every step. I’m just not going to get very far at all.

Driving the fifteen minutes to and from work is enough to send me into a blind rage. The constant barrage of news of Wall Street assholes, or the most recent earthquake, or the latest, greatest shitty thing to happen today just sends me into a funk. I am no longer insulated from it by my sense of humor.

As is typically the case with us single-minded, self-centered and oblivious human beings, I didn’t miss my sense of humor until it was gone. In fact, I didn’t even notice it right away. It took a few weeks of not understanding jokes and saying things that were attempts at humor, but were actually mostly gibberish, before I even noticed that something was amiss. And then, it took a few more weeks of narrowing it down before I pinpointed the fact that my sense of humor was just nowhere to be found.

After an exhaustive search, I have determined it is nowhere on my person or in my house, it’s not on the internet, it’s definitely not in the news anywhere; it just seems to have vanished. I miss my funny. It was big, but it fit me perfectly and weighed nothing at all. It was shiny and fast. It was wry and sarcastic and smart; it could come up with an answer to anything on the spot. I never had to worry about much as long as it was around. It made life a little more bearable, but now it’s gone and it’s been replaced by things I don’t like at all.

So, if you happen to see a sense of humor around that fits that description, please let me know. I might even offer a reward. It may be lost or scared, but most likely it’s laughing, as usual.