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Category Archives: Human Rights

…the status is not quo. The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.

sj alerted me to this and I do not approve. (Of the story, not of sj. I approve of sj most wholeheartedly.)

Apparently, there is a website called WND. I didn’t know it existed, either. Don’t feel bad. “WND” stands for World Net Daily. They find news and then tell you about it from a conservative viewpoint. Oh, I know about this! It’s called Fox News. Dad fills me in on this every day. I’m totally up on the conservative viewpoint and the mockery thereof. It’s both fair AND balanced, you guys.

So WND (I keep wanting to call it WWD and wonder where the fashion is, yo) decided the latest person they hated is – ready for this? Neil Patrick Harris.

NO NO NO. That is NOT ALLOWED.

See, I don’t know if you’re aware? But NPH is gay. YES IT IS TRUE FACTS! He is married to a lovely man and they have adorable twins.

He’s also a talented actor, onstage and in movies and on television, and seems, in interviews, to be a very well-spoken, intelligent, and interesting person. He also sings and dances beautifully and is very, very funny. Seriously, his hosting stint on Saturday Night Live made me laugh until I almost choked. If stupid nbc.com played nice with WordPress I would show you. Instead, here’s a link. And another. (First link is NPH doing this Doogie Howser musical thing – I can’t even explain. Roommate C. and I were in TEARS of laughter. And second link is NPH doing a Broadway skit. Both are worth the click, promise.)

PLUS, come ON, how many actors are happy to make fun of themselves in a stoner movie?

“Yeah. It was a total dick move on my part. That’s why I’m paying for your burgers.”

AND AND AND! Come on. JUST COME ON. He was in the BEST INTERNET MUSICAL EVER!

“Did you notice that he threw you in the garbage?”

THE MAN IS A NATIONAL TREASURE.

So anyway, NPH did the following ad for the Superbowl:

And WND said NO NO NO! This is EVIL! HE IS MOCKING OUR HERO, LORD, and SAVIOR!

I have nothing against Tim Tebow, but apparently the Christian right has decided he’s their spokesperson? Worrisome. I think you already HAVE a spokesperson. JESUS. My mom told me that and I have to believe her, as she is my mom.

So! By wearing this crap on his face with the dates on it (apparently this is called “eyeblack”, who knew) NPH is “…pushing a gay agenda …and…mocking Christians at the same time.”

OH! Is THAT what he’s doing! Well. Isn’t THAT a whole bunch of things to be doing all at once like that, how very multitasky!

(Also, if you want to see a cross-section of super-awesome humans? Read the comments on the WND post. OH MY OH NO. “REPENT REPENT!” says the very first one. Um. You repent for gaybashing, I’ll repent for whatever it is you’re judging me for, bub.)

Shit. Well, if NPH is too gay for the Superbowl, then so am I. I AM SPARTACUS. I’m totally boycotting it this year.

What’s that? I boycott it every year because I refuse to watch it because it’s sports and I hate sports and this is really not a BOYCOTT, per se, if I’m doing something I would do ANYWAY and just SAYING it’s a political statement?

Well. Aren’t YOU judgey. That’s very rude of you. Huff, huff.

(For the record, guess who can enjoy sports? Gay people. Straight people. People with no legs. People with two heads. People with red hair. People who wear too many gold chains. People who like their pizza with black olives. People with penises. People without penises. People with both penises AND vaginas. Tall people. Short people. Fat people. Skinny people. People who wear sweaters with kittens on the front. People who like dairy. People who are lactose-intolerant. In short: ANYONE AT ALL.)

There’s no gay agenda. Well, no, I take that back. There’s totally a gay agenda. The gays (yes, I’ve talked to all of them) would like the following:

  • to be treated like productive members of society, no matter who they love
  • to be given the same rights as everyone else
  • to not be beaten up for who they love (or called names on the street, or given dirty looks, or be made to feel unsafe in any way)

That’s pretty much it. I don’t know if three bullet points make an “agenda.” I mean, I’m on a board of directors. We have more bullet points than that on our monthly board meeting agendas.

Listen. I don’t care about a lot of things. But if you don’t like NPH, at least a little, I think your heart might be dead. He is just pure joy, this guy. He isn’t furthering ANYTHING. He’s the star of one of the biggest shows on his network. I bet half or more of the people who watch his show don’t even KNOW he’s gay. He doesn’t even play someone gay ON the show. And the photo above is from a promo clip on his network, who would be stupid not to use one of their most recognizable faces for publicity purposes.

That’s it. That’s the agenda. His network wants people to watch the Superbowl; they used one of their resources to get people to do so. I don’t think they were mocking Tebow. Little known fact: people were using that eyeblack shit before Tebow came along. IT IS TRUE.

Dear WND: please to be getting a life. You make me sad and also angry. You are small-minded and hateful people and at some point you have forgotten that we’re all human on this rock in space and there’s no room for that kind of thinking because it’s 2013 and we don’t need to put up with it anymore.

In short, WND, feel most free to bite me. Grow the hell up.

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There is so much darkness and secrecy surrounding them, like the Bermuda Triangle; nobody ever reports back from there.

We’re going to talk about politics today. And lady-bits. If you’re so tired of politics already and it’s only June, you can check out for the day. I won’t hold it against you. Also, you might be thinking, “I’m over politics, but I sure do like lady-bits!” Well, we’re not talking about them in a sexy way, sorry, you guys. Probably just about the least sexy way possible. I know. I’m full of disappointment today.

See, the thing is, I’m all heated up, so you know where you go when you’re all heated up, right? That’s right. The interwebs. And here’s my little corner of the interwebs. So I’m going to say my piece. About politics. And lady-bits. While I still can, because the way things are going? Pretty soon I’m going to get slapped with a damn gag-order where I can’t talk about my own cooch.

You all probably know about this by now, right? Or, maybe not. So let’s talk about this. In the Michigan House of Representatives on Wednesday, “a bill requiring doctors to ensure women aren’t coerced into ending their pregnancies” was being discussed. 

Check out these horny stags, yo. You go, Michigan.

Now, whoa, Nelly, let’s take a minute here. The bill is requiring doctors to – what – talk to their patients to be sure they really, really, REALLY want that abortion? If a patient comes into a doctor’s office and says they’d like an abortion, which, no matter what your politics are, is not an easy choice for the woman, she would have to sit there and listen to a talk from her doctor about does she really want it? Is she sure? Really sure? Really, really sure? No takebacksies? Oh, eff that, I can’t imagine that’s a good idea for either the doctors or the women involved.

Democratic Representative Lisa Brown spoke up against the bill. She said the following (well, not all non-sequitury – she had a whole speech, of course): “I’m flattered you’re all so concerned about my vagina. But no means no.” Representive Barb Byrum also spoke against the bill, saying that if the bill passed, she would like to see the same rule in effect for men considering a vasectomy.

Brown on the left, Byrum on the right. High-fives, ladies. High-fives all around.

The following day, the bill was undergoing continued discussion. And Byrum and Brown, who planned to continue speaking out against a bill they didn’t believe in, were informed they would not be allowed to speak.

Shut it, ya mouthy broads.

Why? Because what they’d said the day before lacked decorum and was disgraceful. References to vaginas and vasectomies were not welcome on the floor of the House of Representatives, per Republican Floor Leader Jim Stamas. What if a child were to hear that? All those children just running willy-nilly around the House of Representatives of Michigan? Naughty. NAUGHTY. Also, Brown saying “no means no” might equate the abortion legislation on the floor in people’s minds to rape, and Stamas thought that was inappropriate. So he put a gag order on the two women with their filthy, filthy mouths.

Whaaaaa? Vagina? Whaaaaa?

(The bill passed, by the way. 70-39. It still has to pass the Senate in order to be made into law, and that vote won’t be until fall.)

Stamas lifted the gag order after the bill passed the House. I’m sure Brown and Byrum were so relieved.

Brown didn’t stand up in front of the House of Representatives and say cunt. She didn’t stand up in front of the House of Representatives and go the other route, either, and be cutesy about it, and call it her hoo-ha or her va-jay-jay or something. She called it by its medical name. Its correct name. A vagina. 

And Byrum – what was Byrum’s offense? Oh, well, Byrum stood in front of her colleagues and dared imply that the knife should cut both ways. Pun intended. And said “vasectomy.” Ooh! WINCE! Not ma boyz! Don’t talk about snippin’ ma boyz, ya evil liberal harpy!

Don’t you mention vasectomies, lady. Don’t you even.

If you are not comfortable with the medical term for it, you don’t get to make laws telling me what I can do with it. (Well, you shouldn’t be able to make laws telling me what I can do with it anyway, but apparently, that’s not a big deal. Because these laws are EVERYWHERE lately.) If you don’t like what someone is saying, you don’t get to childishly put them in a time-out. Why is the House of Representatives of one of our states being run like a cross between kindergarten and a dictatorship? It’s a kindertatorship!

And who the hell is this Stamas? He’s a stompy little baby who somehow got in charge of the House and wields his power like a club. I disagree! We’re not going to DISCUSS it, though. I’m going to GAG you. That’s how we deal with disagreements. A child. A petulant child. WHO RUNS THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES OF AN ENTIRE STATE. Are you petrified by this? I am. Utterly petrified.

Now, Fox News and their ilk are quick to say there’s no war on women. That it’s something invented by liberals to get women to vote Obama back into office in November. My father is one of these people. The biggest fight we’ve gotten into recently – screaming, SCREAMING at one another, even when I told him I didn’t want to discuss it with him because I knew what the outcome would be – was because Fox News told him there was no war on women, so when he started going on and on and ON about how there was no war on women, I said a few times, “You really don’t want to get me started on this” and “Please stop, you’re not going to like what I have to say about this” and such, until I finally exploded into a ball of righteous fury about the whole thing.

Don’t tell me there’s no war on women when Virginia’s got the new transvaginal ultrasound law on the books; Planned Parenthood funding is getting cut left and right; the definition of rape victims in Georgia is in the process of being changed (from “victims” to “accusers”); a bill was proposed in South Dakota to make it legal to kill abortion providers – do I need to go on? Are all of these things imaginary? Are they all invented by the liberal media? Because I’m pretty sure they exist. It’d be quite an impressive feat, if all of these links I just found were imaginary.

Here, this helps a little. Stupid Comedy Central won’t let me put in the video, so you have to be clicky, but here, here’s Jon Stewart’s take on Fox News’s disavowal of the War on Women. There are hysterical pictures of vaginas, if that sells you on the clicking or anything. Don’t worry, it’s SFW. Well, fairly. Fairly SFW. Kind of. A little.

Before my head explodes – here. Here’s the thing. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, probably until you want to smack me with something like a magazine or maybe a shoe. There’s a war on women, because men are scared of us. If we all banded together and we all worked as a group – we could vote these assholes out of office. We could get people in there with our best intentions in mind. We could stop these laws that are governing our bodies and take control of what we do with our OWN bodies. Because we are adults. Who should be able to control what we do with our bodies, which are really the only thing that truly belong to us on this entire earth. But not if the politicians currently in office have a say in the matter. They want to control everything about us – our bodies, what doctors we see, what those doctors are allowed to do to us and what they’re not, how we’re allowed to refer to ourselves if we’re attacked, how much money we make at the jobs we do, what jobs we can do and what jobs we can’t, what clubs we can join, where we can go and where we can’t. Can you imagine if the tables were turned and these things were happening to men? No, you can’t. Because they wouldn’t happen to men. Does that make me sound like a man-hating bitch, like Fox News would have you believe I am? Nope. No problem with men. Like them a lot. Some of the people I love most in the world are men, actually. However, the other half of the people I love most in the world (myself included) have – I’m going to say it! – VAGINAS. 

There’s a war on women. And it’s INFURIATING me. What’s infuriating me more is that people don’t think it’s real. No, not Fox News. Of course they know it’s real. That’s why they’re telling people it’s not. But other people. People who are going to vote come November. They think it’s all an urban legend, like the gang that follows you home when you flash your lights at them to be helpful, or email chain letters that promise you good luck. 

We need to get politicians in office who realize women’s rights should be the same as men’s – that we are all PEOPLE. And we all deserve the SAME rights. PEOPLE’S rights. HUMAN rights.

I love my Merka. So much. But it worries me. A lot. And embarrasses me, sometimes. And that makes me so sad.

OK. Enough head-exploding. I hope you had a happy weekend; I went to the teahouse and had a happy breakfast and blogged about it over at Ken’s place. Here you go. You get two for one today. (I promise that one’s less politicky and vagina-y and more cheerful.) Happy Monday, all. Also, vagina vagina vagina, while I still can.

(Title’s from Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues. Which Lisa Brown will be performing in soon on the steps of the Michigan state capitol. How awesome is THAT? Out of bad things come good, sometimes. Per Eve Ensler: “Censoring a woman for saying a word that is a body part that 51% of their constituents have is a repression that we have not and should not ever witness in this country.”)


I’m just a little black rain cloud, pay no attention to me

Dear blog readers, I am in a mood of foulness that has followed me around like Winnie the Pooh as a little black raincloud all day, only nowhere near as cute. Like, near-to-posting emo STATUSES foul. Can you even imagine? I know. It’s that bad.

Work is the suck, and people are the suck, and stress levels are high, and tears have happened in bathrooms. It has not been a good day. Although, you’re reading this on Thursday, maybe Thursday is a better day. Maybe the raincloud lifted, what the hell do I know.

ANYWAY, I am not fit for human consumption today, because I’m totally going to snap someone’s head right off. I am going to a play tonight, and it’s a play I’m very much looking forward to seeing, starring some of my favorite people, but all I want to do is pull covers up over my head and have a good long cry, followed by an equally long mope. And some Dumbcat-cuddling, he makes things better.

I would go into more detail, but that’s along the lines of emo statuses, isn’t it? Being all vague and “you know what you did”-y and whatever because the people whose heads I want to snap off are probably reading this right now? And, NO, don’t you even DARE message me asking if you’re one of the head-snapping-off people, if you don’t know, the answer is, YES, you probably are. And even if you’re not, I’m going to TELL you that you are for sending me an asshole message and trying to make me be the custodian of your neuroses.

Anyway. You’re here for the funny, right? I’ve got no funny. No funny to give. I’m all weepy like a frigging eyeliner teen.

Let’s talk about two things, then I’m off to the play.

One: President Obama did a brave thing.

In an election year, he came out in support of same-sex marriage. Both he and Vice President Biden did, actually.

Now, he did this Wednesday, and he was in Albany (the awesomemest place ever to awesome) Tuesday. COINCIDENCE? YOU BE THE JUDGE.  FINE, it was probably coincidence, but I’ll pretend it wasn’t. Just to make myself happy.

Here’s Obama, in his own words:

“I have to tell you that over the course of several years, as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors, when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.”

And here’s Joe Biden, who’s quite often got the Amy foot-in-mouth disease, but here came through like a champ:

“I am absolutely comfortable with the fact that men marrying men, women marrying women, and heterosexual men and women marrying another are entitled to the same exact rights, all the civil rights, all the civil liberties. And quite frankly, I don’t see much of a distinction beyond that.”

It’s an election year. This is scary, because the President and Vice President potentially just alienated a lot of (coughhomophobichatefilledassholescough) voters. Sorry. That was rude. Some people are also old, like my grandmother, and think that if same-sex marriage is legal, she’ll be FORCED to marry a woman. Because that’s what Fox News told her. I wish that was a joke. If it makes you feel better to pretend it is, go to.

But they did it. Because they believed it, and because it was the right thing to do. Why else would they have done it? They could have merrily kept waffling about it, like they have for the past four years. I mean, we’ve all been grumbling for them to take a stand one way or the other, but no one could force them to show their hand. Really, it probably hurt them more than helped them to do it, right? Or maybe Obama watched Fox News one day, like I was forced to all last week, and realized, “meh, those people hate me so much, there’s no coming back from that, in for a penny, in for a pound, let’s do this, Biden!” My mom thinks they did it FOR votes, but I don’t think so. I think we’re still a country with more people against than for, unfortunately.

Listen, you all know where I stand on this. I’m not too shy about my feelings on the matter. I’m lucky enough to live in a state where it is legal. But North Carolina this week approved a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. We’re still living in the middle ages in some states, here. This is a hot-button topic. You don’t meet too many people with no opinion on this one.

Do I love everything Obama? Nope. Was I going to vote for him anyway? Hell yes, look at my options. I’d like to retain control over my lady-bits, not much of a chance of that if we go Romney, now is there? (“THERE IS NO WAR ON WOMEN!!!” Shh, Dad.) But now I’m a little happier about my vote. So, thanks, Obama and Biden, for standing up for what’s right. Much appreciated from those of us who realize that there’s nothing scary about allowing consenting adults who love one another to get married. Well, except for the fact that WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?!?!?!1?!? I’m kidding, I’m kidding, the children are FINE, shush up.

This made me snort-laugh today. He looks so matter-of-fact. “Just another day on my unicorn! Shooting rainbow lasers! As you do!”

Two: Science has an explanation for social media. SURPRISE! IT’S SEXY.

According to this article, both talking about oneself and bragging about oneself (they’re…not at all the same thing, actually? But the article really doesn’t make a distinction, weird) triggers the same parts of your brain triggered during sex (dopamine, for you sciency folks.) So, according to SCIENCE, when you tweet or update your Facebook status, you get a little high that’s kind of like the high you get from having sex.

Social media totally gives you the O Face, apparently. Who knew?

The scientists did this study where people could answer questions online for money. They were given more money if they answered questions about abstract things, like politics, and less if they talked about themselves. Most opted to talk about themselves. (How much money? I’d answer Trivial Pursuit questions like a BOSS and stop talking about myself at ALL if you paid me enough.)

OK, listen, I like to talk about myself as much as the next gal (bragging…um, well, I don’t know about that, what the hell would I brag about, I live in a place that’s smaller than most of your garages and we currently need a litter change all up in here, just saying) but I’d just like to say that, for the record, I’ve had sex, and I’ll choose that over updating my Facebook status every. Single. Time. Tweeting – um, well, I’m a little addicted to that. Let’s say, 75% of the time I’d choose the sex. If tweeting and Facebook status updating are supposed to make me feel all sex-euphoric, I’m doing it wrong. Wait, am I supposed to be naked while I’m tweeting and Facebooking? Dammit, this isn’t working for me at ALL. Are my dopamine injectors broken? Oh, that would be JUST LIKE MY BRAIN. What? There’s no such thing as a dopamine injector? Well, that would explain why mine isn’t WORKING, now WOULDN’T IT?

Is this fishy to anyone else? NO THAT’S NOT A EUPHEMISM. Or are you all experiencing sex-highs from social media and I got nothing? Eff.

I’m back from the play. It was wonderful, but I’m exhausted. Also, as good as it was, it did nothing to alleviate my crankiness, and the asshole people are still being asshole people. Also, once?  I had a crush on a guy? And that ended poorly. And now whenever I see him my stomach hurts. Did I see him tonight? (And did he look frigging amazing? And smell so, so good, WHY MUST YOU MEN SMELL SO GOOD? It makes it nigh-on impossible to hate you when you smell like lusciousness.)  Well, I have a stomachache, you do the math.  ALSO, did you ever have a bad day, then it’s like the Jenga of bad days, where EVERYTHING just EFFING KEEPS GOING WRONG and you take a BLOCK from the BOTTOM and you PUT IT ON TOP and then the WHOLE EFFING THING FALLS RIGHT THE EFF DOWN? That. I’ve got that today.

Here’s a story that will undoubtedly bring cheer to someone who isn’t me, because I’m in a dark pit of mad that not even The Nephew can rescue me from. Then I’m going to bed, dammit.

So The Nephew goes to storytime at the local library. There are ten kids. They listen to stories, play little games, etc. Mom said yesterday, the story lady gave all the kids a penny. Now, The Nephew was STOKED. He was SO EXCITED. Someone gave him money! Then the story lady put ten felt donuts on a felt board, told a little story about someone selling donuts for a penny (what kind of dark magick is this? I want to live in penny-donut-land), and then called the kids up, one by one, and had them pay her their penny for a felt donut. Yeah, I know. It’s the stupidest, I don’t get it, either. I feel like something’s been lost in translation. So she called The Nephew’s name, he went up, he got his felt donut, he sat down, good kiddo. Then she kept telling the donut story (what the hell else is there to tell? This storytime is LAME, I would ROCK storytime, can you even IMAGINE how good I’d be at storytime? Those kids would NOT know what HIT them) and Mom said a few minutes in, a little voice said, “Can I have my penny back now?” and yep, it was The Nephew. He didn’t want that lame felt donut. Who would? It’s all about CASH MONEY BABY. So story lady ignored him, so he apparently thought it was because he wasn’t loud enough? So he was all, “CAN I HAVE MY PENNY BACK NOW?” and finally she was all “Ha ha! No! You can’t, you…um…already ATE your donut!” (This might go down as the dumbest thing anyone ever told a toddler in the “I put anything in my mouth ever” stage in the history of time.) So The Nephew looked at the felt donut, shrugged, and popped that thing right in his pie-hole. Story lady is all, “WE DON’T EAT THE FELT DONUTS!” Well, LISTEN, lady, you’re the one handing out money to toddlers, then making them trade it for a metaphoric handful of beads. Then telling them to EAT THE FELT DONUTS. Don’t be surprised when they follow orders. Weirdo.

Off to bed. Hoping for cheerierness tomorrow. Or I might punch someone in the uvula. That’s frowned upon in polite society, I think.


Also, “The Owl and the Pussycat” is FILLED WITH INNUENDO. Just letting you know.

Here we go! It’s the day I go back home. Plane leaves at 2, should be at the airport around 5, should be back in Albany around 8. I HAVE MISSED YOU ALBANY. Next vacation is at the end of July. You’re not going to like that one as much. It’s in the mountains and there’s no internet or phone service up there. You’ll hear from me about 3 times in a whole week. I KNOW. I’ll try to bank blog posts so you still have them, though. I love you just that much. I know, right? Aren’t I just the best? Sure I am.

This morning has been a nightmare of Dad running around like a crazy person packing and packing and freaking out and checking and then double-checking drawers to make sure nothing’s in them. I asked him, “Did you even put anything in the drawers?” and he said no, but he still keeps checking them like things might have sneakily hidden themselves in the drawers when his back was turned. This has been going on for two hours now. It’s utterly exhausting to watch. I’m hiding with my laptop behind my pile of luggage waiting for it to be time to go.

Now we are in the hotel! It is just a basic hotel. However, Dad is SO EXCITED ABOUT IT. It’s adorable to watch. He’s so excited about all the free things in here. Like the little shampoos and conditioner and, MOST EXCITING, the little coffeemaker with a little packet with sugar and creamer and a stirrer. Every five seconds he’s all, “AMY AMY LOOK LOOK LOOK” and it’s making me laugh the hardest. What’s funny is, I think probably in his life he’s stayed in a lot more hotels than I have. Yet he’s still five years old when it comes to staying in hotels. FREE LITTLE SOAPPPSSS!

Free! Free! FREEEEE!

Mostly I’m excited about the free wifi, which is better than the free wifi in the condo. The condo did not like me to use my phone or my laptop unless I was sitting in a certain place and facing a certain angle. Here, there’s a teeny desk! And I have all the bars! This is great. Yay, Comfort Suites, I highly approve! Free wifi and a teeny desk like I’m playing executive!

Also, Dad thinks we should go to Hooters for dinner, because “that’s a good family establishment.” I said I was on to him and didn’t want to go to the titty bar but he was welcome to go to the titty bar and I’d walk across the street to the Cracker Barrel and have some nice chicken fingers. Then he was all, “WHAT? The mascot of Hooters is an OWL. You like owls! Owls are for families. They’re ANIMALS! You LOVE ANIMALS!” Then I tried to explain that owl was a metaphor, or maybe a euphemism, on a couple of levels, and he wasn’t fooling ANYONE.

“What? That’s just a nice owl,” he said. So I attempted to explain that not ONLY were the owl’s eyes representative of boobs, but that hooters was also a word that MEANS boobs. I’m not 100% sure if he knows these things and he’s pretending he doesn’t in order to get me to go to Hooters, or he really, really thinks a restaurant where the waitress has boobs sticking all in your face and hotpants is an appropriate place to visit with your daughter when you’re on vacation. Either way, no thanks, buckaroo. We’re going to Cracker Barrel and Outback Steakhouse where the waitresses keep their personal business tucked away like they’re supposed to. Sheesh.

The Cracker Barrel was the loudest place I’ve ever eaten in my LIFE. SO MANY SCREAMING BABIES. And also old people who cackled like the toucans at the zoo. Dad was not impressed. He seems to have sensitive eardrums. I keep telling him he’s a delicate flower. He doesn’t like to be told he’s a delicate flower and thinks he should have worn earplugs to the Cracker Barrel. “THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED AT HOOTERS,” he said. I tried to impress upon him we were much less likely to get gonorrhea at the Cracker Barrel as a side with our lunches but he’s still sad about the no-Hooters situation.

Oh, also, you know how there’s a huge gift shop attached to Cracker Barrel? This happened:

Dad: What the hell is this.
Me: What is it? Oh, it a box of Moon Pies.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie? Is it astronaut food?
Me: No. It’s  dessert. It’s delicious. Wait, you’ve never tried a Moon Pie?
Dad: No. They sound stupid.
Me: THEY ARE DELICIOUS.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie?
Me: It’s two cookies, with marshmallow inbetween, covered in chocolate.
Dad: What? Who would eat that?
Me: EVERYONE would! You love all the desserts! What’s wrong with you? You are being a total crankypants, they are delicious.
Dad: No one wants these. This gift shop is too loud, let’s go.

I think Dad is broken. He loves desserts. This guy can hoover a whole box of cookies, I’m not sure what’s going on here.

Let’s see. What’s happening in the world, anyway?

Well, we’ve got some piece of shit homophobe pastor in North Carolina wanting parents to punch their children if they notice them acting “too gay:”

 “So your little son starts to act a little girlish when he is four years old and instead of squashing that like a cockroach and saying, ‘Man up, son, get that dress off you and get outside and dig a ditch, because that is what boys do,’ you get out the camera and you start taking pictures of Johnny acting like a female and then you upload it to YouTube and everybody laughs about it and the next thing you know, this dude, this kid is acting out childhood fantasies that should have been squashed.

Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male. And when your daughter starts acting too butch, you reign [sic] her in. And you say, ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You can play sports. Play them to the glory of God. But sometimes you are going to act like a girl and walk like a girl and talk like a girl and smell like a girl and that means you are going to be beautiful. You are going to be attractive. You are going to dress yourself up.'”

There are so many things wrong with this I don’t even know where to begin. OK, first, I’m confused about the YouTube scenario. Is he saying that you should put videos of your kid on YouTube and mock them? Or someone did and everyone laughed and that was bad because it made someone want to be more effeminate? It’s oddly worded.

And the gender roles. THE GENDER ROLES. You’ve got boys, who should be digging ditches and acting male, whatever that is (but whatever it is, we know what it is not – it is NOT “dropping the limp wrist.”) And you’ve got girls. Listen, girls, Pastor Sean Harris is cool with you playing sports – “to the glory of God,” even, whatever the eff that means. Maybe Tebowing after you score, I don’t know. But you ALSO need to act, walk, talk, and SMELL like a girl. (Smell like a girl? What exactly does a girl smell like? Perfume? Body wash? Apples? Coconut? Sex? I need further clarification, here.) How do you do these things? Oh, it’s easy enough, I’ll tell you how. By being BEAUTIFUL. And ATTRACTIVE. And DRESSING YOURSELF UP. Because – guess what? Lesbians aren’t any of those things. OH WAIT. Lesbians ARE beautiful, attractive, and capable of dressing themselves up! Just as much as straight women are! WHAT? AMY NO! It’s true. I’ve known some gorgeous lesbians who killed in a dress. And I’ve known some heinously ugly straight women who looked like shit in pajama pants and a t-shirt. HOW WILL WE KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE STRAIGHTS AND GAYS? Oh, this is bad, this is total anarchy, lock up your CHILDREN, the gays are on the LOOSE, they look just like US, Z!O!M!G!!1!!!

Oh, and don’t forget that you should “man up” and punch your son if he drops that limp wrist. That’ll teach him. That won’t make him any more apt to hate himself enough to commit suicide and contribute to the staggeringly high statistic of suicidal gay teens, no no not that.

Good old Pastor Harris says he was KIDDING, come ON, you guys, how could you THINK he was advocating CHILD ABUSE, but he 100% stands behind gender roles. OK, you know what? Screw you, and screw your gender roles, and screw your we-know-you-weren’t-kidding about punching your son. People like you are the reason kids are committing suicide and the reason there’s so much hatred in the world. And you’re supposed to be a good person, you prick. You’re supposed to be a model for what’s right, as you’re a religious figure. Just take a flying leap, you waste of breath. You’re unnecessary. No one needs you to exist. No one. And, gay kids? You’re perfect just the way you are. Suffer through what you have to, because when you’re free and you’re living your own life and are able to love who you want, you’ll be happy you stuck it out. People like Harris aren’t the real world. The real world’s a lot more forgiving, if you make it to the right place. I promise.

And of course, you remember what we learned not too long ago about raging homophobes, right? Right.

For your totally awesome, God-loving ways, YOU, Sean Harris, get the Lucy’s Football coveted DOUCHE OF THE WEEK AWARD! You can totally frame this, it’s something everyone wishes they had.

OK, you guys, the next time you read my blog, I’ll be home safely (let’s hope, anyway.) Florida vacation over! Real world, let’s do this!


Hands up! Hand over your wallet, cell phone, and – oh, yeah, your Facebook information!

So I apparently have to apologize to my dad. Well, HALF-apologize. Let’s not get crazy. I don’t just hand out apologies like saltwater taffy around here.

You have to be PRETTY special to be getting either an apology or a delicious chewy candy from ME, kiddos.

We had a conversation the other night and I was all, NO NO NO and he was all YES YES YES and, well, he was half-right. Dammit. In my defense, it was just cuckoo-bananas enough that anyone would have had the same reaction as I did.

Dad: Well, I hope you’re happy. Did you hear what your government is doing now?
(SIDE NOTE: the current government is mine. I OWN IT. Because I’m a dirty hippie liberal.)
Me: Hard to say. What’s the latest?
Dad: You are required to give your Facebook password to potential employers in order to get a job.
Me: WHAT? That can’t possibly be true.
Dad: IT IS TRUE. It was on the news.
Me: On the news? Or on Fox News?
Dad: I…LISTEN. You go into a job interview nowadays, they say, “You give me your Facebook password right now.” If you say no, they make you leave.
Me: MAKE you leave? What, like give you the bum’s rush? That can’t possibly be a thing. That’s like asking for your bank password. Or your email password.
Dad: It’s a tough economy. People have to give that information or they don’t get hired.
Me: Do you mean they’re asking for your Facebook USERNAME? Like, they want to see what you’re posting? I can see that, I guess. People post all kinds of nonsense and then don’t think to lock that down when they start a job search.
Dad: NO. Your PASSWORD. So they can see EVERYTHING.
Me: I can’t believe this is true. I’m going to research this.
Dad: Well, when you find out I’m telling you the truth, you’re going to call me up and say, “Dad, I am so sorry I called you a liar and broke your heart, as you are the person who fed and clothed me for eighteen years and you really deserve better than being called a liar by your only beloved daughter.”
Me: Yeah. Don’t hold your breath for THAT call, bub.

So I went online the minute we got off the phone and I found THIS. So at first I was all SHIT I’m totally going to have to make that call, I hate when he’s right about something. But then I read it and realized I’d only have to make HALF an apology. Because YES, it is happening. But Dad totally made it sound like it’s America’s new national policy. And also there are security guards to escort you off the premises if you don’t comply.

So apparently, 95% of employers search for you online before hiring you. Fine. I can see that. That’s understandable. I know a lot of people searching for jobs. They lock down their Twitter accounts, they make their blogs private, they make their Facebook accounts only accessible to friends. I mean, the internet has a long memory, so most likely the potential employer will find SOMETHING objectionable about you. I mean, I did a search for my blog the other day and you should have SEEN the pictures that popped up. I really choose some random photos for my posts, I can’t even describe. I mean, I laughed. A potential employer might not.

But ALSO apparently, some employers are getting all knicker-twisty when your Facebook profile is set to private, so they’ve been ASKING POTENTIAL HIREES FOR THEIR USERNAMES AND PASSWORDS. What the holy HELL?

I can tell you right now, I would laugh like a moron if someone asked me for a password at a job interview. I’d think I was being punk’d. I would look around for the hidden cameras.

Here, I’ll write you a little story. We like little stories, right?

JOB INTERVIEW STORY STARRING YOUR FAVORITE UNRULY-HAIRED BLOGGER

HR Rep: Well, that about concludes our interview. Just a few more questions, and I think we’re all set.
Me: Excellent.
HR Rep: Do you have proficiency in word processing software?
Me: I most certainly do. I think I tested 60 words per minute last time I took a typing test, and I’ve used pretty much every word processing software there is. If I haven’t used it, I can pick it up quickly enough.
HR Rep: Wonderful. And you have reception desk training?
Me: Yes, I’ve worked the reception desk at my past few jobs. I’ve gotten excellent feedback for my ability to handle a multi-line phone system.
HR Rep: Great. And here’s a pad and paper, please write down your Facebook username and password?
Me: Guhhhh?
HR Rep: Oh, you probably also need a pen. Here you go.
Me: I’m sorry. I think I must have mis-heard you. My Facebook PASSWORD?
HR Rep: Yes. Standard procedure.
Me: It’s standard procedure to ask for my password to a personal site? Where I keep personal information? About my family and friends?
HR Rep: Yes. We did a search, and you’ve set your Facebook profile to private. It’s only available to people you’re friends with.
Me: Yeeeessss…
HR Rep: So, in order to read it, we’re going to need that username and password. So just jot those down right there.
Me: I’m being punk’d. Right? Is Kutcher even still doing that shit? I thought he was too busy being Douchebag Jesus on Tiger Blood’s old sitcom.

He can walk on water, multiply the fishes and loaves, go see a totally indie band you've never even heard of and give you gonorrhea. All in a day's work for Douchebag Jesus!

HR Rep: I don’t…what?
Me: Where are the cameras? Is there one in this phone? Or in your coffee cup? I hate hidden camera shows. They always make the person they’re filming look like such an asshole. Remember the one where they made Justin Timberlake cry like a sad toddler who dropped his ice cream cone because they pretended to be the IRS taking all his guitars and he called his mom all, “MOM THEY ARE TAKING MY STUUUFFFFF???” I WILL NOT SIGN A WAIVER. YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME.

"Mom? The Government is taking all my guitars!"

HR Rep: I assure you, this is not a “punk’ing.” This is what we do now. To research candidates.
Me: To research candidates, you look at something they’ve set to private so no one can see it but the people they WANT to see it, and you don’t see that as a gross invasion of privacy at all.
HR Rep: Well! There is no need to take THAT tone.
Me: Yeah. I’m going to go now.

I know. I KNOW. It’s a tough economy. But I don’t want to work for a company that thinks it’s ok to ask such a question IN A JOB INTERVIEW. That’s an invasion of privacy. It’s why I set my profile to private. I didn’t set my profile to private FOR the job interview. I mean, not that THEY know that. But it’s been private since I joined. Because I keep my FAMILY there. No one needs to know my family. That’s no one’s business. I’d fight a horde of rabid raccoons with my bare hands for my family, I’m not dealing with internet predators, too. My Twitter’s public, go stalk that. Hell, use a little Google-fu and find my damn blog. Want to know all about me? HERE I AM NAKED, BABY.* (*no actual nakedness will occur, Ding Dong Joe.)

Ironically, I barely write anything on Facebook. I’m not even all that active there. Because I don’t like or trust it that much, and also, ironically enough, the people I know in real life don’t seem to give a shit what I say or do, and the people on Twitter seem to actually care. Which either says a lot about me, or about them. I’m going to assume them, because otherwise I look like an asshole, and no one likes that, now do they? I like Twitter better. I like some things about Facebook. Nephew photos. Notification of upcoming productions in the area. Advertising for my theater. Things of that nature. It’s a good tool, mostly for networking. But have I met FRIENDS on Facebook? Nope. Because a., I already know the people I’m friending, and b., I keep that shit locked DOWN. It is none of anyone’s BUSINESS. THERE ARE PHOTOS OF THE NEPHEW ON THERE. On Twitter, though? Have I met friends there? Yes. Has it enriched my life more than almost anything I currently am involved with? Yes. Do I love it more than most things (but obviously not pudding or Dumbcat?) Yes.

Here’s the scoop, as I see it. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T CARE. I’m telling you anyway. That’s how I roll, jellybeans.

According to that article up there, there are bills being considered in some states that would ban employers from discriminating against employees who refuse access to their social media. And some of these people who’ve been asked are pursuing legal action against the potential employers. Well, that’s all well and good, isn’t it?

But how are you going to prove that’s WHY they didn’t hire you? I mean, maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Probably you refusing the request tipped the scales. Probably it did, let’s be frank. But they can just say, “A better candidate came along!” and it’s such an employer’s market right now, the person they hired is probably comparable to, or better, than you, anyway. It’s a he-said-she-said situation.

Also, do you WANT to work for a company that’s this up in your business? Really? I’d want to stay far away from something like this. You just know they have keystroke tracking software, and they block social networking sites, and when they have the company picnic it’s totally not an open bar so you can only have one or two drinks before that shit starts to get pricey.

Listen, here’s the bottom line, whether or not your potential employer is ganking your Facebook password or not. (SIDE NOTE: Don’t give it to them. Seriously? Don’t. Don’t encourage that kind of behavior. No job is worth that. That is your private information. You don’t have to give it to them. There are other jobs that won’t ask. Interview for one of those. I’m utterly furious that any job thinks this is an acceptable thing to ask a potential employee. They are playing on our fear of unemployment and the job market being down and this shit has got to STOP.)

The internet lives forever. Therefore:

DO NOT WRITE ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET YOU’RE NOT WILLING TO OWN.

This means: no emo updates. No bullying. No tearing down your employer for making you work late without being a little jokey about it even though really you’d like to set their shiny new BMW on fire with lighter fluid. No overtly douchecanoe political shit. No flame wars. No trolling.

Think about what you write. If someone were to confront you with it: would you be embarrassed? Could you explain why you wrote it? Was it a joke? Watch your tone, because we’re TYPING, not TALKING FACE TO FACE. There is no CONTEXT. We have no FACIAL CUES to work from. Sarcasm doesn’t always come off well with type, unless you know the person well. Like, my friends? They know that anything I send them is to be read with a sarcastic mental voice. That’s why I love them and would share my Lunchables with them any time they asked. ANY DAMN TIME.

Listen, I screw around on here. A lot. But I also own that. I’m not embarrassed by it. I’m not embarrassed by my Twitter feed or my Facebook or any of my social media. Because I POLICE THE HELL out of them. I’m cautious and I work at it. YOU CAN BE, TOO. It’s not hard. Think about the person in your life you least want to embarrass. Is it a friend? A parent? A child? Now think of them when you’re writing something on the internet. Would they be embarrassed by what you just wrote? I mean, a little, maybe, sure, like, if you’re thinking of your MeeMaw back in Kansas who doesn’t approve of you talking to men, or something, that’s one thing. I mean, would what you’re doing make them say, “Not MY Jimmy/Alice/Jenny/Frisco Pete! He/She would NEVER write something like that!” Yes? Then you know as well as I do it’s a bad idea to w type it somewhere everyone can see it. EFFING ERASE IT AND TRY AGAIN. Don’t cry foul when someone sees it and that shit gets spread around six ways to Sunday. It’s your own damn fault, Nimble Fingers McCracken.

This got ranty. Listen. Don’t give potential employers a reason not to hire you. Just stop being asshats online. It is not a difficult thing to do. And, if you DO have an interview, and the interviewer is all, “Listen, I see that you write this blog, and…um…what’s a douchecanoe?” Own it, you know? What the hell else are you going to do at that point? “A DOUCHECANOE, good sir, is an awesome internet term. As you can see, my ability to dominate social media would be quite the asset to your firm.” BAM. KNOCKED IT OUT OF THE PARK.

I have all the faith that you can do this. Well, MOST of you. Ding Dong Joe and Pervy Pete are total lost causes. They’re never getting hired again. It’s a good thing they run their own business. (It’s a strip mall out by the sewage treatment plant. The stores include a paint-and-bedazzle-your-own sweatshirt shop, a kiosk that sells off-name-brand perfume, and a Chick-fil-A.)

Anyway, I have to go apologize to Dad now and tell him that he is the smartest dad in all the land except probably it’s not an American requirement that people give this information and there are no security guards who strong-arm you if you don’t. Oh, he’s going to LOVE that he was right about something. SO SO MUCH.


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