Category Archives: judgments

You’re gonna carry that weight; carry that weight a long time

I was a skinny kid. Photos of me from back then are all pigtails and smeary glasses and I’m usually covered in mud. And I’m sometimes brandishing things like frogs or buckets of mucky water, for whatever reason. I probably had a plan for those buckets. Maybe I was going to put the frog in them. I don’t know.

Then puberty hit. You can’t fight science, people. I come from hearty peasant stock on both sides of my family. Dad’s side are all, in his words, “built like tops – big on the top, skinny on the bottom.” (I attempted to explain to him that’s not exactly how tops work, and also we don’t spin very well, but he was all “WE ARE LIKE TOPS!” so who am I to argue with him?) and my mom’s side are all built like the Goddess of Willendorf. Curvy doesn’t even begin to explain it. Genetics decided I needed a little of both, apparently.

Now, Dad had been heavy growing up, and teased about it mercilessly. He lost quite a bit of weight when he married my mother (who was, and remains, thin; she’s the only one in her family that is.) Dad saw that I was starting to gain weight and immediately feared that I was going to be teased about it at school.

His solution? Constantly watch everything I put in my mouth, tell me how disgusting being fat was, tell me I needed to be working out and/or being active every single minute of every single day, tell me I was never going to find anyone to love me if I was fat, and call me things like “elephant.” If I got upset about this, he was genuinely confused. “I just want you to be happy,” he’d say. “I just want you to be pretty and thin.”

Now, I don’t know what size you’re imagining me in high school, but if I remember correctly, I was about a size twelve. A twelve. I was probably around…oh, I don’t know. 140 pounds, maybe? 150? Just about the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adulthood, anyway. I certainly wasn’t fat. And I’m fairly tall. 5’8.


However, years and years of being told, by the person you love and admire most in the whole world, that you are ugly, fat and worthless, take their toll. My self-esteem, never overly good to begin with, wasn’t getting much better.

Senior year, I was tired of being so ugly and fat (although I was neither – I look at photos of myself from that time and think “GOOD GRIEF, WHY DIDN”T YOU REALIZE HOW GORGEOUS YOU WERE?!?!”) and went on a crash diet. This diet was basically a bowl of cereal at breakfast and a can of Chinese vegetables at dinner. Sometimes some chicken. No lunch. This was what I ate every day for about 8 months. I worked out for hours at a time daily. I lost about fifty pounds. I could see my hipbones and my ribs and my cheekbones. My collarbones were so prominent I would sometimes accidentally bump them and leave bruises.

It was the first time my father ever told me I was beautiful. He followed it with “See? All you had to do was lose weight. I knew you were beautiful underneath that.”

I was starving. I had headaches constantly. I was tired all the time. But I was THIN. Boys were paying attention to me. One of my teachers told me, “Don’t you dare ever gain weight again. Don’t you DARE” which at the time I was all “Aw, nice!” and now, looking back, I’m all, “Um. CREEPSTER!”

I think you can see where this is going. Can anyone maintain that kind of diet and exercise regimen in the long-term? And not get scurvy? And not go CRAZY? I mean, I couldn’t eat ANYTHING. I was counting the calories in CORNSTARCH. I’m not even kidding you about this. This is not a way to live a life.

I gained the weight back over about a year. I felt terrible shame. I’d let everyone down. I was disgusting. I was ugly and fat again. I had no self-esteem; I didn’t like to go out in public, I didn’t like to go out with my friends, I didn’t date because who would have me? I drank a lot, though. Liquid courage, right? Mmm-hmm. Works every time, except when you start needing it for everything, ever. Like getting out of bed in the morning, or to get to sleep at night. Or for everything in between.

I’ve fluctuated in weight ever since. Sometimes I’m heavier; sometimes I’m lighter. And here’s the thing; as I age, it matters less to me. I still don’t love what I see in the mirror every day; I still see photos of myself and think, “Good grief, that’s an unflattering photo.” I still have residual shame. I still think “If only I was thinner, life would be easier, in a million different ways.” But it’s not a daily thing. It’s not even all that often anymore.

And before you start to hate him, Dad understands, and has repeatedly apologized, for what he did when I was younger. I often think most of parenting is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. He really, truly thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was stopping me from the ridicule he’d experienced as a teen. He didn’t realize – and did anyone, back then? – the long-standing effect that kind of treatment would have on my psyche. I’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t say a word now. And he’s said, without prompting, many times since, that I’m beautiful – no matter what size I am. He loves his daughter.

We live in a culture where it is not allowed (well, it still happens, but it’s not appropriate) to make racial jokes, or jokes about someone’s sexuality, or mental illness. But we’re still allowed to make fat jokes. Because fat jokes are funny. Fat PEOPLE are funny, right? Because, well, we CHOSE this. We chose this because we eat ALL the Twinkies and chips and cake and pie and sit around all day doing nothing. We chose this, and because we are fat, we are lazy and we also smell. Of course we do! And sometimes we fall. Ha ha! How funny!

So the best thing to do is make fun of us. To shame us. Because, as this VERY scientific study proves, it’s the only way to make us get off our lazy asses and get thin. Thin and therefore healthy. Oh, because, I don’t know if you’re aware – if you’re fat, you’re immediately unhealthy. There’s no such thing as a healthy fat person. We’re all one HoHo away from our first (or second, or third, or last) coronary. So the thing to do is shame us. According to this “prominent bioethicist” (I don’t see “ethics” coming into this at all) what you should say to any fat people you know, I mean, if you care about them at all, is “If you are overweight or obese, are you pleased with the way that you look?” Because of COURSE they’re not! And they just didn’t realize it until you shamed them! Oh, what a favor you are doing for them. They will thank you on the finish line of their first triathalon! They will shout your name from the top of Kilimanjaro!

Or they might tell you to shut your nosy piehole. Because I’m going to tell you something right now, and if you take anything away from this, I want it to be this.

My body, his body, her body, their bodies – anyone’s body but your own – ARE NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

I don’t care if you’re fat-shaming them, thin-shaming them (yes, it exists, please read sj’s amazing post about it, and the comments, and I know from personal experience, as I have a dear loved one who has constantly been picked on about being too thin, which she can help JUST about as much as I can help my body shape, so it’s real) or ANYTHING shaming-them, or if you say you’re doing it because you’re worried about their health, or what, exactly, your impetus for putting your nose in someone else’s business is. You have no right. None. You have no right to tell them they should lose weight (unless you are their doctor, and even then, sometimes, it gets worrisome, because there are some doctors who prescribe weightloss as an easy out for everything from asthma to a sprained toe because they don’t treat the patient, they just see a fat person and think, “I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IT IS FATNESS!”); you have no right to say things about their lifestyle choices, their clothing choices, who they’re dating, what they’re eating, how loud they’re talking, or anything whatsoever. Keep your eyes on your own test, buckaroo. I’m sure you have something you’re not proud of. Would you like someone walking up to you and saying, “Man, that’s a huge nose you have there. You should get that surgically reduced. You know, for health reasons.” Or, “I noticed you have a very small penis, Man I’m About to Have Sex With. Have you thought about getting that surgically enhanced? You know, for health reasons?” IT WOULD BE THE SAME THING.

Here’s some Fun With Fat-Shaming. Don’t even think I didn’t research the hell out of this.

First, we have Kate Upton. Who is, I think we can all agree, STUNNINGLY GORGEOUS.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

Well! Were you also aware she is “well-marbled,” “thick,” “vulgar,” and – this one’s my favorite – a “little piggie?” Or – well, how about a whole paragraph of hate? Sure!

Huge thighs, NO waist, big fat floppy boobs, terrible body definition – she looks like a squishy brick. Is this what American women are “striving” for now? The lazy, lardy look? Have we really gotten so fat in this country that Kate is the best we can aim for? Sorry, but: eww!

YES! She has been called out as too fat to model by a VERY reputable blog site called Skinny Gossip. Two things I loathe! People who judge others’ bodies and gossip! (Also, she tagged the post with “fatties” and “thunder thighs,” because, well, why not?)

Guess why she’s not model-material? BECAUSE SHE’S NORMAL-HUMAN SIZED. Well, no. She’s actually quite a bit less than normal human sized, as normal humans are, what, a size 12 now? 14? Something like that? I don’t think she’s that size. But she’s not waif-thin, and apparently, Skinny Gossip thinks that’s what size you have to be to model clothing.

Psst, Skinny Gossip, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. She’s stunning. And it can’t possibly make you feel any better about yourself to call people pigs, can it? Really? Do you sleep well at night knowing you put something like that out there in the world? That kind of hate?

Next: employees at CVS will now be forced to take a BMI test and a blood-glucose screen to remain on their healthcare plan, or risk a fine. Why?

The company’s rationale? Coercing employees to submit to health testing will provide incentive for workers to get—and stay—in shape.

Huh. “Coercing.” Forcing, really, because the fine is $600 and they don’t pay much above minimum to work at CVS. And what happens once you take the test? Do you have to see a counselor about your totally fat fatness? Are you told if you don’t lose weight, you’ll be let go? Are your test results posted in the breakroom next to a photo of a bag of Cheetos with a red circle and a line through it? WHO KNOWS.

Or, how about, let’s fat-shame our children with this new ad campaign? Because there’s nothing that kids need more than to be shamed. I mean, it’s worked out so well for me, right?

Please read the article that accompanies this photo. It’s kickass. It has excellent examples of fat-shaming. HEARTBREAKING examples. And, sadly, TRUE examples. People think it is ok to walk up to perfect strangers in the grocery store and QUESTION THEIR FOOD CHOICES.

(True story: I had a woman come up to me in the grocery store and tell me she worked for Herbalife and they had an excellent line of diet pills I might like to try. First thought: shame. Second thought: WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. Second thought won out over first thought; I told her I was not at all interested in a pyramid scheme for products that don’t work in the first place, and I was sorry she felt the need to walk up to strangers and judge their body type, and walked away. She was offering them to the next woman that walked past as I checked out. So apparently my words meant nothing.)

So, anyway. Yes, that’s an ad campaign for (well, against, I guess) childhood obesity, targeting overweight children. Because they probably aren’t aware they’re fat. So let’s do a whole ad campaign for it. That’s a good way to help kids with positive self-esteem. Way to go, guys.

Of course, there’s also good old Southwest Airlines, who expect their fat passengers to spring for two seats. And even their not-so-fat passengers. Whoever THEY deem as a little too fat. They SAY it’s if the passenger can’t put the armrests down, but as Kevin Smith found out a few years ago, that’s not it at all – it’s racial profiling, only with your weight. It’s fat-profiling. He was able to put his armrests down; the passengers on either side of him told the flight attendant they had plenty of room. They still kicked him off the plane. And when he got back on a later flight that they hurriedly put him on once they realized who he was and that he was tweeting millions of people about this practice, they fat-profiled another person, then put her in his row, so she’d tell him about it, and he’d know it wasn’t just him, and feel better.

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

Yes! Because nothing makes us feel better than to be shamed in front of a crowd of people than to do it to someone else. NOTHING. (I read his book Tough Shit recently which went in detail into the incident, and my heart just broke for him. Because no matter what you think of Kevin Smith – you all know I think he’s fantastic, but you can hate him if you want, just don’t tell me about it, ok? – when that happened, he was just an average guy, being fat-shamed in front of a full airplane of people. Worse, he was a FAMOUS guy being fat-shamed in front of a crowd of people, and if it was an average guy, it might be a laugh or two, but with a famous person, it’s news, you know? He took control of the news and labeled it “too fat to fly” himself – he’s very good at self-deprecating – but it hurt. Of course it did. Because no matter who you are, where you are in the world, being shamed for your body size is not something you can laugh off. It just isn’t. The shame should be on Southwest Airlines, not the people they’re profiling.)

Then there’s this. I can’t embed a Facebook thread, so sadly, you will have to click. Here’s a screenshot, though, because pretty pictures, right?

Now, you have to click to see the comments. The comments are really what makes this. Because this STARTS OUT as normal, then this person shows up who hates fat people. HATES THEM. Only, no no! She doesn’t HATE them. She has MANY FAT FRIENDS! (Does this sound at all like someone who makes a lot of racist comments, then says, “What? I’m not a racist! I have MANY MANY BLACK FRIENDS!” Yeah, to me, too.) So she starts writing things like “no, it’s a known fact that all fat people are unhealthy and many doctors refuse to operate on them because, well, they’ll just die on the table. Because, well, fat, you know?”

Don’t worry. There are some kickass commenters on there. They give her the smackdown. She doesn’t ever shut up, but they win intelligence. She doesn’t win anything but idiocy and mouth-flappery.

This is, by the way, called “concern-trolling.” It’s like being a troll, only you’re pretending it’s because you CARE. Isn’t that nice? A whole new way to be a douchecanoe!

Sara, from Laments and Lullabies, wrote an amazing post recently about fat-shaming, which you all should read. Her post, and the terrible comments on that Facebook post up there, were what finally made me realize I needed to write my own post. Here’s her post. You should all a., read, and b., comment. Oh, and c., follow her blog.

There are more. There are so many more. But this is edging into way too many words for a Saturday territory, and also I’d like to get to bed at some point.

I will leave you with some bullet points. Because, who doesn’t like bullet points, am I right?

  • Other people’s bodies are none of your business. Keep your words off them. Unless you’re telling them they’re beautiful. Everyone likes that shit. Even if they pretend they don’t.
  • Pretending you’re “worried about someone’s health” is not an excuse for commenting on someone’s weight, whether they’re heavy or thin. Again, see the first bullet point. Even if they’re naked with you, their size is none of your business. Whose business is it then, Amy? THEIRS. No one’s but theirs.
  • Making fat jokes is a., not funny, and b., lazy. There are actual funny things in the world to point out. Like misspellings. Who doesn’t like a good misplaced apostrophe or missing comma? The answer to that is NO ONE.
  • To reiterate what we learned in the first bullet point: before making a comment about someone’s weight, please think the following quietly to yourself: “What is my least-favorite attribute. Now, would I like someone to loudly mention it and say it is ugly and/or unhealthy for me to have, and publicly shame me about it?” The answer to that question is always no. ALWAYS.
  • Also: if you think you are too fat, and everyone’s judging you, and you’re ugly, and OMG I CANNOT LEAVE THE HOUSE, guess what. No, seriously, guess. Hardly anyone even notices. The only people that do are assholes. And who cares what assholes think? I hope you don’t.
  • Finally: I’m going to tell you something I’ve learned in my old age. Ready? Shh, don’t share this one around, it’s kind of radical. WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL. I know! Every single last one of us. Fat. Thin. Tall. Short. We’re a lovely bunch of coconuts. Except – there is one thing that makes you ugly. Guess what that is? Hatefulness. Being hateful. You can’t be beautiful with hate in your mind, soul, or mouth. So get rid of that, and guess what? You’re gorgeous again. And everyone will see it. I can see it right now! Whoa, babe, dial that back, you’re blinding me with it.

We’ve become a culture of shaming. We’re rape-shaming and we’re slut-shaming and we’re thin-shaming and we’re fat-shaming. It’s repulsive and this shit’s gotta stop. Like, immediately.

Stop shaming anyone. Including yourself. You are beautiful. The people around you are beautiful. No one should be shamed for how they look. The next time you look at yourself in the mirror, be amazed at how gorgeous you are. And tell the people around you how beautiful they are. Don’t allow them to blow it off and say things like, “Oh, I look like a cow in this top” or whatever, either. Nope. Not today, buckaroos. Tell them they’re beautiful AGAIN. Until they actually believe it.

Then, all of that stuff? Do quadruple that for your kids. Make sure your kids enter the world with the strongest self-esteem possible. They’re going to need it, and you can help them with that.

We might be surrounded by shame, but we can combat that with love. Is that the opposite of shame? Don’t care. For our purposes it is.

Love you guys. You’re gorgeous. Every last one of you.

…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.


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 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.”


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


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


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.

Are these my only two options?

Before we get started – it is sj’s birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SJ! You make every day better by being in my life, and I am so grateful to know you and to count you as one of my most favorite people. I hope your day is amazing and your year ahead is the best yet! Everyone be sure to tell sj happy birthday!

Here is a pirate cake for your birthday, sj. ARGHHHHH.

I was talking to a friend the other day, and we were discussing those “would you rather” questions. You know those questions, right? Like, “would you rather eat nothing but sandwiches or popsicles for the whole rest of your life?” (That’s obviously a terrible example, you have to pick sandwiches, if you pick popsicles you would die of malnutrition so there’s really no choice, even though POPSICLES ARE DELICIOUS.) She brought up a good one, that actually is something I’ve thought of before – I’ll talk about it at the end, though, because it’s actually really good, and it’s a good note to end on. 

Anyway, so I was like, huh, I wonder if the interwebs has a million “would you rathers” for me to play with because I’m bored as shit at work today? And the answer is YES THEY DO. So let’s play would you rather today! You can play along. Just see how your answers match up with mine, I guess, I don’t know what the hell. 

Oh, you want rules? What, have you been living under a rock? FINE, the rules are you get a scenario and you have to pick one or the other. You can’t say “neither.” You can have time to think about it and you can puzzle it out or whatever, but there’s no abstaining. It’s one or the other. You don’t get further options, either. THIS IS IT. Them’s the rules, buckaroo, I didn’t make ‘em. Everyone knows the rules of would you rather. I guess maybe dirty hippies don’t, I don’t know. Maybe you’re a dirty hippie, I don’t know your life. 

Here, we’ll warm up with an easy one. 

Would you rather give up your computer forever or your TV forever? 

Duh, you obviously pick your TV. Because with your computer, you can watch all your programs via Hulu or pirating (arr) or whatever, but unless you’ve got that fancy-expensive (and seemingly difficult to use) Web TV garbage, you can’t surf the web on your television. 

All warmed up? Good.  

Would you rather always have to say everything on your mind or never speak again? 

Never speak again. I’d be fine with that. This doesn’t say I can’t type, so I could still blog/email/Twitter, so I could still communicate. Plus, no one wants to hear everything that’s on my mind. NO ONE. Trust me on that. There’s a lot of shit in there that needs to stay where it belongs. Locked down. Tight tight tight. Key thrown away. I’m not even kidding. It’s a dark and twisty place, that brain of mine. My SECRETS even have secrets. 

Would you rather be able to hear any conversation or take back anything you say? 

I’ll take takebacksies. Because I don’t want to hear any conversation. I’m a big proponent of “this is not my business.” And if it’s not my business, I butt right the hell out. I don’t snoop (Facebook stalking DOES NOT COUNT, I mean in real life) and I don’t listen at the cracks and I don’t try to peek at things I’m not supposed to see. Because twice I’ve purposely done that, and both times I found out such terrible things that I was depressed and upset for MONTHS. And who wants to invite things like that into their lives? No one does, that’s who. So I mind my own, and it infuriates me when others don’t mind their own. Privacy is underrated in this world. (I don’t count social media or the internet. It’s your own damn fault if you put something up on the internet. You put it there, that’s there for all to see, dummy.) Also, I say a lot of stupid things. I’d like to take them back, if given the opportunity. 

Would you rather be able to stop time or fly? 


This reminds me of one of these a boy I used to love (sigh) asked me once. “Tail or wings?” he said. I was all, “whaaa?” and he was like, “you have to choose one, do you choose a tail, or wings?” I obviously chose wings, but he was like, “Nope, tail, because then people know what mood you’re in without asking.” Heh. I just lurved him to bits, that one. Redhead. Southern accent. Swoooon. 

Anyway, in this case, stop time. Because then you could stop time right before accidents, and if you were having a really good time you could prolong it, and if you needed more time to get ready (or, sigh, sleep) you could have it. I don’t care so much about flying, whatever. Birds are assholes and would just peck you and shit on you anyway. 

Would you rather be rich and ugly, or poor and good looking? 

Rich and ugly, OBVS. Who cares what I look like? I’ve got all the money. I can hide all beauty-and-the-beast-style in my mega-library if I want. I don’t give two shits for appearances but I sure would like to be able to pay my bills AND get groceries every month. 

Would you rather be stranded on an island alone or with someone you hate? 

Wilson? Wilson? WILSOONNNNNN!

Alone. I hate people. I’d honestly even choose alone over someone I LIKED, because you’d start to hate someone you liked if you were in constant contact with them with no one else or no technology to be a buffer 24/7/365, I think. So your friendship or romance or whatever would be in the crapper AND you’d be on a desert island (SIDE NOTE one time? I knew this guy who always wrote “desert” as “dessert” so he would have written that sentence “dessert island,” so, hee! and, yum!) so who would you complain to, the palm trees? The seagulls? This island is the worst, I’d rather be alone. 

Would you rather eat a stick of butter or a gallon of ice cream? 

Oh, shit, I just realized – this is a HALF-gallon of ice cream. I take it back. I could barely eat this, I could never eat a gallon of ice cream. Never mind.

Um. People DON’T eat gallons of ice cream? I could totally eat a gallon of ice cream. I mean, I’d have to take breaks in between and like walk around or something, maybe put on a sweater, watch some television, I don’t know, but I don’t even think it would be all that taxing on me.  

Would you rather end hunger or hatred? 

I adore this movie. Does that make me a dirty hippie?

Hatred. Because if you end hatred, then I think people would work harder to end hunger, and both problems would be solved. 

Would you rather find true love or 10 million dollars? 

Twue wuv.

Ugh, this one’s tough. Probably love. I KNOW! Money’s all super-important and shit. But this doesn’t say I have to live like a pauper with my true love, just that I can have either ten million or true love. So probably I can have my true love and live like a normal human, or ten million and…um…random sex with random people, I guess. I take the love. I’m used to not having money, and love would be nice. I know, you’re all surprised I was so squishy on this one. I’m broken, but I still would like to fall in love someday, come on, people. 

Would you rather have a kangaroo or koala as your pet? 

So sleepy, aw! Dumbcat would love him.

A koala. I know they’re supposed to be all vicious (or is that pandas? I forget), but at least they’re small. Kangaroos are bigger and where would you keep it? I have a very small apartment. I could keep a koala under my bathroom vanity if I wanted. A kangaroo would need like a pen or a backyard or some such nonsense. I don’t have those things. 

Would you rather forget who you were or who everyone else was? 

This doesn’t make a lot of sense. I assume, by the wording, if I forget who I am, I know who everyone else is? That doesn’t logically compute, because if I know who everyone else is, don’t I know who they are in relation to me? Or am I just like, “That is Bob, he is a man who lives on Main Street and has three daughters HOW DO I KNOW THIS????” And if I forget who everyone else is, and they know who I am, they could talk to me and we could, I assume, start our friendship all over again, right? Are the memories I made with those people gone? So is my life like a void? Good gracious. 

I’m going to have to say, forgetting who everyone else is is probably the better option, because then I can at least function, and the people who are worthwhile would stick it out with me and would still be amnesiac-me’s friend. I think. The people who had friend-ADD would be like, “BORED NOW” and take off. So I guess I’d know who my real friends are? 

Oh, yeah, back to the beginning LIKE A FULL CIRCLE. Who says I can’t write. So the “would you rather” that started this whole thing was this: let’s say you have a daughter. Your daughter can be one of two things: a terrible bully, or terribly bullied. Which do you choose?  

It’s actually come to mind for me before, because it’s on my list of “reasons I’d be a terrible parent.” I couldn’t imagine parenting a girl for this very reason. If she came home bullied, I’d at least have the tools in my skillset to help her deal with that, even if it killed me to watch her go through that. But if she came home a bully? How would I deal with that? I have no idea. It would be like living with the enemy. I don’t know how I’d be able to handle it. 

But to answer the question. First, I was like, of course I think I’d choose to parent the bully. As painful as it would be for me, at least I wouldn’t have a child who was going through what I went through. So I was all, I saved my hypothetical child! Then I thought, NO, I am damning OTHER hypothetical children to being bullied by my child. Multiple hypothetical children! That is worse! That is so much worse! But if I was the parent of a bully, could I maybe make her stop? Could I get her help, counseling, teach her that it wasn’t ok? 

My final answer, with apologies to my hypothetical and no no no never female offspring, is that I choose to parent the bullied child. At least I know how to deal with that, and at least I’m not foisting a bully off onto the populace to crush other children’s spirits. Sorry, non-existent hypothetical child, for wishing pain upon you. It’s for the greater good. I martyred you before I even had you. 

Shit, I totally want popsicles now, even though they’re not nutritionally sound. DAMN YOU POWER OF SUGGESTION.

My friend the dictionary is a very reliable friend.

Here we are, Tuesday! Lots going on this week. We have a show opening next week, so I have lots of rehearsal this week and next week in preparation for that (it’s a quick show, so rehearsals aren’t too long or painful – we’re actually having a lot of fun, no worries) and I’m doing this and that and the other and reading a lot of books and hanging out with Dumbcat and I have some shopping to do for GIFT PRIZE MAILING and whoo! I’m like a busy bee. Bzz, bzz, bzz.

Summer seems to be here, too. It’s all hot and sticky and humid-y and my hair’s all sticking up like a looney already. I know summer supposedly doesn’t happen until late June but that’s lies. In my world it starts at the beginning of June, when things start to get icky. I’d take two springs instead of a summer any day.

So today, let’s talk about one of my favorite things in the world: typos.

Well, no. They’re not my FAVORITE things in the world. But when they’re egregiously awful, I get a total and complete kick out of them. So today, so you can have some enjoyment out of other people’s misfortune, let’s look at some of the worst typos I found on the world wide interwebs today. PLEASE TO USE A DICTIONARY. Thanks.

Huh. Quite a legacy, Mr. Johnson. QUITE a legacy.

It’s graduation time! Hey, students of the University of Texas, Austin, CONGRATULATIONS!

Oh, wait, here, did you get a program?

Oh, ok, good, glad you…wait…um…WHERE did I graduate from? WOW. If I’d have known, I would have probably taken a different route to getting my diploma.

(Seriously, this made me giggle, because, as mentioned, sense of humor of a 5-year-old-boy. PUBIC! When I was a kid we used to erase the “L” in “public” on the Public Library flyers and then laugh and laugh. If this was my graduation flyer odds are good I’d have laughed like a moron all through the ceremony.)

Well! So I’ve been spelling it wrong all these years? I feel idiotic.

So for some reason I’m not quite sure of, Mitt Romney put out an iPhone app? I don’t know, either. Apparently you can photograph yourself with Mitt in a variety of Mitt-related situations. Well, if I wanted to photograph myself being BORING, I’d just take a picture of myself blogging on my couch right now OH BURN. Wait, who got burned, me or Mitt? Both. I think both.

So anyway, in his iPhone app, there was a typo. I mean, these things happen. But this is…well, kind of egregious:

Oh. OH. Amercia! Amercia! God shed his grace on THEEEEEEEE!

I know, I know, THESE THINGS HAPPEN. Dude’s people spelled the name of the country he wants to run wrong. I don’t think that bodes well.

Also, since the app was that you could take your photo with any of the templates, people started doing things like this:




There’s better timing than when you’re running against a very intelligent incumbent for president to do something idiotic like this.

I wasn’t aware that the Romney camp was having such major spelling issues, but then yesterday I read this article over on Sprocket Ink and apparently, someone over in Romneyville really doesn’t understand how spell check works. This is a total worry. I don’t want to be living in Amercia come November, you guys. I like MERKA just the way it is. Well, mostly. MOSTLY I do.

It’s ok. Sh’cool.

So a few months ago in New York City, they painted a school crossing. So that kids wouldn’t get hit by cars. That’s good. We like not-dead kiddos. Also, New York City schoolchildren make me smile. Always. They always seem to have it all together, always.

So once the workmen were done and doing…well…whatever it is workmen do when they’re done, some loudmouth complainer was all, “Um, guys? Maybe…we might want to…repaint this?”

Heh. Shcool. It sounds like a slurry version of school. Or slang for “it’s cool.” “No, no, Bobby, no worries. Sh’cool. I can ditch math class to smoke weed behind the bleachers today. Bring your hackeysack, yo.”

Well, JFK had ’em, I guess there’s precedent

Apparently this happened on MSNBC lately. Aw. Poor Norah O’Donnell. I’m sure she was trying to keep her side-job on the downlow.

I guess she should just be grateful they got her skin color correct.

(Also, this chick totally stole my mom’s hairstyle.)

My dad SAYS weird shit goes down in California. Apparently so.

Listen, we would NEVER put up with stuff like this in New York. We have more DECORUM here. More CLASS.

Probably it was the fire that did it. Some people get SO EXCITED about fire. No joke. I see that on Law & Order and those types of shows ALL THE TIME. People who get all excited about fire. Apparently they all live in California. Who knew?

Aw, NO toad is a through toad, that would just leave you with a damaged toad.

Hee! Love. No, I would imagine it’s not a through toad. You should probably go around the toad.

And…because there’s nothing better than getting something PERMANENTLY WRITTEN ON YOUR BODY SPELLED WRONG

And also anyone who sees this tattoo. They will also juge you.

This made me laugh so hard I snorted. I feel like this person lost a bet. What’s worse, the awesome typo (say the word “poporn” fast, it sounds great in your mouth) or the fact that he has this thing tattooed on him? I mean, I assume it’s a him. I can’t imagine a female did this to herself.

ZOMG this is the PERFECT tattoo for me! Perfect perfect. I LOVE THEATER. Oh, wait, it’s heinously ugly bordering on frightening and also TRADGEY.

Hee! “tradgey.” What a tradgey.

Yes! DOWN WITH THE MAN! SUBVERT THE SYSTSEM! Wait, what? How many “s”s are in that, anyway? Like, 47,000? 

Also, REALLY? You thought this was a good thing to get tattooed on yourself somewhere? Oh, that’s just embarrassing. I can’t imagine that you’re going to want this in like three weeks, let alone ten years. “systsem.” Heh.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no. Also, this is her TRAMP STAMP. Like, this is going to be there FOREVER now. Wait, what if this is really her nickname? Not sweet pea but sweet pee? I don’t want to know. I DON’T WANT TO KNOW I SAID.

I’m SO jalous. I can’t even contain my jalousy. I think I might fly into a jalous rage, actually.

The tattoo artist signed this. Like he or she was PROUD OF THEIR WORK. Heh.

I have a typo story. Once, when I was young, my dad and I were coming back from a trip. And we drove past a person’s house. And they had one of those cutesy-cute “I named my HOUSE!” signs outside. It said the person’s name (which I won’t say – let’s call her Martha) and then Place. Martha’s Place. And like, butterflies or whatever.

My dad was all, “Huh. Martha’s Palace. That’s stuck-up of her, that place is like a trailer or something.” 

I said, “What? No, place, not palace.”


Then when it didn’t, he was all, “She came out and CHANGED HER SIGN while we were driving back here” and still says “This is like Martha’s Palace” to describe things that he’s misunderstood or gotten wrong.

There, there’s a story from my CHILDHOOD. Nice, right?

Happy Tuesday! Use your spellcheck!

Listen, if the children are our future, we really need to live for today, because the future is BLEAK.

Today, let’s talk about bad decisions. Heh. That always always makes me think of that Bad Idea Jeans Saturday Night Live commercial. I bet I can’t find it on You Tube. Stupid fascist Saturday Night Live. Yep, I’m right. It’s only on Hulu. Anyway, here, watch, it’ll make you laugh. Unless you’re a soulless waste. Then it probably won’t. Also, check out all of that acid wash. Remember acid wash? Talk about bad decisions. We sure thought that was pretty, didn’t we? If you’re too young to remember acid wash, consider yourself lucky.

So I’ve come across some things online lately, and also in life, and I think we need to discuss them. And how bad decisions should be not made. How about not made? Great, good, stop that, thanks.

I don’t have kids. So, listen. I know. I’m not overly qualified to be giving them advice. HOWEVER! I was ONCE a kid. Who made SPECTACULARLY bad decisions. No, no. Not all bad decisions. But some? Yes. Yes, most definitely.

Today, we’re going to discuss five important things you need to stop doing, please. Things that might SEEM like really fun, cool ideas, but I assure you, you’re going to regret them. I am HAPPY to share my experience with you! Well, where I have experience. There are some of these I have no experience in but I KNOW THEY ARE BAD NEWS YO. So! Kiddos! And people that love kiddos! And people who read my blog no matter what I write about! Here, for you! A list of FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT DO WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG AND THINK YOU ARE INVINCIBLE. (Or even when you are old. Or, ever.)

Sexting/Posting Porn Online

This is SRS BSNS, you guys. There is a NATIONAL CAMPAIGN. (Which cracked me up a little.)

Let’s make up a little scenario, shall we? OK. You’re sixteen. You’re in a relationship with another sixteen year old. You’re all smushy-smushy in love. Aw, you guys. With the PDA and the smooching and the putting your hands in each other’s back pockets when you walk down the hall. (Wait, does that still happen? If that doesn’t happen, replace it with what you kiddos do nowadays, I don’t know.) You’re most likely having sex. That’s what the kids today seem to do. I’d like to tell you to wait to do that, too, but listen, that’s a losing battle. Kids in my day were having all the sex in high school, kids in my PARENTS’ day were doing it, and from what my totally scandalous-tale-telling grandmother tells me, when SHE was in school kids were doing it (and she calls them “SHAMELESS HUSSIES!” and their children “BASTARD CHILDREN!”) so there’s no way I’m going to stop the children from having sex in high school. Your hormones are running high, you’re surrounded by pretty people whose hormones are ALSO running high, and although I don’t think it’s a good IDEA, I can’t STOP you. (Use protection, tater tots. USE PROTECTION. You really don’t want an STD at age 35 that you contacted at age 16. You’re going to be SO MAD at 16-year-old-you.)

Whoo, anyway. So. You’re sixteen, you’re getting it on with your main squeeze. He’s all, “send me a picture of your boobs, Sally!” or “Talk dirty to me, Betty Sue!” and you have a moment of, “Hmm. Should I do that?”


There are many reasons. At the moment it’s happening? You trust that person implicitly. You think they’re forever and ever. How many old people do you know that are married to their high-school sweethearts? Very few. Because THAT SHIT DON’T LAST YO. So, once you’ve broken up, someone’s going to have hurt feelings. And if it’s him with the hurt feelings? You can bet he’s still got that nekkid picture of you. And now EVERYONE YOU KNOW HAS IT. Hope you like everyone seeing your tatas! Including maybe your parents, your siblings, your grandparents, and potential employers!

Your mom’s reaction to getting forwarded your sexts. Don’t you feel proud?

Also, I was pointed in the direction to a site with quite a bit of amateur porn on it recently. I’m kind of the most naive about things, so I alternated shocked-facing and laughing like a moron. YES, I know about PORN. Porn wasn’t what was shocking. That everyday normal people were recording themselves and then posting it online like it was a good idea was the surprising part. These people seemed to be of-age, so that was going for them. But WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING. Listen, the whole internet doesn’t need to see you plowing your girlfriend on a lawnchair with your socks on while your dog licks the camera.

Rule of thumb: the internet lasts forever. Phones count as the internet. Before you send/write anything online? Assume it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass someday. Are you ok with that? Or would you be mortified? If it’s the latter, DON’T DO IT. (Spoiler alert: it’s always the latter.)

Having Babies in High School on Purpose

I assume this isn’t just a movie-of-the-week thing and it’s really real. And research backs me up. Apparently, high-school girls think that it is cool and it is a status symbol to have a baby in high school, so they PURPOSELY get pregnant in high school, to the point of MAKING A PACT TO DO SO. This seems to be a way to create a little person who will unconditionally love them, and also they think it will make all the people look up to them like they are the coolest.

There was a Lifetime Movie and everything. It isn’t even a joke.

OK. Want another scenario? Cool. So, you get pregnant on purpose at age 16. Everyone pays attention to you! You and your glowy pregnant self and your cute pregnant belly! And you get showers, and presents, and you get to put together a crib, and WHOO! What an ADVENTURE! Then you have a BABY! And aw, little FINGERS and little TOES!

That baby cries a lot. And you’re expected to get up with it. Like, at 3am. No one else does it. This puts a little crimp in your lifestyle, but listen, people come over and see you, and the baby, and lavish all the attention on you, and you are SO POPULAR ZOMG.

Then it’s time for college. All your friends, they are going to college. Are you going to college? Nope. You are not. You have a baby, you see. They are full of plans and schemes and such. They don’t have a lot of time to come over and hang with you and your baby, who’s actually not as cute and baby-like anymore, and more little-human-like. Huh. You’re not getting a lot of attention. And the baby’s not giving you any attention, other than crying all the time. As babies do.

So you’re kind of trapped. Everyone’s moving on, and the little person you created to give you unconditional love isn’t even able to vocalize yet. Well, other than the screaming. The constant screaming.

“Oh, you’re all going off to a concert? Great, I’ll just…um…stay here, with the baby. That’s fine! Have fun! Ha! Ha ha! I WISH I WAS DEAD.”

Maybe, just maybe? It wasn’t a good idea to have a baby yet. Just a thought.

Listen, I don’t have anything against babies. I think I’d be very, very bad at being a mom. I’m an excellent aunt, but I think part of that is because I can give The Nephew back at the end of the day. I’m not patient and I’m don’t have enough free time and a kajillion other reasons, blah blah blah. I can’t even imagine that having one in high school ON PURPOSE is a good idea. I couldn’t even handle one now and I’m well on my way to middle age. I knew a girl in high school who was pregnant and hid it until she just about gave birth; I knew a bunch of us who sang the entire damn Hallelujah chorus in the high school bathrooms when we got our periods and didn’t get pregnant from making stupid choices like not using enough or correct birth control.

Don’t create a little person whose sole purpose in life is to love you and to make people love you. That’s a lot of pressure on that little baby’s shoulders. That little baby shouldn’t have that kind of pressure. Cut that right out.

If You Do Have That Ill-Advised Baby, Don’t Name it Something Ridiculous

You’re going to name me Chystyph’yr? WHY DO YOU HATE ME MOM?

I found this article yesterday and I almost spit-took.

This person let her toddler name her child. Her toddler named her child after its favorite thing, and therefore she ended up with a second child named Spongebob.


Well, at least one person’s happy. Or, thing. One thing’s happy.

I also work at that answering service, and we answer for a lot of pediatric offices. So I talk to a lot of moms who need medical advice for their children. And people name their children VERY STUPID THINGS.

I feel terrible telling you what those things are, because what if those kids do a search someday, and they find their name? Because it’s not their fault their parents were asshats.

Yes, sure, these kids could change their names when they become old enough. That doesn’t change the fact that they have to go through 18 years of teachers pronouncing their names wrong in front of classrooms, kids picking on them for it, explaining their parents’ choices, etcetera ad infinitum.

Do not name your child something that is a brand name. Do not name your child something with a lot of apostrophes in it. Do not name  your child something that rhymes with something gynecological or scatological. THINK OF YOUR CHILD’S WELL-BEING. Here’s a quick rule: would you want that name? Yes? Great, legally change your name to that. Don’t do it to your kid.

Also, putting a shit-ton of “y”s into a name to make it different so that it stands out from all the other same names – for example, there are a million Camerons, but there’s only one Cymyryn! STOP IT. It looks like a stripper name. Do you want your daughter (hell, or son) to strip? Do you really? Because if you do, keep naming them things like Mydysyn and Cymyryn and Shynnyn. THESE HAVE NO VOWELS.


Listen, were there drugs when I was a kid? Of course there were. Did I do them? Well, not when I was in high school. I was not cool enough, come on.

When I was a kid, the drugs of choice were really bad pot and alcohol. That’s it. I don’t know if we even knew anything else existed. When I got to college, sometimes people would find things like hash. Oh, and the pot was of better quality. I don’t know that I knew anyone who did much of anything else. We couldn’t afford it, basically. We were pretty practical.

As I got older, I became acquainted with people who thought it was a good idea to try other things. Cocaine. Acid. (Oh, the hour-long conversation with the guy who wanted to describe his recent acid trip to me. NO ONE CARES THAT THE POSTERS ON THE WALL WERE TALKING TO YOU, GOOBER.)

I’m not telling you I never, ever did any drugs. I AM telling you I no LONGER do any drugs, because I don’t like chemically inducing myself to be stupid. And I am ALSO telling you that I was always way too much of a chickenshit to do much of anything, because I watched too many afterschool specials and very special episodes of primetime television as a child. I’M SO EXCITED I’M SO SCARED.


So apparently kids are drinking hand sanitizer? Soaking tampons with vodka and inserting them? And doing…what…something?…to Robitussin so it becomes a drug? And calling it “robotripping” because AREN’T YOU CLEVER?

Really? Cough medicine and hand sanitizer? REALLY?

And now there’s this “bath salts” nonsense that makes you “experience a mix of physical and psychological symptoms…can cause excited delirium and severe hallucinations…can become violent and suicidal…super-human strength, and long-lasting euphoria or paranoia.”

I get it. Kids are creative. That’s good! That means they’re thinking. With their thinkers. Nice. HOWEVER. I don’t know that you need to be using your thinkers for coming up with new and creative ways to get high, especially when those highs are making you INSANE.

I get it. It’s like sex. Kids want to try this, and there’s no way we’re going to stop them. I GET IT. But seriously, kiddos. Much like the 35-year-old-you is going to be pissed at the 16-year-old-you for getting that disgusting STD, the 35-year-old-you is going to be pretty pissed at good-times-you for thinking killing the part of your brain that remembers math problems because you just had to drink the Purell, you know? STOP BEING IDIOTIC. I know your impulse control is in the negative numbers right now, but come on. No one can think that putting a tampon soaked in vodka up your hooha is a good idea. THAT IS NOT WHAT YOUR COOCH IS FOR. Come right on. Be nicer to your cooch. You’re going to want that someday for fun-times.

Texting While Driving

OK. Again, I’m not going to stop any of you from doing this. EVERYONE does this. Top-secret news? I’ve totally done this myself. Thing is, I only do it at stoplights. I’m too scared to do otherwise. I am easily distractable and just know I’ll die if I do it and attempt to operate a moving vehicle.

Kids aren’t very good drivers to begin with. Add them not even having their eyes on the road because they’re WRITING A LITTLE MESSAGE on a TEENY TINY KEYBOARD, and, well, listen, you’re going to kill someone I care about.


I promise whatever it is can wait. I promise. Listen, like I said. I don’t like being separated from my phone that long, either. I’m obsessed with it. But if I can do it, you can, too. Also, there’s this voice-to-text option now. Maybe that? Maybe you can use that. Because if you kill someone I care about because you’re texting while driving, I’m going to get totally stabby.

OK, kiddos, and others, what have we learned today?

Well, to boil it all down into one sentence:


Easy, right? I know. I totally give the best advice. If you have questions about whether or not you should do something? Ask. I’ll let you know. I’m happy to help. I actually kind of like teens, even though most people think they’re annoying. They mean well, even though they wear inappropriately-low tops and their jeans are too big.

Oh! AND, to continue our week of Bloggiversary celebrations!

Your sixth-most-popular blog post of the WHOLE ENTIRE YEAR!

Nothing Good Has Ever Come from Use of a Ouija Board, Dummy

I am perplexed about this one. It’s not overly…well, funny. Or even good. I have no idea why this is the sixth-most-popular post of the entire year. None. (Again, sorry about the formatting. Stupid Blogger import. I’m not allowed to fix them, apparently.) It’s about horror movies. And what’s scary/funny/stupid. It’s fine, it’s not garbage. It’s just a perplexing choice for one of the top posts of the YEAR, you know? Huh. I don’t know, who am I to fight with the VOICE OF THE PEOPLE?I can’t even tell you what we’ve learned from this one because I’m perplexed. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Remember! Comment on yesterday’s post in order to be entered to win a totally awesome gift box of…um…stuff! That will be awesome!

Happy Monday, people! Tomorrow at this time, I’ll be with Susie. WITH SUSIE. In my favorite city in all the land! I’m so excited I could just about die. Oh, and PEE ESS, thank you powers that be for keeping planes up when appropriate and landing them when appropriate so both Susie and Ken got to their places in one piece. I freak out a little when my people are traveling. I like when I get the “all clear I AM OK AMY” messages. I know. I’m a little nuts. YOU STILL LOVE ME THOUGH.

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