Delta. Don’t Suckle Your Spawn in Our Skies.

Erin is in WEST VIRGINIA with very, very limited internet access, but she really wanted to give everyone an update on her Delta trip, so I, Karen, have hijacked her blog in order to share this important post with you. Erin is stuck in “ahem” inlaw land with rural snail mail as her only ways of communicating with the outside world. Ha ha, sucker. Look at my high-speediness as I overtake your empire!

Okay, I’ll shutup now.

Without further ado, here are Erin’s words:

I nursed Princess Peanut everywhere but in the plane’s toliet and no one so much as even raised an eyebrow at me. She even nursed while doing her famous UPSIDE down move:

However, I’m sad to inform everyone that I did get this from a Delta representative in my email box today, it reads, in part:

“Delta fully supports a mother’s decision to breastfeed . We even provide rooms in our workplaces for our employees who are nursing mothers to pump and store breast milk . We just ask that mothers use their own discretion as they would in any other public place. “

What the fuck does “use their own discretion” mean? Are they saying the mother on the Vermont flight did not use discretion? What, exactly, constitutes discretion when feeding a baby at 220000 feet? Am I allowed to show the top part of my tit? The side only? The bottom half?

And the blanket. On our flight from Atlanta to WV our flight attendant TOLD US to put our blankets on our seats for the next passenger on the next flight. YOU WANT ME TO COVER MY CHILD WITH THAT???

Momsrising.org has a petition going. Get your asses over there.

Hi. Karen here again. So I’m hearing this right? They want you to shield your extremely offensive, milk-producing, child-sustaining, Scooby Snacks, with an ASS BLANKET that has been touched by HOW MANY PEOPLE without being washed? AND cover your child’s FACE with it so she can inhale all the germs from the last 40 passengers and their asses?

Not once did anyone question me about breastfeeding my kids. I waited for it. I armed myself with plenty of retort, but it never happened. I can turn my television on or fire up The Google and find millions of tits, but God (or Delta) forbid anyone try and do what’s natural.

My new slogan for Delta would be: “Delta. Don’t Suckle Your Spawn in Our Skies.”

What’s YOUR new slogan for Delta?”

Delta, Meet Queen of Spain, Queen of Spain…meet Delta

Thanks to Becky, we can now turn our anger over a mother being kicked off a flight for breastfeeding into action. Join me in causing them some pain:

Gerald Grinstein
Chief executive officer
(404) 715-2600, gerald.grinstein@ delta.com

Lee Macenczak
Executive vice president and chief of customer service
(404) 715-2600, lee.macenczak@ delta.com

Daiquiri Gleaves
Director, customer care
(404) 715-1402, daiquiri.gleaves@ delta.com

General info:
http://www.delta. com
DELTA, Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport
1030 Delta Blvd. Atlanta, GA 30354-1989

customer-care@ delta.com
(404) 715-2600
(800) 221-1212
How to get through to an operator: press “0” three times or say “agent.”

But Delta Hasn’t Met Me, Yet

Yet another mother has been banished for feeding her child. This time, on a Delta flight.

Guess who is flying across the country this week…on Delta??? And yes, my nearly 20-month old is still nursing. She hates blankets. Blankets are from the devil.

Stay tuned.

Poppin’ ‘Em Out for Jesus

You know there is something wrong with the Christian movement when they start breeding an Army.

If you need to bulk up your numbers to please your God, have a baseball team to be a good wife, or simply are submissive to the “head” of your household because you see yourself as a “domestic warriors in the battle against what they see as forty years of destruction wrought by women’s liberation: contraception, women’s careers, abortion, divorce, homosexuality and child abuse…” come sit next to me and let’s have a talk.

First deary, get yourself some books. Not the one with “Holy Bible” on the front, or the ones you see on the shelves at your local Christian book store…but some actual books. I’m sure my commentors can name a few to get you going. I’m going to have to say “The Poisonwood Bible” and maybe a little erotica for good measure.

Next, there is this nifty little thing out there called birth control. I realize you’re not supposed too…but you and I both know that your are batshit crazy from all those kids and all that breastfeeding and all that chaos. One pill. Once a day. Or hell, get a shot. Save yourself first, and we’ll deal with the head of your household next. Which leads me too..

…your asshole husband. I don’t care how much you love him. I don’t care how well he takes care of you and your litter. I don’t care how much you feel you need him. It’s time to stand up. Don’t go along with is plans unless YOU want too. Don’t just nod your head like a good little wife and take it up the ass. God also gave you a voice. If God wanted you mute, he would have left off the mouth. If he didn’t want you to think, you’d have less of a brain. But you and I both know that little voice inside your head is NOT Satan. It’s called reason. Yes. Reason. It’s there to ring little bells when you and I both know you shouldn’t be doing what that asshole tells you to do. That you should be standing up for yourself and making sure you get what you want. He can’t always get his way.

If all else fails, tell him you prayed on it and Jesus told you so. Then email me and I’ll find you a women’s shelter.

QofS

*hat tip to Violet for the mindblowing link, What the Fuck, indeed. **Shash  is talking about it too!

Important Polling for our Troubled Times

Gazongas or Bazoombas?

You decide.

Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars. Cars.

Count Waffles the Terrible has watched his new Cars dvd no less than 9 times since I brought it home Tuesday afternoon.

Lightening McQueen!

He shakes he get so excited during race scenes.

And while it’s a nice change from Elmo and the Little Mermaid, I’m starting to grow tired of Owen Wilson’s voice. And the constant zipping and zooming coming from my television.
Yes, I realize I have the power to say “no” the next time he asks to watch this new animated classic…but I told you already, he shakes he is so happy to see Lightening McQueen in his own home. Shakes.
A few notes on the movie:
The only hip-hop song in the film is not included in the soundtrack. This makes me sad. It would be a nice change from Rascal Flatts and Brad Paisley and the others I would never listen to if it weren’t for their crooning on this particular movie.
The lines “Thank the manufacturer!” and “For the Love of Chrysler!” are still cracking me up.
The VW Bug cars as actual bugs in the film is classic.
Guido’s scene in the last race still makes me clap.

So as I pop in the dvd for viewing #10, maybe I’ll play a drinking game. Like…everytime someone says “tires” I do a shot. OR, whenever an engine is revved I have to chug. I have a connection, a really famous connection, that could be considered a professional in the drinking game making up genre. Maybe I’ll ask him to help me with the rules.

Ballots and Hickeys

I took my 19-month old along for my “I meant to mail it, but ended up dropping it off at the polling place” absentee ballot vote. She got a sticker. She didn’t actually vote, but the nice lady gave her sticker. Which meant I heard “Oh! The baby voted!” at the:

polling place
music class
preschool
bank
toys r us
escrow company
burger joint
grocery store

The sticker was in her hair by the preschool stop. I nearly had to cut it out. Why is it that damn “I voted” sticker fell off my shirt in 10 minutes yet stayed in my daughter’s hair ALL DAY LONG???

So while my little girl spent the day laughing about the sticker in her hair, my husband spent the day trying to hide (in bizzaro 90 degree weather) the hickey I “accidentally” gave him. He nearly made it all day without a comment, and as he walked out the door heard “Aaron, is that a hickey on your neck???”

I know. I know. Tacky. Totally tacky. But sometimes things happen. Normally I would just giggle about it, but instead I rolled with laughter because my husband (and his sweet, sweet ass) had to give a tour of his place of employment and then have dinner with members of a certain state’s film commission. With a hickey on his neck. From his wife’s hot, hot lovin’.

Wanna know what kind of man I married? His response to those who noticed:

10 years and a hickey! That’s good, right??!!

VOTE

The official Queen of Spain logo

Thanks

QofS