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Hell (the place I’m going) YES!

November 6, 2006 by 24 Comments

“Despite a full century of scientific insights attesting to the antiquity of life and the greater antiquity of the Earth, more than half the American population believes that the entire cosmos was created 6,000 years ago. This is, incidentally, about a thousand years after the Sumerians invented glue. Those with the power to elect presidents and congressmen and many who themselves get elected believe that dinosaurs lived two by two upon Noah’s Ark, that light from distant galaxies was created en route to the Earth and that the first members of our species were fashioned out of dirt and divine breath, in a garden with a talking snake, by the hand of an invisible God. This is embarrassing.” –Sam Harris, Newsweek

Can I get an “Amen” for Sam??

I swear I’m not trying to offend anyone here. I swear to God –snort– it’s that I just don’t get it. I really, for the life of me, do not get it. I want to get it. I’d like to be let in on the secret. But apparently I’m not worthy. Or I’m not trying hard enough. Or I really, really, really am not trying hard enough.

That, in a nutshell, is why I do not belong or believe in any sort of organized religion. And as we gear up for tomorrow’s election, everything seems to be boiling down to the believers and the nonbelievers. The chosen and the damned. Sure, sure…there is some gray in the middle there somewhere, but mostly it’s the followers and the free thinkers. The Republicans and the Democrats. Baby killers against the stem cell preservers.

I’d like to call a truce, but I feel my own life is at stake. My children’s lives. My thoughts, my ideas, my ability to reason.

My son and I spent part of Sunday at a garden center. It was late in the afternoon and there were many customers. Many of them were dressed as if they had just left church, and like every day in our heathen lives, we were in sweats. Dirty, mismatched, Sunday on-the-couch-praying-to-the-NFL-and-not-the-Lord-Your-God sweats.

It wasn’t long before a well meaning (stupid) woman looking at the same glass case of Christmas figurines as my son and I said “oh, someone must have gone to church early today!” My little guy didn’t even hear her, as he was too busy watching red and white striped elves skate magically on a fake glass rink, but I heard her. I heard her and was pissed she just assumed we were Christian. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The Christian part, I mean.

Ok, I’m lying. There is something wrong with it. Something really, really wrong. It’s so wrong and twisted that it has politicians showing off their faithfulness and actually trying sway me by promoting their Christianity. Yeah, I’m getting mailings with that little fish on it. And important issue information on my candidate like where he stands on global warming and which local church he attends.

Oh! Wait! John Doe goes to Christ Loves Everyone But Gays and Women Holy Mother of Bleeding Hearts! Well, fuck his voting record and bending over for lobbiest! He’s one of us! We’re voting for him!

I’m not impressed. You’re going to have to do more than tell me where you attend services to get my vote. I know, I’m such a bitch. Just call me informed.

Maybe I’m batty here, but it seems this country has gone a little Christian crazy. It’s so cool to be into the Jesus these days. I know kids who have actually asked their parents to take them to church. On behalf of all the former kids of the world, I would just like to say “WHAT THE FUCK??”

In my day, we found ways to skip mass and screw in the parking lot. In my day, it wasn’t cool or uncool to be into God. It just was. You didn’t promote your faith like some new pair of shoes. And you certainly didn’t bust it out to win over voters. Or just assume the entire US population was right there with you, dressed in your Sunday best at a Garden Center at 2pm. Because THAT is how trendy it is now, everyone who is anyone has, of course, gone to church on Sunday.

The inmates are running the asylum. Get your asses out to vote tomorrow. Because there is no way in hell I’m missing Sunday football or lazy days in my garden with my son. Not for Jesus, Buddha, Allah, or anyone else. The last time I checked there was still that whole free religion thing going on in the good old US of A. The one that lets you be who you are. Worship who you want. Worship no one if you want.

Go vote. Now. Before they amend that one too.

*Queen’s note: I would just like to say how proud I am of myself for not using this post to say “meth” “hyprocrite” or “up the ass.” Crossposted at the Huffington Post

Filed Under: Royal Rant, Royally Screwed

The Perfect Shirt

November 3, 2006 by 17 Comments

I found the perfect shirt today. It’s the shirt I’ve been looking for. The shirt I’ve been dreaming of. The shirt that will perfectly match the perfect pants and perfect boots I picked out for what will undoubtedly be an imperfect family photo taken at a JC Penny’s in West Virginia.

Yeah, you heard me.

The family will soon be traveling to West Virginia. To take photos in a JC Penny and ride on tractors. Well, I don’t think I will be riding on any tractors, but my son sure is excited.

Anyway, back to the shirt. The shirt is still sitting at a local department store after I carried two hysterical children, one under each arm, out of said department store. This was after the boy clung to a pair of jeans on a hanger, thinking it would save him from being carried out, and the girl crashed the display of Halloween sale items to the ground as she too grasped for something to stop the larger and stronger carrying arms of her mother.

Somewhere in the middle of looking at children’s clothing and finding that shirt, my kids got the store shits. You know, the store shits. The one where they get all grumpy because they have to look at Mommy things and not kid things and they don’t want to walk. Or be carried. So they touch things you tell them not to touch and the whine and complain the entire time and all you want to do is buy a motherfucking shirt.

You didn’t even try on the shirt, because you knew there was no way that was going to fly…but at least you found a shirt that will match your pants so you can look, at the very least, clean and respectable while you try and sit pretty for a picture. Taken at a JC Penny’s in West Virginia.

Now that stupid shirt is still sitting in the store where I am positive that RIGHT NOW some childless person is trying it on lazily and taking it up to the cash register. Stupid childless people. And your lazy, try on shopping. That’s MY shirt. Put it down.

Anyone want to babysit while I go buy a shirt?

Filed Under: Royal Pain

Naptime Activist

November 2, 2006 by 14 Comments

**update–hear my slow blabbering on the BBC. Right around :25:52 into the newscast you will hear my lovely voice-the player is on your left

I’ve opened my big mouth again. This time, an entire country will be listening.

Welcome to my new readers from across the pond. I hear you guys have a Queen too. I wonder if she could make me honorary royalty or something. You know, put a little ooommmph behind my blog title.

Anyone over there got any pull?

**thanks to the KPCC NPR studios in Pasadena for allowing my voice to travel and annoy all of London*and beyond. 🙂

Everyone should also know this is the slowest I have ever talked for radio, in my life. I am a fast talker. And you have no idea how hard it was for me to slow myself down to the BBC pace. Go listen and laugh at me.

Filed Under: Holding Court, Queenie Backup

Post Holiday Meltdown

November 1, 2006 by 6 Comments

There are days I am the laziest Mom ever.

For instance, on the day after Halloween when my children ate nothing but candy, a few frozen waffles, some flat bread and baked brie, and more candy.

I’m not kidding.

On the other hand, my house got cleaned. Which, for some odd reason I don’t categorize as part of being a Mom, but rather as just keeping my living quarters healthy and respectable.

It’s not as if Halloween was sooooooooo much unlike any other day around here that I needed this entire day to recoup. The kids didn’t get to bed too late. They didn’t travel anywhere out of the ordinary or need anything extraordinary. Which leads me to believe my post-holiday laziness is purely mental.

I had to plan the costumes. Decorate the house. Get 3 dozen donut holes for the school parade. Attend the school parade, remember the camera, bring the change of clothes, bring the costume home. Attend the smaller child’s class party, remember the costume. Buy the candy to hand out. Get ready to trick or trick. Remember the camera. Actually trick or treat-twice-once in our neighborhood and once from a party in an adjoining neighborhood. Remember the camera. Remember my costume. Remember my husband’s costume. Remember the “adult” cider. Remember the “adult” cider travel mugs. Remember glow sticks. Remember all parts of all peoples costumes. Do without some parts of peoples costumes. Rely heavily on my husband to make all those above things happen.

Oh, don’t forget the tissues for runny noses and the extra pull ups for the 3-year old with the candy-induced shits.

Sometimes, in the midst of all the excitement, I’m so busy remembering that I forget to have fun.

…and then little voices, tiny voices, skip and sing about candy and treats and tricks and all the remembering melts away. The “adult” cider helps too.

Nana, Gramps, and our two goblins!

Filed Under: Stepford Crazies

…the crap I put up with

November 1, 2006 by 11 Comments

Dear Neighbor,

I see you went to John Hopkins University and that your future wife is also went on to higher education, graduating from the University of Virginia . Congratulations! You must be very proud of those accomplishments.

I know you work at highly competitive defense companies in the D.C. metro area too, so you must be quite smart. Humor me a moment then while I ask you some questions. When you went to those institutions of higher learning did you ever take a health class? A health class that taught you, oh I don’t know, that letting your dog crap all over your lawn is NOT healthy for ANYONE? No? You didn’t? Oh. Well, let me give you a little lesson right now.

1. The Home Owners Association (HOA) kindly provides free plastic bags for you to scoop up your pets pooh each time it goes to the bathroom outside. Remember that. EACH TIME your dog goes to the bathroom outside, the owner must pick it up. Say it with me now. I, the owner of a giant yellow lab, will pick up my dog’s crap each time it uses the great outdoors as a bathroom. Good! Great! I would say you take instructions well, but clearly you don’t. Last week I counted six piles of poop on your tiny 6X6 plot of a land you call a front yard. I call it a pile of shit. 2. What happens to owners who don’t pick up after their animals? They get reported. R-E-P-O-R-T-E-D. Reported. To the HOA. Loser. That’s right graduate. You are a loser. Why? Because I have to constantly watch out for feces. Every day. In my own yard. I have reported you a few times now and we all got letters in the mail from the HOA because of YOU. You and your stinky, messy, big poop pile making dog.

Another lesson that you should have learned at this stage in your life as a responsible adult/pet owner is how to hire good help. That cousin or whoever that person is that you took pity on and hired to walk your dog each day DOESN’T. She goes out on your deck and plays on her laptop while yelling at your dog to stop barking. She then lets your dog cop a squat on your front lawn, near the mailboxes, or your other neighbor’s cars and take a big dump. We do love to fertilize our lawns as good suburbanites.

However, I prefer to choose my own brand of manure thank you very much! I’m sick of “catching” her “forgetting” a bag. She’s a dog walker. That is the sole purpose of her job, to walk your dog and pick up its crap. She is clearly lacking in the intelligence your car stickers say you possess. If you don’t fire her soon, I will.

I will lie in wait for her one day and nail her with a bee bee gun right in her waddling butt. I like animals so I won’t fire a round off on your dog. Plus, that would be rude. Just as rude as continuous laziness is as you watch your dog poop everywhere making our tiny Pleasantville a series of land mines to be watched for. Thank you for your time and hopefully future cooperation.

Sincerely,

you’re loving neighbor

P.S. Yes, that was me who left the entire weeks worth of your dog’s crap on your front steps a few months back. Silly me for thinking that alone would teach you how to behave in polite society. Don’t make me torch it next time.

Vicky, a conspiracy lover from the DC Metro area, is a some time freelance writer, constant blogger and an always aspiring novelist. Mother to one Tiny Dictator bearing a striking resemblance to Mussolini she plans coups during her day job and tries to hold down the suburban fort at night.

*all the fun is part of blog exchange! I’m over at Vicky’s place today!

Filed Under: blog exchange!
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