Sunday, March 25, 2012
And So It Goes
To whom it may concern (and I do sincerely believe this will be no one). I'm not so sure I like the internet anymore. I'm not so sure I like ANYTHING anymore, but Facebook is on the top of my list of dislikes. It's a good concept, in theory. But people are idiots, and they spread their idiocy in online social arenas. Myspace? Now a sleezebag hookup site for horny old men, 12 year olds, and bands who will never make it. Don't get me started on Topix. Topix is the asshole of the internet, the place where chicken shits get together to stir up shit anonymously. I used to go and read Topix occasionally, and I will admit, a lot of the time I go look just to make sure I'm not mentioned. But ya know what? I'm not important enough, nor am I
interesting enough or a big enough piece of shit to be mentioned there. Thank God. I'm sure that anything that could be created about me would be much more interesting than my terribly mundane life. But where was I? The internet. And Facebook. Yes, Facebook, my dear Facebook, you are a big festering pustle on the backside of the internet. A 17 year old girl KILLED HERSELF because of things posted by bullies on her Facebook page. Killed herself! People seem to think that what you say on Facebook has no effect on other people. It's not anonymous, like Topix, but don't people talk more freely on Facebook than in real life? Social
network my ass. Facebook is a big brag book of babies, couples and lonely middle aged women. The babies are always perfect (I profess guilt here..). Does anyone ever post about the naughty stuff? Status update: "Perfect Baby just turned over the bathroom trash and dragged used tampon applicators all through the house." No, you don't see stuff like that. Couples are always deliriously happy, and want the whole world to know how in love they are, with their kissy face photos and their "I miss my boo" status updates (Oh God, you haven't seen him in 12 hours, how the fuck will you go on?!" Everyone is on vacation, and posting a pictorial of their entire trip. If your vacation is so fucking awesome, what the hell are you doing on Facebook, you dumb ass? The last thing I would be thinking about if I were lying on the beach is Facebook. Oh, let's make all the poor kids jealous with photos of our trip to the Isle of You Can't Afford It! Then, the lonely middle age women with their "quote" status updates - where the fuck do they get this shit? And for the love of Ra, /+ (sorry, interuption by Mr. Baby, with whoqmw (again) with whom I am guilty of spreading cuteness of on the book of faces, as The Boychild <who never calls> calls Facebook. Where was I? Just ranting and raving about how Facebook sucks/how Facebook makes my life seem suckier. So which of the Facebook people am I? I'm the lonely middle aged chick with a cute grandson who sometimes posts cuteness but mostly posts sarcasm and gets depressed over the coupley and vacationy things. Which led me to take a vacation from Facebook. I don't know how long the vacation will be, but I promise to psot photos every couple of hours, just so you can see how much fun I am having. That is all. Suck it, internet.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
So I was really super excited about going out with some other persons of the female persuasion, as I haven't been to a bar since Jesus was a baby. There was this bar that I didn't know existed (as the one place I used to frequent is no more and I don't think the girls would have enjoyed drag queens and girly men like I would have). Anyway, the bar is in what used to be an elementary school, didn't look like it would potentially ruin my current reputation (note I say "current"), they had a band, a wide variety of libations, and wasn't too far from home. The place was cool, if for no other reason than it used to have elementary kids running around inside it. The band was great. But FF1 was clearly not enjoying the music, as she only likes country and this was sort of a modern day Jimmy Buffett band kinda thing. After the band finished the first set, FF2 said, "Well, I'm about ready to go. I have two bottles of wine at home and I'm going to get toasted." Say what? Oh-kay... well I offered to go somewhere else, but FF2 said she preferred to get drunk at home and FF1 said maybe another time. So we leave. We hadn't been there two hours, mind you, and I'd only had two shots of tequila, and FF1 insisted on driving because she didn't think I was sober enough. Come on. Two shots? Really. So we left. I got home, and the house was all dark - strange, since it wasn't even midnight. I tried to get in, but the door was locked the way that you can't get in even with a key. Knock on door. Nothing. Cursing and grumbling, I made my way to the back window that I know the secret was of getting into. Dog 2 gets out of the gate, and won't come back. Lots of profanity. Fine, let's just get in first. Squish. Step in dog shit. In heels. Can the night get any better? Apparently yes. I manage to get in, go out to retrieve Dog 2. Dog 1 gets out. Fuck. Lots of cussing and demands that Dog 2 return. Dog 1 comes back in. Dog 3 sticks her nose up my butt. Dog 2 won't come in. Finally comes back just in time for Cat 6 or so to walk by. Dog 2 takes off again. Finally, I get him back in, and in the process of closing the pain in the ass gate, I lose one of my rings. I bend down to look for it in the moonlight, and get a hand full of worms and another nose up the butt. Sigh. I give up and come back in. Sit on the couch, channel surfing. Dog 2 barks loudly. The Soninlaw comes down the steps carrying a sword. You know, the night would have been perfect if he had stabbed me with it. Damn him!
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Guess who's back?
No, it's not Slim Shady. Sorry to disappoint you. It is I, Rowan, the mouth of Mouth of Madness. I will pause while you cry with relief and delight. Okay. That's enough.
I would like to say that I am back for good, but you (and you) and I both know I'm way too flaky to be trusted, so I will say that I am back for a time to thrill and delight you with my questionable content. Prepare to be amazed!
When you last tuned in (provided you did... if not, you might want to read back at least a little ways) I had decided to conduct an experiment in sociology which involved me writing to several prison inmates in order to learn... stuff. Well, I learned stuff all right. I learned that only a complete imbecile would marry someone who is in prison. I won't mention the name of this idiot, but her initials are ME. At any rate, I have been separated from my STBX (soon to be ex) for over a year now (and by separated I mean he has been back in jail for that long). I am just waiting for my divorce to go through. Hopefully, that will be the end of that fiasco.
In other, greater, news - I am a grandma!! The Girlchild married the best damned country boy you've ever met and they conjured me up a grandson. Captain R. is the most wonderful, charming, cute and amazing baby this world has ever had the pleasure of meeting. I'm not just saying that because he's my grandson, either. If you don't believe me, just ask me. I'll tell you.
But anyhoo, since I am no longer churning out quadweekly (yes it's a word, I just made it up) love letters and Captain R. has discovered this thing called sleep, I have a little time on my hands. What better way to relieve stress and entertain two or three people than to snuggle back into the padded cell I call my blog.
Enjoy. Or don't. I really don't give a flying fuck.
Yes I do. But I can act like I don't.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
For Fuck's Sake
So I was pissing around on Facebook, and came upon this group about the Free Credit Report commercials (I swear to God I am not endorsing the fucking FCR because it sucks balls. Sorry for the Tourette's moment). Anyway, it made me realize that my old post about them was way out of date, so I thought I'd update it. Well guess what, bitches? If you cancel your Comcast internet account, they'll cancel your web storage account quick as fuck, too. I only thought of this after the fact of course. So yeah, if you're looking at this page? It's all fucked up. And I haven't really quite decided whether I give enough of a fuck to fix it. It's not like I'm a what's his face - Perez fucking Hilton or something. I'm pretty sure only 2 people even read this shit anymore, so... if you find anything in this blog remotely interesting or informative or worth a chuckle, let me know. In the mean time, I'll be rotting my mind on /b/.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Don't forget to check the back of the toilet
Things not allowed in the home or car of a person on probation in the state of Virginia:
Guns (including BB guns or Airsoft guns, paintball guns, or anything that resembles a gun)
Knives (unless they are deemed for use in the kitchen, and this includes knives for decoration, such as swords)
Drugs (of course - however, if someone else in the house is prescribed a controlled substance, that person must have said drug under lock and key)
Anything gang related (which includes Pirates t-shirts, Duke University sweatshirts, and paw prints - evidently The Girlchild and I are possible members of some gang out of Fresno with our paw print tattoos)
And how will determine that your home is free of said things? Why by searching it, of course!
Places that may/probably will be searched:
I'm not kidding.
Now before you go off on a "they're criminals, there should be restrictions, blah blah blah", cool your jets while I get to the point I am trying to make.
What prevents someone from getting a pocket knife? Do they ask for ID? Of course not. Can you buy a BB gun without a background check? Of course you can. So what is preventing someone from getting any of these things after the inspection is over? What's preventing someone from hiding all that stuff at Uncle Bob's house until after the inspection? Nothing and nothing. If you were going to hide a gun in the house, would you stick it in a drawer knowing someone was coming to inspect? Only if you're pretty stupid.
Do you know how many places one could hide something in plain sight if they really wanted to? Now honestly. I've seen a lot of forensics shows. I've read a lot of forensics books. I haven't given the topic a lot of thought, but I can see numerous places just here in my living room where I could stash something and it not be suspicious.
Okay, rant over. Gonna go get my nine out of the freezer so if I decide to kill something in cold blood, my gun will be cold and ready. (Kidding!!)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Don Burleson: Educated Nincompoop
So I was going to write a rant about this pompous asshole who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the type of person who wears tattoos (hint: we're all poor, uneducated, and most likely, criminals). But since The Girlchild found the article and started a discussion on Facebook, I don't wanna steal away her thunder. However, if you're tattooed and don't fall into those aforementioned categories, (or even if you do, who am I to judge? I could care less.) you should go have a look at his article. Here's the beginning of The Girlchild's Facebook discussion (transcribed with photos removed and aliases added where necessary), and if I remember (don't hold your breath – it's been a year since I've posted anything here) I will post updated copies.
The Girlchild:Professional dress code and Tattoos
To be honest, I'm in agreement with a good portion of that. My interpretation displays that a lot of places just aren't interested in tattoos being visible in the work place. Yes, we've come a long way with the availability of tattoos. Every class finds some way to afford a tattoo (if not several), but it doesn't mean that someone should hire you because you have a smiley face on your forehead. You do have to think about the location/subject matter these rules seriously apply to. The usual is going to be because of a profane image. And because we, as individualists, have different points of view on terms of what is acceptable. Someone might find a butterfly on the ankle provocative (stupid, I agree). People that find tattoos offensive no matter what they are subjectively will lead to the same crap. I'm all about being yourself, but my tattoo(s - provided Cory can do more) are on my shoulder, or will always be under clothing just because they're for me. Screw the rest of the world, if they wanna see -- they can ask. But that's just me.
I was more so referring to the part where the author was vehement in his opinion that tattoos are "more popular among the poor and under educated" and " tattoos are a sign of immaturity, bad judgment and bad taste", and the like.
It's wrong to generalize tattoos with poor and under-educated. I've seen lots of rotten-tooth broke-arse people with them, but that doesn't mean it's the only populous. And as for the last part, look at the picture of that guy! He's an old fart set in his ways (like most). His opinion blows. Saying such a thing goes against the "1/4th of the population is retarded."
I think he's a pompous ass. I agree that tattoos are not appropriate in certain situations, and that companies have the right to stipulate a dress code. But what is under that crisp white shirt and tie is none of anybody's damned business. We are not poor and uneducated people. We are not criminals. To lump us all into one category is uneducated. Incidentally, for someone who claims to be so much better and higher on the food chain than we are, have a look at his blog. I guess it's okay with his consulting company for half naked women to be displayed on his blog, but it's not okay for someone to have a tattoo under their shirt. I would find the former more offensive than the latter.
As for the blog mentioned, here is the link. I enjoyed what comments there were, and I would have left one myself, but it appears that Mr. Burleson disabled that option. Per chance he will stumble across my blog. He's welcome to leave comments. He also might want to check out Ink meets Inc: Twenty Tattooed Professionals - that is, if he can stand being wrong.
PS My current tattoo count: 10
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
It's only been a year...
... or so. Guess last year's comeback wasn't much to get excited over, eh? I really need to make this entry something special to make up for lost time. Two seconds. Damn. I got nothing. Let's just go play some video games in the shed. I'll be back when I'm not feeling like such a zombie.
Friday, January 23, 2009
So I haven't blogged since like what, April? Feel free to invent a story to cover my absence. Feel free to send it to me. I like stories. I'll post it if it's good.
So I just wanted to say thank you to the woman in the maroon SUV at the car wash. Yeah, I know this isn't typical of me to thank someone, usually I'm bitching, but... Maroon SUV lady: You left enough time in the car wash for me to wash, rinse, and wax The Girlchild's car. Muchas gracias. The poor girl needed a bath. And since my baby Frankie is broken down (again), I felt it only right to give Erin a good scrubbing.
Not a very exciting way to make my blog comeback, but hey, at least it's something. Right-O. In other news, some of the local boys have been in a bit of trouble. For shame. Couldn't you do something more interesting than vandalize a mailbox? Come on, show some spirit! How about some graffiti? At least we'd all get to enjoy it. Speaking of, The Girlchild and I need to reclaim the tunnel. Are you game, Purplekitten?
The Prey Hardcover Gift Collection by John Sanford : 6 Book Set : Mortal Prey / Easy Prey / Chosen Prey / Naked Prey / Hidden Prey / Broken Prey (The Prey Collection, (First Edition, First Printing))
By John Sandford
Thursday, April 10, 2008
I heart the free credit report dot com guy
For your listening pleasure, a compilation of the free credit report dot com jingles, with lyrics:) Don't be shy now... you know you want to sing along
Well I was shopping for a new car
Which one's me?
A cool convertible or an SUV
Too bad I didn't know my credit was whack
Cause now I'm driving off the lot in a used subcompact
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby
Saw their ads on my TV
Thought about going but was too lazy
Now instead of lookin' fly and rollin' phat
My legs are sticking to the vinyl
And my posse's gettin' laughed at
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby.
Well I married my dream girl
I married my dream girl
But she didn't tell me her credit was bad
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We're living in the basement at her mom and dad's
No we can't get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we'd gone to free credit report dot com
I'd be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard
They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea
Shoulda gone to free credit report dot com (yee haw!)
I could have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb
They monitor your credit and send you email alerts
So you don't wind up selling fish to tourists in t-shirts
UPDATE: If you're interested in finding out more about "free credit report guy" his name is Eric Violette, and here are some links:
Eric's youtube channel
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Conversation Between Me and The Girlchild
Me: Johnny Depp doesn't have a myspace.
TG: If you were Johnny Depp, would YOU have a myspace?
Me: *sigh* No.
So The Girlchild's birthday is coming up, and I was going to get her a Diary Queen ice cream cake with Sweeney Todd on it. You know, they have that "put any picture you want on a cake" deal? Well not ANY picture, evidently. Only a photograph. Regardless of the fact that I got the picture from the Sweeney Todd website where it was available as a FREE download, they still wouldn't put it on a cake because of "copyright issues". Apparently, they once put Elvis on a cake and got fined for $500. I told the lady that Elvis was dead, and could probably care less if his face was on a cake. She said "They gotta make their money somehow." I'm not sure who "they" are, but I bet "they" are the ones who take me from my bed at night and leave perfectly round bruises on my thighs. No, not THERE, you pervert.
So anyway, this other DQ chick actually asked me why someone would want Johnny Depp on a cake. Sweet Ra, why wouldn't you?! I mean, a chocolately, ice creamy version of Johnny Depp would be the next best thing to the real thing. Right?
People. I swear.
And I really wanted to be Johnny's myspace friend.
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