Not back...but snarking nonetheless!

As if Thanksgiving wasn’t annoying enough with YodaMan spending the day in Afghanistan looking at Snapfish (which is against the rules, I’m guessing, since the censoring software out there – which just broke – normally blocks it) pics of the boys for the last two years.

 

We went to spend the day with my mother’s family. It was a decent enough day until the conversation naturally turned to Obama. My uncle was very cool about the discussion, but then my sperm donor (NRA security officer, stick-up-the-ass conservative) got hold of the convo, which means it’s pointless to argue since their idea of arguing is just to talk louder and over you and drown you out and ta-da! Debate won. I left the table without saying a word when I saw the convo turn, so I escaped obnoxiousness for the day.

 

We also celebrated my younger sprog’s third birthday. I hate when my entire reason for having the camera out isn’t to capture a sweet moment to scrapbook but to make sure I have as many photos as possible to document the day my husband has missed.

 

Again.

 

:sigh: Anyway, it was a fine day of kitten hugging and Celebration Roast and vegetarian side-dishes. We packed up and came home at around 4pm. But as we were pulling up to our street, we noticed an Alabammy Power truck parked at the corner across from the fire station, and we didn’t see street lights on, which was odd considering it was turning to dusk at that point. We came inside to discover we had NO power, and it had been off for at least an hour.

 

Mom called the power company and learned it would be 8:30 that night before we got power back, so we took off for WalMart to keep the kids occupied. It was a nice time, actually, since I got to spend a few hours shopping for this poor little girl and her brother* who desperately need some love and capitalist confirmation that they’re going to be okay. It was an absolute ball.

 

As we drove home, the neighborhood was dark from one end to the other. It was 8:45.

 

We got back home and tried to load a cooler with ice and put all our leftovers in there since we didn’t want to leave the fridge open long enough to shove and maneuver. Then we started towards bed with the new info that it would be “after 11pm” before we got power back.

 

At midnight, the power suddenly shot back on, the crowd of power vehicles behind our house took off down the road, and I looked at my clock. It had stopped at 2:31.

 

What happened? According to the guy fielding the whining and mewling at the power company, some asstard decided to get lit and go for a drive. He hit a transformer and instantly sent several hundred families from full-power Thanksgiving enjoyment/prep to NADA. The houses got freaking cold by eleven last night, and my kids were wigging out in the dark. How many families ended up tossing half-cooked turkeys that started to grow bacteria in dead ovens? What a nightmare.

 

But by the end of the day, I could be thankful that I got my meal, and I got to shop for those children. And the frustration of no electricity and a freaking cold house made me forget for a while that we were missing a very important family member. A nice day in spite of the snarkability.

 

Still working on finishing this novel and getting it cleaned up. I’ll be back soon! Pinky swear.

 

* My mother’s company has a charity group, and they’ve “adopted” two children for the holidays from a local church. One little girl – 6 yrs old – and her 9 year-old brother. They live with their aunt now, but before they went to her, they lived with their (literally) crack whore mother. They came to CPS’s attention when she took them with her to her dealer’s house to get loaded up and then –oops!- left them there for three days. When she was in court about this, she was so high, she fell asleep during the proceedings. Good mother, there**. So these kids have lived with this hell for we don’t know how long and have probably been well and truly neglected. It was fun shopping for the boy and finding some electronics he might enjoy, but it was an absolute blast getting to shop for a little girl. *squee* Adorable clothes, some lip gloss and cute mini-fingernail polishes and a brush and some barrettes in a bag that says “angel” on it, and a few little toys. Alas, I kept rebelling against the grating gender roles, but I gave in (obviously) since I know they’re raised here in Alabammy and therefore have been subject to these expectations from the start. Next chance I get, though, I’m going out and looking for some gender-shattering options, like a science kit for her and some novels for him (since boys don’t read as much as girls...and men not as much as women...and let’s boot some of that nonsense right now, mmkay).

 

** I’m seriously all about people’s rights, but shit like this makes me dream of a world where we can take irresponsible people and snip their ability to procreate, then take those kids and give them to homes where they’ll be loved and adored and treated with compassion and respect. But then reality interferes, and I have to content myself with just throwing up in my mouth.

A breath away from the NYTimes Bestseller List...

Okay, my peeps. I just got groovy news last night – a literary agent has requested a peek at one of my novels after she judged it in a contest. I’m up early this morning to get to cracking on the submission and the rest of the book. I have a ton of work to do on it, and between the manuscript, my younger sprog’s upcoming birthday, Thanksgiving, and associated nonsense, I’m going to force myself on a blogging hiatus. Even my writing blog will go cold, dark, and quiet for a while.

 

I’ll be back as soon as I can. But while I’m gone, I invite you to leave a comment on this post giving me a snarkilicious topic I can post on when I come screaming back onto the scene in a couple of weeks.

 

And BTW, that subject line is a joke. It’s my writing snark for the day and refers to people assuming that when you publish a novel, you’re instantly rich and headed for the bestseller lists. In reality, most writers never make a living wage off their work. An advance for a first-time author in my genre is usually around $3000-5000...and then you don’t see another dime for about a year and a half, assuming you earn out your advance and start drawing any royalties. So enjoy the snark, and go buy a book this week before all the publishing houses go tits up (I’m serious – please, go buy a book).

It's Holiday Card Time...

If you do cards for the holiday season or to include a recap of the year for family and friends, be sure to get an extra card and send it to this address:

 

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical  Center
6900 Georgia Avenue,NW
Washington,D.C. 20307-5001 

 

Nothing to say...

I have absolutely nothing to say right now. I’m sore from working with a trainer this week. I had hoped going to a bellydance class Thursday night would loosen me up, but I’m such an uncoordinated and graceless white girl, I spent more time trying to figure out what was going on than on dancing.

 

The most pathetic part of my body? My abs. Specifically where I have the double scar from two C-sections. That muscle is just plain dead, but all the muscle around it is all “Gah! You’re killing us!”

 

Meanwhile, YodaMan noted once again that he might go right back to Afghanistan after Monterey. Fourteen years of marriage and two years of dating prior to that tells me that I’m to take note when he makes a statement like that twice. It means his Navy Third Eye is twitching and telling him that he’s going back, for a year next time, and we’re going to be stuck here yet again. Only next time, the boys will be in school, and I will be unwilling or unable to pull them out for a year in a different state just so I can live near family again. Le sigh. I hope it was a fluke or that his third eye is misleading him.

 

Oh, hey! Look. After I thought I had nothing to say, I whined about the Navy. My job here is done.

Prop 8 in Cali With *Bonus* Lay-Genetics Lesson!

The other day, on one of my other many, many (not-so-anonymous) blogs, I ranted and screamed about Prop 8. I couldn't believe that 52% of the California voting population had the capacity for such bigotry, such douchery. And yet, there it was, thanks in large part (or so I hear from friends back there) to the church-funded ads that used scare tactics -- "If gay marriage stands in this state, your teachers will be required to TEACH THE CHILDREN HOW TO BE GAYZ!" ZOMG!*

I just saw this fantastic rant, which hit on some of the points I made but in a way less vitriolic way than I can manage at this point, and I wanted to share. If only the 52% douchebagery would listen to these words and give them careful consideration.... If only they'd think for themselves and not be dictated their beliefs by institutions steeped in bigotry of ALL flavors, not only towards homosexuals.



* Last I heard, sexuality is a multi-gene trait, which means its expression (when not affected by environment, such as overwhelming social pressure to conform to someone else's expectations) results in a Bell curve among the general population. What does that mean? It means we are almost ALL genetically bisexual. Some are more hetero than homo, others vice versa. It's a lot like hair color, which is also a multi-gene trait and results in a rainbow of hues among the population, from black to blonde and reds. In sexuality, the multi-gene expression means a preference that is largely binary (male or female) in a partner but with varying levels of preference between the two. It means almost the entire population has the capacity to love someone romantically of either gender, with a very, very tiny population so fixed in hetero or homosexuality that there is minute or no potential for attraction otherwise. But environment does play a factor here, and that environment includes bigots telling two people that their love is unnatural (ahem, go check out nature sometime), not sanctioned by God (whose, exactly?), and inappropriate enough that children need protection from such shameful, horrifying behavior.** I feel qualified to give you this wee lesson b/c of my admittedly short time as a molecular biology major + an intense discussion about genetics and sexuality with a geneticist friend.

**The truly shameful, horrifying behavior is that bigotry that dictates to others how they should and can live their lives.

Beauty

Before I point you in the direction of the most amazing thing I’ve seen in a long time, I should bullet-point why I find this so amazing:

 

1.       I’m a Pagan.

2.       I have ink.

3.       The search for a cure for breast cancer is one of my *things*. My aunt fought valiantly against breast cancer, but it took her anyway because it’s a brutal and senseless disease. I’ve cut off my hair for Locks of Love in her name. Then last year my hair was too short to donate, so I walked in the Breast Cancer 3 Day. I’m psyching myself up to walk in another one in 2010. For those of you who’ve never heard of such a thing, it’s a fundraiser event during which you walk 60 miles over the course of 3 days. It’s hell, it’s revealing, it’s a rush. At the end, you’re sore and blistered and banged up and exhausted, and as you stand around waiting to be ushered into final ceremonies, all you’re thinking about is going home to a soft, warm bed and a flushing toilet. And then you see magic - breast cancer survivors walk into the ceremonies after completing 60 miles on top of pushing through chemo and radiation and absolute fear and grief. They’re tired, but they’re alive and they’re healthy and they’re still warriors. Each one is fighting for a better world, a world without breast cancer, for their daughters and their sisters and their friends. It’s positively awe-inspiring.

 

One of my friends (hi, Nikki!) apparently follows this blog. And in thumbing through the images there (when I should be finishing up one last assignment for school), I found this. Go see. You won’t be disappointed.

What the- ??

Tax exemption via a 501(c)3 status puts what restrictions on political involvement?  

 

Found during my grrrrrrrrrr googling (hereafter known as groogling) over this bollocks with Prop 8.

Do you hear that sound?

That would be the chorus singing the end of the tragic last eight years.

That would be the squeal of my uterus, knowing it will not be directed by a politician.

That would be the denouement of an amazing moment in history and the crescendo of another.

 

I’m so relieved, I’m crying. It’s over.

 

Thank the gods.

Omnomnom the Coffee

I <3 you, Starbucks. And I <3 you more because you’re blue.