If you read blogs or have twitter or facebook or any account anywhere online I’m sure you’ve seen the cast of Glee half naked in GQ today.

I couldn’t quite place my finger on what was wrong when I woke up today but I realized when I opened up Google Reader that it was the wrath of a million angry mommybloggers collectively sighing that was sucking the air out of THE ENTIRE WORLD!

There is OUTRAGE! There is DISGUST! There are groups out there comparing it to PEDOPHILIA!

And I’m sorry but ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?

Parent’s TV writes:

“It is disturbing that GQ, which is explicitly written for adult men, is sexualizing the actresses who play high school-aged characters on ‘Glee’ in this way. It borders on pedophilia. Sadly, this is just the latest example of the overt sexualization of young girls in entertainment,” said PTC President Tim Winter. (source)

Lea Michele and Dianna Agron are both 24 years old! Posing in GQ magazine! This isn’t Teen Beat, it’s not even 17 magazine, it is GQ.

GQ: Gentlemans’ Quarterly Magazine

Equating 24 year old women to pedophilia is about as lame as this “wholesome” label I’ve seen applied to Glee on blog after blog today.

WHOLESOME!? REALLY!? DO YOU PEOPLE WATCH THIS SHOW!?

In season one, the head cheerleader (and president of the celibacy club) got pregnant by her boyfriend’s best friend but lied to her boyfriend and told him that his sperm had swam from his penis into her vagina when he had pre-ejaculated in the hot tub. You see, that time he wasn’t able to stop “arriving early” by thinking about his mom while getting a hang job as he had in previous “sessions” which were all brilliantly played out via flashbacks and in thought bubbles.

Also, a teacher is trying to talk himself out of kissing another teacher. Oh, and he’s married. And is wife is pregnant. Except she’s not really pregnant, she’s faking and trying to convince the cheerleader to give her the baby of her boyfriend’s best friend so that her husband doesn’t find out.

The two great themes in American TV.

1) Teenagers are oversexed dumbasses.
2) Marriage is a joke.

THIS is the wholesome show that you are SO SURPRISED allowed pictures like these to be taken.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?

All these parents say how much they love the show but now aren’t going to watch anymore because of these pictures. Not the pre-ejaculating teenager! Nope! That was totally okay but these pictures? Not so much!

Here’s an idea: Stop blaming TV shows and magazines for your children’s faults. YOU are the parents. Not the TV shows. Not the magazines. YOU. Communicate with them what is okay and what isn’t. They are much better at understanding and rationalizing this stuff than a lot of you are giving them credit for.

According to most of the tweets, facebook and blog posts I’ve read today, they are also much better at rationalizing it than a lot of PARENTS are.

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1) Put a new jug on yourself, or
2) ASK SOMEBODY that has more upper body strength than a FIVE YEAR OLD to do it for you,

You will be banned forthwith from EVER DRINKING WATER AGAIN YOU LAZY FUCKING ASSHOLE.

Also:

“I’m a girl” is not a reason not to change the water. It’s a bullshit cop out that further promotes the fact that women are helpless pussies that might BREAK IN HALF under the weight of a 40 pound jug of water. Seriously. I’ve seen the purses you all carry around on those fragile little arms so just don’t go there.

You may view all of my rule changes here.

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Last Satruday morning Ben woke me from a beautiful and blissful sleep to tell me that I was snoring. This doesn’t seem so abnormal except that he had been UP AND OUT OF THE ROOM FOR AN HOUR. I’m not sure the exact face I made at him at that time but I know what I was thinking. It was something along the lines of “I wonder how far into his ass my foot is going to be before it starts to register how terrible a mistake he’s just made”. Turned out he just woke me up to see if I wanted to go to Home Depot with him.

I should have stayed in bed.

When we got there we had two goals in mind. 1) Get him a set of calipers to measure my brake roters 2) Pick up a wallpaper remover tool and spray and some paint swatches, both for Cassidy’s bathroom. Other than a slight snag when the tool guy didn’t know what calipers were, we made pretty good time and I even got Ben to detour down the lighting isle to scope out some fixtures for ALL the bathrooms.

Then we got in line to check out.

Then 45 minutes later when we were still in line, actually the THIRD LINE, Ben’s cooling system broke and his rods reached critical mass and I had to slowly step back about 15 feet to avoid becoming collateral damage.

See,the computers were down. The were running around FRANTIC and OMG WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO THERE ARE NO COMPUTERS HOW DO WE FUNCTION!? Because, you know, it’s not like you can actually SELL something if there’s not a touchscreen monitor in front of you telling you how which step of the check out process you are on, what to do next, and the amount of change you need to dispense.

So because they couldn’t use their fancy machines to hold their hands through the process let me tell you the genius system they devised.

Step 1: Stand in line so that ONE girl at ONE counter could write all of the items on a triplicate form while the 24 people in line behind you groan loudly.

Step 2: Stand in another line so that a girl can add prices to the form, then manually add them up, calculate tax and total it.

Step 3: Stand in ANOTHER line to pay using one of the old school swipe style credit card machines.

Step 4: Walk to power tool isle, pick up nail gun, place directly against head, pull trigger.

Of course we were in line #3 and next to pay and get the fuck out of there when… suddenly all the computers started working again! I slammed my stuff down, almost turned around and spit venom directly into the face of the man that tried to line cut me after he’d spent 45 minutes in line behind me and CERTAINLY should have understood that based on line hierarchy, my shit was getting checked out first and if you try to get in my way I am allowed to backhand you with a sledgehammer.

Then the check out lady took the receipt we should have gotten and slid it into her register before she realized what she was doing EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD A COMPUTER TELLING HER EXACTLY WHAT TO DO AND WHAT TO SAY AND WHEN TO HAND ME WHAT AND WHEN.

So it was another 15 minutes of standing there because she had to finish the next sale to open the drawer. Only the machine wouldn’t take the guy’s debit card. And then it wouldn’t take his credit card. So he had to go out to his car and get his check book. And write a check. With his hand. And a pen.

It was sometime between the failure of the credit card and the check writing that Ben’s head started to actually steam and I had to move further away because he was radiating enough heat to melt the plastic bags holding my nifty new $5.00 wallpaper removal tool. From 15 feet away.

When we finally got our receipt and got out of there we weren’t sure whether we should go to Starbucks and treat ourselves for not actually reaching critical mass or drive straight home and start drinking obscene amounts of tequila to forget the entire experience. We opted for the Starbucks.

My love affair with Home Depot is OFFICIALLY OVER.

At least until later this week when we go in to price flooring for downstairs.

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Temp: My computer won’t come on.

I can see her computer from where I’m standing. It has lights on the front that are CLEARLY ON.

Me: It’s on.
Temp: No it’s not look. *moves mouse*
Me: Your computer has lights on and I can hear the disk spinning from here.
Temp: Oh. Well, how come this thing isn’t on then? *points to monitor*
Me: That’s your MONITOR.
Temp: Well my keyboard or nothing is working.
Me: When you hit capslock or number lock you don’t see lights?
Temp: Hits a random button, see, nothing.
Me: Capslock.
Temp: *hits it, looks at monitor* Nothing, see?
Me: The light ON YOUR KEYBOARD is on so it’s working.
Temp: Ohhhhhhh, but this still isn’t coming on.
Me: Did you try the power button?
Temp: Which one is the power button?
Me: *officially frustrated and completely over this conversation* The circle with the line through it.
Temp: *tries power button* Nothing,
Me: You should call IT.
Temp: Can you look at it?
Me: IT will be able to troubleshoot it for you.
Temp: Okay.

Five minutes pass. She’s on hold.

Temp: I’m still on hold.
Me: Did you check the connection to make sure it’s getting power?
Temp: Oh, no. *stands up, follows the cable TO THE COMPUTER* It’s plugged in.
Me: No, I mean is it getting power from the POWER CABLE.
Temp: Oh, duh. *giggle*
Me: *head desk*
Temp: Yeah, it’s all plugged in.
Me: IT will be able to troubleshoot it for you.

Boss comes over to say good morning.

Temp: My computer won’t turn on.
Boss: It’s on, see the lights.
Temp: I mean the monitor.
Boss: …
Me: …
Boss: Will you look at it real quick? I’m late for a meeting.
Me: *get up, walk to monitor, turn it around, push power cable completely into monitor, press power button, monitor turns on*
Temp: OH WOW! THANKS! I didn’t think to check there!

REALLY!? Because when I said CHECK THE POWER CABLE I meant, CHECK THE GODDAMN POWER CABLE!

&*#$%@*%

Welcome to my Thursday.

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If anybody told me that it was going to be an stressful as it is, I don’t know that I’d have followed through. It’s one fucking hoop to jump through after the other, which in normal circumstances wouldn’t be so bad, and I’m so over hoops. And it’s not just, “Oh hey, we have this hoop we want you to jump through.” Instead it’s, “Hey we have this flaming hoop and we need you to jump through it backwards while doing a headstand on a three legged retarded giraffe, okay? No biggie. But if you could just get that done 10 minutes ago and fax me the proof? THANKS!”

We were supposed to close yesterday but instead we were thrown this curve ball and it’s been hoop after hoop after hoop today, and assuming that no other bullshit hoops get thrown in our path, we should be able to sign by Friday. Please keep your fingers crossed for us… We really need the extra love right now.

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Okay?

Good!

So work has been HELL. Like, actual flames and pitchforks and varying rings of suckage. Based on the people surrounding me I’d say I’m somewhere below the water in the 5th ring surrounded by a bunch of sloths… which is the nicest way I can find to say it short of yelling, “I’m surrounded by MORONS.” Which wouldn’t be very nice. Tempting, but not nice.

I’d go into more here but the LAST thing I need to add to the stress is to walk into work and find out I’ve been dooced so I’ll just say that I’m doing the work of 1.5 people, literally, and leave it at that. Like, my productivity last week was 167%. Individually. For the week. Hell.

Lets see, what else?

Last week we had our first 100 degree day here and SURPRISE! Our AC was dead. We woke up to a power surge a few weeks ago which fried the control panel in the oven (I was reminded we are still waiting on the part today when I went to turn on the over and NOTHING HAPPENED and I ended up ruining my potatoes trying to cook them on the grill) and we never thought to try the AC! We went through two agonizing, horrible days with no AC. I had actual sweat. Like, ON MY BODY. *shudder*

The guy came out to fix it Saturday and apparently the power runs from the breaker, to the furnace, to the AC. So it was actually the HEATER that was broken and it wasn’t allowing the AC to come on. Makes perfect sense to me! Actually it doesn’t but I pretended that it did when Ben explained it to me.

So YAY! We have AC!!! Except we’ve only had to run it for like, AN HOUR over the last few days, because as soon as the damn thing was fixed the temperature dropped and it was BEAUTIFUL outside.

Oh! Something good!

Really good actually!

Ready?!

We finally got to use our tickets for Beauty and the Beast! The tickets Cassidy’s Papa and Nana Cherie got her for Christmas. It was AWESOME. It’s so cute when Cassidy watches something like this and gets REALLY into it because she’ll start to mimic the movements of the people on stage. Generally, the LEAD girl. She did it during the Hannah Montana movie, and then this too. It’s like she wants to burn it all to memory and the best way to do that is to.. DO IT.

I never say anything to her or tell her to stop because if she’s THAT into something, I can’t help but get just as into from watching her. It’s awesome that stuff like that is still so magical to her because getting to see it through her eyes gives me a reason to be 9 all over again and in awe of Belle and the story.

So okay, it wasn’t ALL bad. Still, if you want to pat my head and tell me it’s okay I won’t discourage you. I might even offer you a glass of wine and a seat beside me on the couch to watch House. Only one though! Don’t be greedy!

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Seriously.

I always liked to believe that reporters were given a bad rap. That when people claimed they were taking things out of context, or that practically no background work had been done prior to a segment, that they were just over exaggerating or being whiny jackasses. But today you pretty much proved that the douchebag reporting reputation that has developed on network television is 117% true. You get an extra 17% because seriously, Kathy Lee Gifford? Whoever thought THAT was a good idea deserves an extra 17% of COMPLETE FAIL.

When you interviewed Heather Armstrong today on your show it was clear to me from the very beginning that both of these common failings were true. First Hoda mentioned a passage from one of Heather’s blog posts saying:

Hoda: “You wrote on your blog that you worry that your daughter will resent you because all of her business being put out there…”
Kathy: “Potty training and all those things that are kind of private.”

Well Hoda and Kathy, had you taken time to ACTUALLY READ THAT BLOG POST you’d have quite possibly also mentioned the rest of the passage that explains EXACTLY how Heather feels about it and, in fact, thinks in the long run that Leta will CHERISH all those stories.

From furniture Elhovothat dooce post:

You will resent me for your curfew and the fact that I will not let you leave the house in that mini-skirt. You will resent me for showing up to your school in my pajama bottoms and for raising my hand in a PTA meeting when I hadn’t brushed my hair. You will text message your friends to tell them that I am the most horrible person on the planet because I’m forcing you to study for your exam in the morning. You are going to think that I cannot possibly understand what you are going through, and you will slam the door in my face.

Will you resent me for this website? Absolutely. And I have spent hours and days and months of my life considering this, weighing your resentment against the good that can come from being open and honest about what it’s like to be your mother, the good for you, the good for me, and the good for other women who read what I write here and walk away feeling less alone. And I have every reason to believe that one day you will look at the thousands of pages I have written about my love for you, the thousands of pages other women have written about their own children, and you’re going to be so proud that we were brave enough to do this. We are an army of educated mothers who have finally stood up and said pay attention, this is important work, this is hard, frustrating work and we’re not going to sit around on our hands waiting for permission to do so. We have declared that our voices matter.

If that doesn’t profess the exact opposite of what Kathy Lee was trying not-so-eloquently to imply, that how dare you think about writing about your daughter online and *gasp* POSTING HER PICTURE, I don’t know what could possibly GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD short of getting in your face and shouting it through a blow horn.

Had Kathy taken FIFTEEN minutes of her time to ACTUALLY RESEARCH the topic and the person who she was interviewing she might have actually walked away from the interview without looking like the stereotypical, uneducated, assumptive “reporter” that she’s trying to play on TV. And if I had a dollar for every time that I was at my grandmothers and was forced to listen to Kathy talk about her sweet, precious Cody on NATIONAL TELEVISION I too could quit my day job and find something else to pass my time. Like publicly slamming other mothers from my make believe pedestal way up there. *points up*

Both of you are mothers and today you failed your fellow mothers across the nation. You could have turned that segment into a resounding statement about the exploding growth of a community of beautiful, powerful, motivated and brilliant women bloggers. Fellow mothers banding together to form a wave of support for complete strangers, for the mother down the street, for the mother sitting silently on the park bench, for the mother quietly suffering from postpartum depression, for the mother who’s so confused and upset and doesn’t know who to turn to… but instead you chose to go the sensational route.

Seriously. Shame on both of you.

-Anna (proud mommy blogger) Hirsch

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I always make an excuse and thank her for the offer but tell her no because I don’t want to “owe her one” and that is absolutely how she will take it.

So.

I go downstairs to the vending machine which the guy was filling up this morning… no Diet Pepsi. NO DIET PEPSI! In a building of 300 women! What the hell, Mr Vending Machine Guy!?

So I make Ceece get up and walk half way across the building with me to get one from one of the other Pepsi vending machines. NO DIET PEPSI! @&*##$&!

Ceece mentions another Pepsi machine downstairs in the Children’s Hospital wing and YAY! DIET PEPSI! I put in my 5 quarters, the machine roars to life, I actually do a little dance of joy… then it STOPS, spits out my 5 quarters and PUNCHES ME IN THE GUT. I stand there open jawed and wide eyed for a few seconds while Ceece backs quietly away and says a little prayer. Then I might have dropped a few f-bombs and flipped the machine off. And kicked it. Twice.

I just want a GODDAMN DIET PEPSI. And Diet Coke is not an option. NOT. An. OPTION.

The roach coach is outside but to get a Diet Pepsi from them I will have to run through POURING RAIN and dig through the ice with my HAND and that’s just not an option because I’m not sure that being wet and cold is REALLY worth it. Of course, this is where I made a completely wrong judgement call.

So I cave. I ask for a Pepsi from Needy Girl and stick it in the freezer and set the timer on the iPhone for 20 minutes to check on it so it doesn’t blow up and make a huge mess. Before the timer goes off, she asked me where Ceece and I are going to lunch today.

I feel like I just sold my soul… For a Diet Pepsi.

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*shrug*

I’d like to point out that I’ve been pretty active over on flickr. My 365 attempt has been a BIG SUCCESS so far. And by that I mean, I HAVEN’T FAILED! Yet. Yesterday marked my 49th day which means I’ve officially made it farther than any other attempt. This time I let go of the ridiculous notion that all of my pictures are going to be fabulous and planned and brilliantly photoshopped into perfection. And it’s odd because now that I’m not constantly stressed out about getting a shot up, the days that I do take the time to set them up and then photoshop the hell out of them they are coming out pretty damn well! Some of my most favorite self portraits to date, actually. Here’s a few that I’ve loved so far:

THERE! I’m done whoring myself. For now!

Lets see, what else is going on? Okay, I’ll start with this. I was temporarily pissed off at the internet. I lost a few (what I thought were) good friends over a message board around the end of November and I was just kind of like BLAH. And it was one of those things I really wanted to write about to “let it all out” but I know that it will just create more waves and it’s not really worth it. I never thought that by closing down a message board, so many people would turn into complete idiots and OMGHATE ME FOREVER(exclamation point). And to them I can just say: WHAT. EV. ER. If your way of getting over it is to have to kiss the ass of people that you claimed to hate and treated like shit for over two years so be it. I’m glad I finally found out your true character, which is “two face and spineless” and I’ll leave you with this:

You are a lemming. Enjoy the jump, it’s a long way down.

*splash*

Moving along!

I’m starting a “raw diet” today. Another reason I haven’t been around much is that I’ve been feeling like complete crap. Literally. Everything I eat is being ejected from my stomach in a foul manor. EVERYTHING. I eat plain white rice and suddenly I’m in pain and can’t get more than 100 feet from a toilet without panicking. I’ve done a lot of reading online the last few days and I’m thinking if I can get my body to detox it might help. I’m a little worried about protein intake though so while I might not stick to it as stringently as some people, if I do eat meat it won’t be blue cheese encrusted and doused in butter… sadly.

And lastly! I’ll really try and make a more solid effort to blog more. I have still been reading your blogs (Google Reader = *heart*) daily and need to get back into the swing of things around here.

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At the same time I managed to avoid the 4000 pounds of metal, my LARGE McDonalds Iced Coffee flew into the air, did a complete flip, landed on my passenger seat and exploded into a coffee a-bomb. It filled up the cup holders, landed in my hair, left a film on the front window and pooled up on the floor under seat. It took me a full 45 minutes and an entire roll of paper towels to get it cleaned up enough that I didn’t STICK to the seat when I sat down. THANK GOD it was rainy and cold outside because I can only imagine what that would have smelled like after 8 hours of 100 degree heat in the full sun. *shudders*

So, the day can only get better after this, right??

WRONG!

SURPRISE! Major Medical University is REQUIRING all employees to get flu shots this year because JCAHO is an evil asshole. I can understand that the accreditation is important but I’ve never, in four years, EVER come into contact with a patient. I mean, we work a MILE off campus.

I wasn’t going to get one this year because even though the nurse SWEARS that you should not be sore afterwards, I always am. Last year my arm ached for THREE DAYS. This year when I went in I requested that they inject my left arm so that the arm I use to use the adding machine, answer my office phone and make sweet love to my iPhone would not be sore. I mean, I can go a few days without working or talking to people… but don’t get between me and my daily movie binge. Mother fucker.

Again this year the nurse SWORE to me that I’d not be sore since it’s my “off hand” that got injected. Yeah, she’s a lying ass bitch. My arm is sore from the injection spot all the way down to my hand, with the majority of the discomfort at the inside bend of my elbow. Why do they lie to you? Why not just say, “Yes, idiot, it’s going to hurt it’s a SHOT. Now roll up your sleeve and suck it up, pussy!” I’d honestly deal much better with that.

When I was in 2nd grade I broke my arm and it had to be reset. When I asked if it was going to hurt the doctor looked me straight in the face and said, “It’s going to hurt more than anything you’ve ever felt. But it will be fast and when I’m done it will stop hurting and it will heal the way it should.” And he wasn’t lying. When I look back now, it was second in pain level only to squeezing a human out of my vagina. But, at least he TOLD ME. I knew what to expect. In SECOND GRADE.

I’d say things can only get better at this point bit who am I kidding?!

Is it Friday yet?

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