Do you guys remember the game M.A.S.H? I LOVED that game when I was a kid. My friends and I would sit in class and come up with dozens of categories to present to each other at lunchtime, recess and whenever else Teach needed to go into the lounge and pop a Xanax. And we didn’t just stick with the boring categories like guy (we were too young for man but too cool for boy), number of kids and job. We would get creative and add car, pet, wedding cake layers, colors of wedding dress and tuxedo and state (you were going to live in). It was more fun figuring out what/who you were going to put under each category than playing the actual game and finding out who the lucky
man guy was! Life was simpler back then. Unfortunately, by the time I was filling out a training bra America Online came along introducing chat rooms and instant messenger. This is about the time the shit hit the fan. No longer were you stuck with calling your crush on the phone and then chickening out and hanging up before his mom could get him. Now you could talk to him online. You could meet him in a chat room and flirt with him in front of other 40-year old men posing as kids. You could have your best friend pose as you because she would certainly say better things not being tongue tied and in “love” and all. But you weren’t the only one with AOL. Other girls had it too. The cool girls definitely had it. This meant that while you were chatting away with your heartthrob he was also very likely chatting away with the girl he really liked and wasn’t just using for her math homework. Or worse, she could be sitting next to him laughing and making fun of you while you tell him all about the dream you had last night where he was saving you from that creepy janitor that was missing his front teeth (oh wait, that was all of them) and you ended up holding hands in your mom’s backseat. Not only would you not get the guy but you’d be made a mockery. And this was just the beginning.
Enter AIM (AOL Instant Messenger). Don’t get it twisted. AIM and the original AOL are NOT the same thing. What, were you born under a rock? AIM was all of the glory of a buddy list with none of that annoying “You’ve Got Mail” crap. And you could put up away messages. And have a personalized profile that didn’t insist you include stupid information like your hometown or your hobbies. This is how my friends and I communicated in college. Want to meet Stephanie in the dining hall? Oh cool, let me IM her and tell her to meet us down there. So what if Stephanie was your roommate. IMing was more efficient. Did you pronounce it eye-em-ing or eye-ming? I always pronounced it eye-ming until I was informed that I was wrong and corrected my bad self. This is also how you communicated with boys. Sure, you still exchanged phone numbers but one of the first things you got out of the way (after how many brothers and sisters do you have but before what is that red thing on your ding dong?) was the exchange of screen names. The boys in college (Yes, now it’s okay to call them boys. Keep up!!) may be charming and witty in person
after a few Keystone Lights but they were Patrick frickin’ Dempsey behind the safety of their computer screens. If you were asked a question and paused for 5 minutes before answering on the phone or in person we’d begin to wonder if maybe you had a small seizure. Online you could take as much time as you needed to reply. Run to the bathroom, ask your roommate what you should say back or (and this is my favorite) just sit there and pick your nose for a few minutes because the wait makes you seem more mysterious. This of course is also where much of the “cybering” took place. “Age/sex/location?” Cybering, or cyber sex is when a guy tries to get a girl to participate in a typed version of phone sex. They’d tell you how hard they were and you were supposed to reply with how that made you feel. Most of the time you were giggling and saying “good, u?” because you didn’t want/need to say more than that. They were just excited that it was (most likely) a girl at the other end. AIM was also the first public place you announced that you were a couple. Sure, your away message would say something like “grabbing dinner with Todd” or “watching a movie with Randy” and everyone knew that meant you were a couple. But it was especially intense when you’d put that persons’ initials or name at the bottom of your profile with a <3 and maybe a song lyric or 2. Dave Matthews Band always knew exactly what I was thinking. But again, it was very easy to IM with one person whilst IMing with another at the very same time. And then you broke up and had to suffer through stupid Todd or Randy putting up new away messages about his new girlfriend and staring at his screen name waiting for it to go idle. Going idle meant you hadn’t touched your mouse or keyboard in at least 20 minutes and were obviously doing something fantastic like walking around the lake holding hands or taking your new hag to dinner off campus and not at the dining hall. It also meant that if you were not idle you were staring pathetically at your screen waiting for someone to IM you with plans. It could have meant you were writing a paper or doing homework, I suppose, but probably not. Luckily AIM smartened up and gave you the option to turn off the idle feature. This was great for you but not so great when Randy and Todd figured it out. Now you’d never know if he was off with Natalie or home rereading your profile looking for hints of a love lost.
And then texting came along. Texting is basically IMing on your phone. The best part is that you are never away from cell phone (ever) so that meant you should have been available and accessible at all times. Of course it didn’t. It just added to the games. And also caused the number of booty calls to rise exponentially. All of that bravery that came with IMing was now unleashed. You no longer had to wait until you got home from the bars to have drunken, meaningless conversations with someone. You could have it while you were in the very same building (albeit at opposite ends surrounded by the safety of your posse). It also meant that a guy could line up his booty call much earlier and then bring her home instead of always having to go to her room/house/apartment. “Hey you wanna come home with me and ‘watch some movies’ after this?” It’s sooo much easier to text this and get a no than to have a potential suitor scrunch up their forehead, look out of the corner of their eyes (a sure sign of lying) and say “yeah, definitely… I mean maybe. I’m supposed to make sure my roommate gets home tonight… and then my parents are visiting tomorrow so I have to clean so I’ll probably get up early… maybe tomorrow night?” In fact, you didn’t even have to reply if you didn’t want to? Just ignore the message and pretend you didn’t see it until the next morning! Classic and cowardly! Texting has also been known to destroy relationships. Sure, you can talk to someone on the phone and put their number under a fake name and it ain’t no thang if you’re calling your friend Desiree (whom you’ve never mentioned once before in 2 years) at 3am when the boyfriend is out of town but it’s going to look really weird and be hard to explain when he stumbles across a text message asking Desiree if you left your panties at her house and if she wants to go get some fro-yo after work tomorrow when boyfriend is at band practice.
And then the king of relationship-ruiners was created. Facebook. Facebook meant that not only could you befriend just about every person on campus but you could look at friends of friends to hunt down that kid in your Soccer Coaching Methods class (what, I was a senior?!). You could look at all of their pictures, hobbies, political preferences and then Marky Z got really savvy and added the relationship status. Sure, some girls did and continue to bastardize this very important profile piece by indicating that it’s complicated with another girl (usually their BFF) but from a reconnaissance standpoint, this was a brilliant addition. Now, you would know whether or not you were preying on a taken man well before making your move. It was college so this information didn’t stop anyone but it was nice to know how sneaky you needed to be. Then Facebook took a turn for the weird. They started letting high school kids open accounts. And then people that weren’t in any kind of school at all (better known as the middle aged). WTF is that all about? I originally joined Facebook when there was only a handful of colleges and literally a dozen students from my school on it. Now my mom, boss or baby cousin can join? Is nothing sacred anymore? One of the reasons behind this breaking of the levies was that Facebook could now be used as a reunion tool of sorts. You could look up your best friend from kindergarten, your old violin teacher or… your ex. This is where trouble ensued… and not only for the author of this extremely lengthy post. I literally don’t know one person that hasn’t caught their significant other stalking an ex. Usually, it’s just that – stalking. It’s when it gets serious or worse, reciprocated that the problems start surfacing. It starts off innocently enough: “OMG it’s been like 8 years! What are you up to these days? Where did all of your hair go?” “Hi you… oh you know. Been busy… workin’ hard, playin’ hard. LOL my hair is in the same place as your 30 inch waist. Our memories. JK. You look awesome.” “Hey! That’s mean! I go to Pilates every Tuesday and have a Lean Cuisine for lunch most days. Is that your wife in your profile picture? She’s pretty!” (Profile picture is mysteriously replaced by a picture of him flexing with the dog) “Oh no way, that’s just my fiancee. We’ve been together for a few years but we’re having some issues. We’re supposed to get married in September (it’s August) but I think she’s probably going to call it off (she isn’t). She’s been working late a lot and I’ve had to fix my own dinner twice this week. I’ll survive though!” “Awww you poor baby. You should let me make you dinner sometime. I make a mean frito casserole. My ex loved it.” “Oh wow, so you’re not dating that guy from your pictures anymore? That stinks. We should totally get together to catch up sometime.” “Great! Wanna meet at that bar way across town that nobody would recognize us at around 7 tomorrow night?” And BOOM. That fat little FUPA sporting minx stole your man. That would have never happened before Facebook? Why? Because before social media they wouldn’t have even crossed paths until the 10 year reunion and they both would have brought a little trophy date with them so everyone knew how amazing they were doing. Nobody would know that Phil got hair plugs or Felicia had gastric bypass or that Stephen and Melody split up after dating since the 7th grade because Stephen fell for his (male) International Finance professor. It would all be a surprise like it’s meant to be! This isn’t to say that I don’t love Facebook (and Twitter and Yelp and Yammer). I just think it’s going to be the downfall of love as we know it.
If you’re still with me, I so didn’t intend on this post turning into a novel. Thanks for reading!
Okay, so I’m not even sure how I came across this blog but I think it was through another blog that I read. Either way, whenever I stumble upon a new blog I always read the “About Me” and the little widgets on the sides of the screen to figure out what kinda person is writing and I kinda got excited about this one because she’s younger, loves dogs and doesn’t appear to have kids. Don’t get me wrong, I loooove the blogs that are in my reader. They are the first thing I look at on my lunch break and at night when I have some free time. However, 75% of the blogs I read are written by wives/mothers in houses that are free of carpeted kitchens and weird bathrooms. In other words, I can’t relate. So when I find someone else that is in a similar phase in their life, I jump on it. And I’m still very excited to read this blog but the very first post I read (the one I linked to up above) is just all sortsa crazy.
Girl With No Filter: I would simply create a law that says that all drivers must log 100 hours of driving with a licensed (certified?) Driver’s Ed instructor before getting their license.Blogger would make smoking cigarettes illegal.
GWNF: Amen, sista!Blogger wouldn’t allow anyone under 18 to use Facebook.
GWNF: Agreed but I’d also say anyone over the age of 40 can’t use it either. I have my reasons: 1) You’re not having kids anymore, you’re probably married or at least you’ve been married once, you aren’t doing anything all that cool in life – no one is interested in your updates. 2) You no longer have a strong grasp on technology and have way too many typos and grammatical errors. Or like my dear old dad, you use commas for periods. 3) When you do post it’s usually some cut-and-pasted crap about “National Love Your Daughter Week” or it’s some shared picture of a teddy bear clinging to a balloon rising up to a rainbow in the sunny blue sky. At least be original! Oh wait, it doesn’t matter ‘cause you’re BANNED! 4) You’re using the Book to cheat on your spouse or at least to flirt with your high school ex that you dated for 6 months in 1973. Please stick to AOL.com. You’re lucky I’m allowing you on the internet, at all. Oh! And let’s also bar anyone from it that didn’t actually attend college for at least a little while. It started as a tool for college kids to get to know one another. Not for losery-losers to insult us diploma-holding folk with their poor grammar and references about hanging out with the same people they’ve been hanging out with since grade school. You peaked in high school. We get it.
Blogger says under 16? No cell phones.
Roomie: I disagree. I think latch key kids or those that have absentee parents should have a cell phone. This cell phone should have the ability to call or text their parents or guardians, a handful of other approved numbers and 911. That’s it. No Angry Birds. No Words With Friends.
Blogger says teachers should be able to pray over students and hit them.
Roomie: Okay I’m not a teacher but I am a (dog) mom and I WAS a student. I’m also Catholic. As far as I’m concerned, saying the Pledge of Allegiance and allowing the ‘under God’ part is more than enough. My fiancé went to Catholic school and even he doesn’t want to send his kids to one. Sure, religion is an easy grade but so is gym and home ec. I don’t think prayer should be allowed in any public schools unless the teacher or student decides to use their recess or free period to go somewhere private and speak to whomever they believe in. If one of my teachers started hailing Allah during geometry I’d have gotten up and walked out. Don’t push your religion in my face and I won’t push mine in yours. There is no way in hell I’m going to let some teacher hit my kid. Yes,
most some kids need a good whack every once in a while but that’s what foster dads are for. If you’re acting out at school then you’re not getting punished enough at home. Teachers, if you have a particularly unruly student send a letter home to mom and dad letting them know that Jimmy needs to bring the signed permission slip for the field trip, some glitter for his art project and 2 bruises on his butt to school tomorrow.
Blogger thinks soda should be banned.
Roomie: Sure, why not. It doesn’t do anyone any good. Anything that can dissolve a penny doesn’t belong anywhere near my colon.
Blogger wants men to pull their pants up and not walk around with their skivvies hanging out.
Roomie: Wholeheartedly agree. Isn’t there some school of thought that says wearing your pants like that was once a mating ritual in prisons?
Blogger: Video games should only be able to be played 1 hour per day
Roomie: Video games have got to go. They are a waste of time. Unless it’s educational and meant for a toddler to learn the ABCs and hone his finger dexterity (while also keeping him calm in the doctor’s waiting room) I see no reason for them. Why does a grown human need to steal cars or go back in time to hunt wizards or kill Nazis? Why don’t you go mow the lawn or read a book instead?
Blogger: Animal cruelty charges would result in life in prison.
Roomie: Plus whatever you did to your victim will be done to you repeatedly throughout your life sentence. You left the animal outside for 3 months with no food, limited water and no shelter? Looks you’re being chained to the prison yard fence. You put lit firecrackers in a dog’s mouth? Well lucky you! Your sentence won’t be that long after all!
Blogger: Teachers should make as much as doctors and lawyers.
Roomie: And so should HR professionals
Blogger: Everyone would own a hybrid car
Roomie: Sure as long as they make hybrid Lincoln Navigators. Also, you’re only allowed to drive a (hybrid, of course) minivan if you have more than 3 kids under the age of 21. ALSO, you’re only allowed to have a handicap parking pass if you are legitimately handicapped and your disability isn’t self-inflicted. Morbidly obese people, you can use the exercise that parking far away is going to create. Old people, isn’t there a Meals on Wheels nearby? With that, elderly people, let’s say over the age of 65, must take AND pass a driving test every year. Otherwise, their car gets taken away and the local government is responsible for providing an organization that takes them to the store, the doctor and the zoo if they eat all of their broccoli
Blogger: Junk food would be more expensive than healthy food.
Blogger: All high school graduates must attend college.
Roomie: Well duh, otherwise you can’t go on Facebook
Roomie: What about whole wheat pastas and doughs and low-fat cheeses? I think there are far worse things out there than mac n’ cheese and pizza. It’s all about moderation.
Roomie: As long as every business professional gets to follow the same schedule. The average human being’s life from birth-22 (or whenever they graduate from college) does NOTHING to prepare them for adult life. Going to school for 6-7 hours a day with a recess or study hall or gym in addition to a lunch break? Getting at least a day to a week off each month for every godforsaken holiday there is? Getting a week to a month+ off for Christmas? Not having a class before 10am and being done by 3pm every day? How is this preparing you for a monotonous 50 years of Monday – Friday, 8-5 with only 2 weeks of vacation and 6 paid holidays per year? The answer is it doesn’t.
Roomie: Shit, might as well go for 10am.
No, this post is not about dead bloggers. That would be sad and something I would NEVER joke about (unless I just couldn’t think of anything else). This blog is about everyone’s favorite season and all that it entails.
Dearest Fellow Bloggers, Tweeters, Facebookers and Human Beings in General,
I GET IT.
It’s fall and you’re stoked.
Guess what? I like fall too! It’s my favorite time of year and has been since I was a little Girl With No Filter even though I fucking despise(d) school and fall obviously = Back to School at JCP.
But suddenly this year more than ever everyone has this massive boner about the leafy season. Every single flipping day I wake up to tweets and status updates about how “chilly” it is outside what with the sudden “crispness” in the air and everyone is so relieved because they’re sooooo over summer. I kinda get it if you’re living in Texas or Argentina but if you live in upstate NY like most everyone I know, this delectable nippiness is going to turn into single digits in approximately 15 minutes and then I’m going to get to listen to you bitch about how you can’t waaaaait for summerrrr to come so you can go drink on patios and wear your gladiator sandalssssssssssss. Oh don’t you dare play dumb. You know only 3 short months ago you were totally stoked to wear your oversized sunnies, not have to bring a jacket to the bars and cook outside. Everyone got married and pregnant because it was mating season and that’s what Americans do. We eat, we bang, we wear skimpy clothes on the Jersey shore and we bang some more to consummate the relationships that the aforementioned eating, banging and ho-ing resulted in.
But seriously, are we (and when I say we I mean Americans) ever going to get that with the boots, scarves, pumpkin lattes, ribbon wreaths (guilty), decorative gourds, faux leather jackets and apple picking comes a whole new season that we call winter? And that throughout that entire bitch of a season we’re going to be brushing snow off our cars and having to pack an extra pair of shoes for work and wearing 10 layers of clothes so it doesn’t matter how cute you look because your shit is going to be wrinkled, your hair is going to be sweaty and flat (from the brushing off of the snow) and your precious pumpkin latte will be well out of your grasps for another 10 months.
And don’t even get me started on spring. Spring can eat shit. I hate spring. I hate mud puddles and rain and cock tease 60 degree days when you know tomorrow’s forecast is calling for 30s with a wintery mix (that is not is delicious as it sounds).
So my advice to you is to pull your scarves out of storage (and not the cute kinds – the marl knit ones that actually keep you warm) and your boots too (NO – not the cute Aldo ones. Your Merrills and Duck boots) and put away your suede wedges and festive tights and start getting stoked for the headliners. The seasons we all hate to hate: Old Man Winter and his cunty mistress spring.
And please remember that I liked fall first.
I have a (very long) confession to make.
I HATED high school. I lived in a tiny little one horse town – wait, scratch that. I lived in the woods outside of the one horse town. I grew up on a dirt road. My mom had to drive my brother and I to the bus stop as it was 7/8 of a mile away and the school district wouldn’t come get you if your house was under a mile from the stop. I think I had about 75-80 students graduate with me. Strangely, at least 5 of them were from the classes before or after me and I wasn’t even aware that these students hadn’t already graduated or had earned enough credits to do so early. And then there were some students from neighboring school districts that had apparently missed theirs… or something? Either way, there was a large handful of students that didn’t belong there. My class was definitively known as the Too Little, Too Late Class. We were slackers. Most of us were so concerned with “hooking up” or singling out those who “bitched out” from the woods party over the weekend to earn money for field trips or put the time in to have a decent prom. Instead we went to places like Six Flags and the town pool and our prom was in our gymnasium that was transformed to look just like a gymnasium swathed in purple tulle and balloons. The one and only perk seniors received was to sit outside at a couple picnic tables during lunch instead of in the cafeteria. The class before us let all of the underclassmen join them thus forcing administrators to make the rule that no on was allowed to sit outside. So aside from the knowledge that we would be getting the fuck out of there sooner than anyone, we had no privileges.
Don’t get me wrong. I was no different than the rest of them. I spent my weekends swatting away mosquitos and getting drunk in the woods. My friends and I went to almost every dance without fail. My only goal was to get the flavor of the month (or in my case, semester or year, as I’m pretty obsessive) to notice me so I spent my time painstakingly sewing patches on my backpacks or picking out just the right outfits so he would notice me. In the end, it worked because I was voted “Best Dressed”. Only because “Most Sarcastic” or “Most Likely To Sneak Out During Study Hall” weren’t options. I actually had to take gym every single day during my senior year because I had skipped it so many times the previous year. I wasn’t allowed to go on a field trip (to where, I can’t remember now) because it would have meant exceeding the maximum number of absences for my afternoon classes. I also had to complete 10.5 hours of detention before they’d let me walk at graduation. Very Donna Martin Graduates! My mom and dad left for work early so the minute I was of age they allowed me to get my license so I could drive me and my brother to school. Unfortunately, without having someone riding my ass I tended to sleep in and come in late most days. My poor brother would get up and get on the bus because he actually liked school and didn’t want to miss class. And if I came in on time, I was writing a note with my mom’s forged signature so I could get out early. Most of the time I just stopped at McDonald’s and went home with some nuggets and a sundae and took a nap. I just wanted to be anywhere but there.
I hated everyone. I hated our principal (who was sent to prison the year after I graduated for embezzling from the school district.) I despised more than half of the teachers, especially my gym teacher who I had almost every year for 12 years. Oh, did I forget to mention that the school was K-12? Yup, we rode to school with kindergartners and got to watch them parade around the school in their Halloween costumes every year (something I actually enjoyed). I completely and utterly hated most of the students. They were just so dumb and small-minded. This is why no less than 1/3 of my high school class has married each other. Some were their high school sweethearts, some just couldn’t find someone they could relate to that didn’t go to Incest High. Many of the popular, jocky boys are working in factories and most of the popular, jocky girls married these boys and currently have 1-3 children.
This is the #1 reason why our high school reunion is going to be held in the middle of the woods, doing the same exact shit we were doing 10 years ago. Swatting mosquitos, pissing against our parents’ cars without wiping and stumbling around the clearing trying to find your friends using the light of the bonfire. If I’m really lucky, my dad will buy me some Mike’s Hard Lemonade or Smirnoff Ice for the event. Oh, and during the day is a family friendly picnic and BBQ. This is because none of them can possibly find someone that wants to sit with their little demon spawn for more than 4 consecutive hours but they are planning it under the guise of allowing classmates to meet each other’s children. Guess what? I know your kids. You post pictures of them on Facebook every single day. I know their birthdays and when they took their first dump on the potty. Shit, I probably saw them covered in your baby oven cream sauce the day you squeezed them out. I already know that they aren’t that cute and don’t look too much like your husband but definitely resemble that other kid we graduated with. Isn’t it disheartening that not even their grandparents want to keep them long enough so you can swing by Fashion Bug or Dots to pick out a new sheer top and maybe get your fake nails refilled? You need to look pretty after all and a blue collar salary doesn’t permit you to shop at Loft or J.Crew. Plus you need everyone to focus on your pretty French manicure and not the fact that you’ve gained 25lbs, you still haven’t lost the baby weight (unless you’re actually carrying your 3 year old around in a pouch on your stomach like a marsupial) and your eyebrows are drawn on because you were trying to tweeze and pack your husband’s lunch at the same time.
But you know what? I’m going to go. Just to check it out. Maybe see if the nerdy kids can lend me some money. Maybe to watch the Plastics swarm together and compliment each other’s elastic waist pants. Certainly to pick on all of these people with my best friend. Most definitely to show off my handsome future husband and make sure everyone sees how big my rock is and small my ass (still) is.
I hate this question. Mostly, because I hate being questioned. If I tell you to do something, just assume I’m doing it with everyone’s best interest at heart and fucking do it. If I ask you to shoot up the local post office or heroin then by all means, question away. If I ask you to not cut up chicken directly on the countertop or that I want all of the ribbon for our wedding favors cut at an angle, then come to your own conclusions and do the damn thing.
The reason I am thinking so much about this annoying word is that I’ve recently decided to become a vegetarian. Or more accurately, an ovo-lacto-pescetarian. Basically, I’m giving up meat and meat products but I’m going to continue to stuff my face with eggs, dairy, seafood, fruits, veggies, nuts, grains and my beloved carbs. Nobody and I do mean NOBODY has just accepted it without asking why. Even my friends that are or were vegetarians ask me why. Well, why did you do it? Why does anyone do it? For the same reasons I use highly efficient light bulbs, turn off the tap when I’m done getting water, try to avoid running over squirrels and raccoons, and don’t eat chocolate and bagels at every meal. Because it will reduce my carbon footprint (can you even imagine how much energy it requires to birth a calf, grow it and fatten it up, slaughter it and process it for human consumption? Much less than growing and processing a garbanzo bean, I promise.); it aligns very well with my pro-animal rights beliefs and it’s healthier. Cutting out fat and sodium riddled meat is bound to make me look and feel better. Especially if I’m replacing it with high-protein alternatives.
You might be wondering WHY I’m still opting to eat eggs, dairy and fish. Animals are not harmed in the production of eggs and milk. Chickens are going to lay eggs whether we eat them or not. Obviously, a majority of the eggs we buy in supermarkets are the unfertilized variety. You need a rooster to fertilize the eggs. No rooster means one less animal being put to work and no fear of baby chicks being sacrificed for our omelets. While some egg companies are unethical, many are not. Especially if you choose to eat organic eggs. Likewise, cows and goats are going to produce milk whether we drink it or not. In fact, it’s physically painful for the animal if they are not milked at the same time everyday. Why should we throw away perfectly delicious and nutrient-enriched, life-giving milk when we can just pasteurize it and pour it on our cereal?
Seafood is a different story. There is a strong argument that if I’m gonna eat shrimp I might as well eat steak. Here’s the thing. I’ve been eating meat for 28 years. That is a shitload of chickens, lambs, pheasants, cows, pigs, rabbits, elks, bison and deer, to name a few. If I can cut all of that out, I’m making huge progress toward reducing the number of animals being slaughtered for human consumption. Especially if I’m able to do it for the next 28 years. Also, most of the fish and shellfish that humans eat have pretty short lifespans in comparison to the mammals I listed above. This means that these animals are dying much more rapidly and frequently than your average cow or pig, especially since most of the fish and shellfish we eat are from the wild. Sure, humans don’t exactly give them a fighting chance but if I can omit so many animals and animal products from my diet, II believe I’m still making a difference. Even if I continue to eat seafood for the time being. Who knows? Maybe in the future I’ll decide to kick that out of my recipes too.
The point is, I’m doing it because I want to. It doesn’t hurt or directly affect anyone else. I don’t care if you cook a hot dog or sausage on the same grill as my Boca Burger. I don’t care if I have to remove bacon from my sandwich before eating it. I was literally eating meat 2 weeks ago. I’m not repulsed or disgusted by it and I’m not going to criticize someone else for eating it. I’m doing what I think is the right thing and if I wake up tomorrow craving a steak, then maybe I’ll have one. Or maybe I won’t. But it’s up for me to decide.
One of my favorite blogs already posted about this but I have to add my own 2 cents because I feel really strongly about it. I am an avid reader. Ever since I was a child I have ALWAYS had a book that I’m in the middle of reading. It started with The Babysitter’s Club and progressed to adult fiction and nonfiction bestsellers. And I’m a sucker for trends. This is why I devoured the Harry Potter series, Twilight and The Hunger Games. When 50 Shades of Gray suddenly began getting buzz I knew I was going to read it. The “reviews” I read on Facebook were positive to say the least. I witnessed Facebook frands, Twitter followers and bloggers gushing about this “amazing, sensual and addicting series of books”. I purchased the BOOKS (not the files) and had them all set to rip through on my recent trip to Louisiana. I warned my fiance that I was not to be interrupted while reading and that he would most likely reap the benefits of the scandalous writings. I started reading it in the airport waiting for our departing flight and knew within 3 pages that this was NOT a good book. It was poorly written, the characters were shallow and the sex scenes were repetitive. I swear E.L. James must have used the find and replace function to save time on typing the same shit every 10 pages. “Fair point made as ever, Ms. Steele”, “Oh my poor Fifty”, and “He released himself burying his face into my hair and screaming my name” appeared in every single chapter, at least once. Not to mention, no one gets fucked that often without needing a wheelchair. She mentioned the delicious pain but being that I’m not exactly virginal, I am well aware that that much sex would probably result in intercourse feeling like a hot dog being thrown down a hallway. I can’t know for sure because I am a REAL WOMAN and my fiance is not a multi-billionaire with mommy issues. Even when a story line did pique my interest it was never clearly developed and ended up fizzling out at the end. For me, the best parts of the book were Ana describing the food and the clothes Christian bought for her. Yet, I persevered through all 3 books just so I can add them to my bookcase for my future daughter to read when she turns 30.
I liken the 50 Shades series to The Da Vinci Code. A book that a bunch of non-readers LOVED but just didn’t hold weight fora well-read bibliophile like myself. It’s the same type of person that calls The Giving Tree their favorite book. It’s a great book for a 3rd grader but can you really, honestly tell me you haven’t read an equally enjoyable book since then? Not one? What about a magazine article? Or a shampoo bottle? A blog? Nothing? Oy. This phenomenon, in addition to e-readers, is contributing to the decay of American literature. I have an entire post devoted to e-readers that I’ll post for you soon. It’s enlightening.
Hewwo. I am going to try this again. I’ve started a couple of different blogs only to find that there are people out there a) with no sense of humor or b) that are out to get me. No, that isn’t just paranoia speaking. I have certain chubby g00d-for-naught’s and unkempt serving wenches in my life that find a lot of pleasure in taking the written word and, for lack of a better term, squealing. As you may have guessed, I have a strong opinion and I’m not afraid to blog it, and it’s gotten me into some trouble. I shouldn’t even call it trouble but it has mildly inconvenienced me for a brief moment. Fortunately, it has only benefitted me in the long run but it was a fucking thorn in my side for a day or 2. So after many requests from my loyal fans (both of them), I’m starting over. And I’m going to continue to air my dirty laundry and my controversial opinions. I’m just going to do it under another name. And maybe focus a little less on the few that deserve it and more on everyone else.
My very first blog post is going to be devoted to something that is being discussed heavily in the media today. That is Mayor Bloomberg’s proposed ban on large sodas, or those measuring over 16 ounces. This is obviously a highly controversial issue. And because, god for bid, I have a socially acceptable opinion on anything, I agree with the Bloominator. A lot of the naysayers out there believe that this tax is discriminatory. That the richers are there are already voluntarily banning sodas from their lives in favor of filtered mineral waters imported from the sweat of starving Ethiopians. That the poor folks that shop at McDonald’s need to be able to drink large sodas because it is all they can afford and it’s unfair to them and their ever-expanding waistlines to deny them of that sugary privilege.
My take on the subject is that if everyone is forced to limit their consumption of the sparkling diabetes water, then they’d be able to spend less money on the inevitable medical and dental bills that ensue when you live an unhealthy lifestyle. Maybe if the lower and even middle classes spent less time dealing with diabetes, heart disease and tooth decay, and all of the complications that come with such diseases, then they would require less assistance from the government when they can’t pay for said bills. Maybe then farmers and organic food companies would receive more funding from the gov and that hoity-toity fruits, vegetables and organic almond milk would become more affordable so that they could be included under WIC and other assistance programs. Or affordable enough for the middle class to just buy it without the help of food stamps and other welfare (gasp what a concept!)
Then there are the extremists out there that are likening this bill to the government treating humans like dogs. Basically, what they’re insinuating is that this is no different than the way I choose when, what and how much my dogs consume. I know I’ve said more than once to my cronies that ifI had a ‘master’ feeding me I’d always be down those pesky 5-10lbs that refuse to die. If I had someone that decided when, what and how much I consumed everyday; someone that genuinely wanted me to be healthy, happy and financially comfortable; wouldn’t it only benefit me in every possible way? Sure, I’d miss the option of eating an entire bag of Puff-Corn in a sitting but the scale and my skinnies would be doing a happy little jig.
Is it so wrong to want Americans to spend more money on fruits and vegetables and less on Doritos and Pepsi? There are plenty of healthy options out there and sure, not all of them are as cheap as junk or fast food but if some changes were made and we got a little creative, couldn’t those healthy alternatives become more attainable?
Chew on that, ya little chubbers.