Ok. So, I just read one of my mom's chums blog, and after the first post, I had to turn back out of the pain all of the eyeball rolling. I think it was some rot about being an insanely neurotic mother and bitching about bathmat action.
I'm sorry, I just canNOT get with that mentality (no, bathmats are good, I mean the neuroticism)...that babies are these tiny, fragile little flowers who will immediately DIE if not watched, monitored and coddled constantly. I didn't own a baby monitor, nor will I ever. I co-slept, and now that Squidge is a toddly-person, he can amble in when he has troubles sleeping or gets scared. Which is rarely, thank Krishna. But other than that? He kind of does what he wants, with emotionally detatched supervision from yours truly. Why detatched? Dude. How the hell is he ever going to learn that climbing on the back of the couch is not the smartest idea? By me freaking and ripping him off of it? No. By me saying "Now honey, that's ouchy," (insert singsong voice here)? NO. Cause and effect.
Fo shizzle. Within reason, but still.
I mean, have you ever watched a tot run full-on into a coffee table, bounce off, and keep going? Or sat there in the market, watching your child sucking on the cart handle, then cursing a week later when you're horrifically sick and they're a picture of rosy cheeked health? Gimme a break.
Don't get me wrong: No meat passes Le Squidge's lips. We avoid playing on freeways, for the most part. Seatbelts are rocked at all times in moving vehicles. Vaccinations are spaced out, and I refuse to give him flu shots or superfluous shots for the chicken pox (doctor duped my mom into that one, though..grrr...). But aside from that? Kids are going to hurt themselves. They WILL have coughing fits for no apparent reason other than to freak you the fuck out. In the bath, they WILL slip, and they WILL swallow some water, and it WILL be extremely unpleasant. But you'll be there to make sure they don't drown. Seriously, you have to be some kind of severe fucktard to screw that up.
Granted, shit does happen. Sometimes freak accidents happen, or things brought about by hyper kids and mothers flailing in the throes of sleep dep. But I think, for the most part, it's pretty hard to fuck up. Treat your kid like a little adult, a little human being, not a fucking dolly that you're scared to breathe around for fear of them perishing.
Seriously.
Get a grip.
I know babies are scary when they're tiny, but how are you going to stave something like SID off? By fretting and cultivating an unhealthy mentality about them? No, nyet, nein, neicht. Keep 'em clean, love them fully, feed with organic/hormone free food, let them learn things on their own when necessary, wash their scrapes with water, lather, rinse, repeat. What the hell else can you do?

But some books are even more delicious due to their banned-ed-ness.
I can understand (barely) why Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses and Pat Conroy's The Lords of Discipline might be banned in public libraries, but The Lorax? Bradbury's Martian Chronicles? What the fuck?!?
Apparently, Martians are very, very offensive.
I know it isn't Banned Book Month or whatever, but go to http://title.forbiddenlibrary.com/ check some books out this list. No, I mean scroll down, check them out, and have yourself a good laugh. Especially when you get to Little House in the Big Woods.
What in the bloody fucking hell...?
People need to get a grip, methinks.

Hey, hey, whaddya know...people doing the linky-linky thing to this SuperSecretBlogofInequity. No, really, none of my friends have the slightest clue I'm keeping a second blog. I feel like I have a secret second family, like a travelling salesman! I can totally talk shit about the OTHERS now! Awesome awesomeness. But I won't, because I love those bitches, though bitches they most certainly be. Male bitches. I should really be making money off of them. ...Arg. Failed Pimping reference.
Work goes well, kind of too well. I'd much rather sit in the office and get lost in the world of CAD than sit through lame-ass lectures on pipe drafting (insert lame joke about pipe laying *here*), and it's affecting my grades/study habits or lack thereof. I still kick Trig and Static's asses. Is it possible to kick math's ass? It totally is.
And I'm still single, which is feeling more and more like the right decision. I have a few assorted crushes, but nothing major. I think I may actually be concentrating on getting healthy again, yay for me. Not that I was sick, per se, but I sure wasn't okay. I had to go off of Ortho Evra because it was killing people (!), so I've been working seven years of synthetic hormones out of my system. My skin looks awful on my chest and upper back...ugh. Like a teenage boy. Which is disheartening, I've always had pretty, porcelain skin. Oh, well. And there's the girl-cycle every two weeks...not a happening I want to dig anymore. I'm so sick of it. So I went to the Community Co-Op and had the Herb lady pill (and tincture) me up. Now I just have to take care of this extra weight the estrogen's helped me pack on. It's only 7 pounds, but I'm fairly tiny and don't carry extra weight well. I think I need to go to Bikram, maybe. Sweat out some toxins. Or I could go back to swimming. I dunno, I feel odd going by myself to the gym or whatever.
I'll figure it out, I s'pose.
I'm kinda bummed, though. I had to cancel my tattoo appointment due to the blowing out of Not One, But TWO of my tires. I really wanted to get my back colored in, and I love getting drilled on, but it seems I am more responsible than I'd like to be. So, money goes to new tires and towing fees, not lesbians who like to sling ink. Sad. But I think the tire-blowing crisis was well digested by all involved parties (mad kudos to Ma Mere for keeping a cool head; we may make you mellow yet). Instead of being freaked to the Nth degree, I was mildly annoyed and a bit distressed over the money aspect. Le sigh.
I may be growing up a smidge. Shhhh, don't tell.
The lack of emotional dramatics may have something to do with the fact that I am no longer on all kinds of crazy pharmacueticals that I was wrongfully prescribed or prescribed for too long. My head feels all nice on the inside now, would you like to come in?
Right. Ima go watch some Sealab and CSI now. Not simultaneously, though that'd be cool.

If there's one thing that pisses me off, it's people who sit around, snickering and pissing and bitching about how awful their job is, what a joke it is, etc, etc.
Dude. Just. Fucking. Find. Another. Job.
Or...how about this! You could suck it the fuck up, because your employers are PAYING you to do a task YOU AGREED to do upon your hiring. It's not like you wrote a whole bunch of personal info on a piece of paper and pissed in a cup to do this, right?
Riiiiiiiiiiight.
Goddamnit, people with poor work ethics piss me the fuck off.
Especially older (my dad's age) men, who want to sit around, pontificating and pseudo-mentoring me, whilst their deadlines come and go and come and go. Especially pisses me off cos I'm in charge of making sure those deadlines are met, damnit.
(open letter of rantness!!!!YAAAAAAAAY!)
Hey, Sir? You're not fucking helping anyone by sitting here, flapping your jaw. Your drawings were due in DECEMBER. It is now almost March, and nearing the end of the program. SHUT UP AND FINISH YOUR SHIT. QUIT WHINING ABOUT HOW IT NEEDS TO BE BETTER AND JUST FUCKING DO IT. Don't send me ridiculous emails with links to the demotivation site, cos I don't really find those too amusing. I may be annoyed be the echelons of management, but rather than bemoan my bad fortune, I have enough drive to want to overcome them and fucking dominate the company. And I will. You shouldn't even be summoning me over for chats and crap, damnit! I'm glad you think I'm cool or whatever, but I could give a shit less about your personal life while I'm at work. Believe it or not, I usually have a fuck-ton of work to do. Not as much as you, but...Yeah. Shut the fuck up, quit making excuses, and bust those drawings out, ya fucking baby. It's not hard.
Goddamn, I hate whiners. It makes me want to take a tire-iron and sink it into their temples, or maybe just curb-stomp them a little. For a brief moment, of course. But not too brief.
Arg.

Listen. I know I'm supposed to be the oh-so-very mature one in the group(s....yes, plural. what with the social whoring and all that). And I am, indeed, more mature than most folks my age. But swear to sweet Jebus...I am no fucking adult. I'm not really sure I'll ever be. And y'know...I'm glad of it.
I have one friend (ok, ex-friend for now) who recently turned eighteen and is busy freaking on the "I'm an adult now! You can't tell me what to do! Watch me assert my independence!" trip. It's cute. Cute and sooooo annoying. Hence the hopefully temporary ex-friendness.
Anyhoo. Sidetracking, as usual.
I guess my point is, I STILL have all the emotional maturity of a thirteen year old boy. I can maintain my temper, and let things roll of my back, but I am a fucking idiot about a lot of things. Which is okay, the Dorian is only human, after all.
But I could do better. Really.
I just don't really want to. I like being selfish and stubborn about particular things, I get a sick sort of giddiness out of having certain irrational opinions for illogical reasons, and I like to tell gross jokes about dead hookers. That's just how it is for now. I don't want to settle. I don't want to change my schedule or the chaotic, strange breakneck speeds at which Le Squidge and I travel for anyone or anything. I want to maintain my self-indulgent ways. See? Immature.
And I just so do not fucking care anymore.
The recent lack of neuroticism is nice, though. Don't miss that.
Don't get me wrong, I still rock it politically and am doing the social activism thing. I was actually educating some men I work with on the downfalls of western medicine in the birthing sector, the merits of homebirth and the magic of Ina May Gaskin (I am super gung-ho on empowered childbirth. not like women's bodies were built to do it or anything...). I also persuaded them that the majority of feminists do not, in fact, hate men. They just want to own their souls. Or is that just me? I forget sometimes. ...I kid. I care about others, but as far as my personal life goes...Bitch. Do what I want, how I want.
On that note....DUDE! My final project at school next quarter? Gonna build a TREBUCHET!!!!! Yes, I know you're all jealous. Try to maintain your envious rage. Please. Anyways, the only way I could be more excited about next quarter is if we were studying structural integrity and materials....Which would mean fire and breaking MORE stuff....Oh, wait, we TOTALLY ARE. And there will be more trig...ohhhhh, yes. Much more. So happy.

So, frightening factoid. I've been single for an entire week and a half now, and it's the longest I've been single in....2 years and then some.
That is just not fucking alright.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am NOT the type of girl who doesn't feel complete without a fella. I'm cool with me. I mean, I always appreciate dating on a superficial level, you know, keeping things light and on the emotional DL. So I guess that doesn't count as being in a relationship so much as keeping myself amused and with companions.
I like partners in crime.
I get a bit too crazy about said partners, though.
Maybe this recent bout of singledom came along to teach me something. Like, I'm ok. I enjoy a lot of things more when I'm not carrying the baggage of others. If someone can't accept me, it's not my problem.

Whatever.

What a useless post.
Go here for further info: www.blog.myspace.com/witchbabywiggbat

Why don't I cuss profusely on this blog? I dunno, maybe something about already being rotten and posting these at work...
And swearing is not something the IT dep't smiles upon.
Ever.

Man, it's funny how something like listening to an amazingly well-organized and reasonably eloquent woman politician putting the m***rF***ing smackdown on one of Dubya's groupies/cronies can cheer you up a ridiculous amount. Marvelous, I tell you. Senator Feinstein is just a freaking joy to listen to during Senate hearings. It got me all kinds of giddy to hear her during the Roberts confirmation hearings...she can really drive a point home with a few well-chosen sentences. After she gets it out, it really doesn't matter *what* the reply is, because she's already made her impactful point. Whomever is being question will usually try and backpedal, or try to make the Senator's questions and supporting statements sound waaaay less heinous than they are.
Damn. I wish WA's senators were like that.
I'm totally NOT voting for either one of them again.
They're kind of smile-and-nod wussy Democrats. Bandwagon politicians, if you will.
Whatever. Go listen to the hearings if you aren't already.

This makes the third blog I've had in my relatively short time on earth... others may be perused at www.blog.myspace.com/witchbabywiggbat and www.livejournal.com/users/divine_doom
Goddamnit, I really need to get a life.
But I suppose that'd take effort, and I'm all about avoiding excess effort. Ok, not really, but it sounded appropriately Slaker-ific and dissaffected, right? I mean, I'm 21, I've got to keep some sort of hipster credibility.
...as long as I don't have to listen to Emo music and have revolting two-tone, badly chopped hair, that is.
I'm not sure what to write for the time being, usually I whine about whomever I'm dating and subsequently piss them off or drive them into neurotic states (which is kinda funny, I must admit), or ramble about corpses in my crawlspace/beer/the idiocy of people/art/architecture/trigonometry/Beck Hansen.
Like I always say...I'm amusing, if not crunchy and fattening.
Wait...
..No.
Not fattening.
Just crunchy.
More will follow, I promise. Or threaten? Whichever makes you happy, ladies and gentlemen. It only gets better.