Dear blog readers, I am in a mood of foulness that has followed me around like Winnie the Pooh as a little black raincloud all day, only nowhere near as cute. Like, near-to-posting emo STATUSES foul. Can you even imagine? I know. It’s that bad.
Work is the suck, and people are the suck, and stress levels are high, and tears have happened in bathrooms. It has not been a good day. Although, you’re reading this on Thursday, maybe Thursday is a better day. Maybe the raincloud lifted, what the hell do I know.
ANYWAY, I am not fit for human consumption today, because I’m totally going to snap someone’s head right off. I am going to a play tonight, and it’s a play I’m very much looking forward to seeing, starring some of my favorite people, but all I want to do is pull covers up over my head and have a good long cry, followed by an equally long mope. And some Dumbcat-cuddling, he makes things better.
I would go into more detail, but that’s along the lines of emo statuses, isn’t it? Being all vague and “you know what you did”-y and whatever because the people whose heads I want to snap off are probably reading this right now? And, NO, don’t you even DARE message me asking if you’re one of the head-snapping-off people, if you don’t know, the answer is, YES, you probably are. And even if you’re not, I’m going to TELL you that you are for sending me an asshole message and trying to make me be the custodian of your neuroses.
Anyway. You’re here for the funny, right? I’ve got no funny. No funny to give. I’m all weepy like a frigging eyeliner teen.
Let’s talk about two things, then I’m off to the play.
One: President Obama did a brave thing.
In an election year, he came out in support of same-sex marriage. Both he and Vice President Biden did, actually.
Now, he did this Wednesday, and he was in Albany (the awesomemest place ever to awesome) Tuesday. COINCIDENCE? YOU BE THE JUDGE. FINE, it was probably coincidence, but I’ll pretend it wasn’t. Just to make myself happy.
Here’s Obama, in his own words:
“I have to tell you that over the course of several years, as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors, when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.”
And here’s Joe Biden, who’s quite often got the Amy foot-in-mouth disease, but here came through like a champ:
“I am absolutely comfortable with the fact that men marrying men, women marrying women, and heterosexual men and women marrying another are entitled to the same exact rights, all the civil rights, all the civil liberties. And quite frankly, I don’t see much of a distinction beyond that.”
It’s an election year. This is scary, because the President and Vice President potentially just alienated a lot of (coughhomophobichatefilledassholescough) voters. Sorry. That was rude. Some people are also old, like my grandmother, and think that if same-sex marriage is legal, she’ll be FORCED to marry a woman. Because that’s what Fox News told her. I wish that was a joke. If it makes you feel better to pretend it is, go to.
But they did it. Because they believed it, and because it was the right thing to do. Why else would they have done it? They could have merrily kept waffling about it, like they have for the past four years. I mean, we’ve all been grumbling for them to take a stand one way or the other, but no one could force them to show their hand. Really, it probably hurt them more than helped them to do it, right? Or maybe Obama watched Fox News one day, like I was forced to all last week, and realized, “meh, those people hate me so much, there’s no coming back from that, in for a penny, in for a pound, let’s do this, Biden!” My mom thinks they did it FOR votes, but I don’t think so. I think we’re still a country with more people against than for, unfortunately.
Listen, you all know where I stand on this. I’m not too shy about my feelings on the matter. I’m lucky enough to live in a state where it is legal. But North Carolina this week approved a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. We’re still living in the middle ages in some states, here. This is a hot-button topic. You don’t meet too many people with no opinion on this one.
Do I love everything Obama? Nope. Was I going to vote for him anyway? Hell yes, look at my options. I’d like to retain control over my lady-bits, not much of a chance of that if we go Romney, now is there? (“THERE IS NO WAR ON WOMEN!!!” Shh, Dad.) But now I’m a little happier about my vote. So, thanks, Obama and Biden, for standing up for what’s right. Much appreciated from those of us who realize that there’s nothing scary about allowing consenting adults who love one another to get married. Well, except for the fact that WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?!?!?!1?!? I’m kidding, I’m kidding, the children are FINE, shush up.
This made me snort-laugh today. He looks so matter-of-fact. “Just another day on my unicorn! Shooting rainbow lasers! As you do!”
Two: Science has an explanation for social media. SURPRISE! IT’S SEXY.
According to this article, both talking about oneself and bragging about oneself (they’re…not at all the same thing, actually? But the article really doesn’t make a distinction, weird) triggers the same parts of your brain triggered during sex (dopamine, for you sciency folks.) So, according to SCIENCE, when you tweet or update your Facebook status, you get a little high that’s kind of like the high you get from having sex.
Social media totally gives you the O Face, apparently. Who knew?
The scientists did this study where people could answer questions online for money. They were given more money if they answered questions about abstract things, like politics, and less if they talked about themselves. Most opted to talk about themselves. (How much money? I’d answer Trivial Pursuit questions like a BOSS and stop talking about myself at ALL if you paid me enough.)
OK, listen, I like to talk about myself as much as the next gal (bragging…um, well, I don’t know about that, what the hell would I brag about, I live in a place that’s smaller than most of your garages and we currently need a litter change all up in here, just saying) but I’d just like to say that, for the record, I’ve had sex, and I’ll choose that over updating my Facebook status every. Single. Time. Tweeting – um, well, I’m a little addicted to that. Let’s say, 75% of the time I’d choose the sex. If tweeting and Facebook status updating are supposed to make me feel all sex-euphoric, I’m doing it wrong. Wait, am I supposed to be naked while I’m tweeting and Facebooking? Dammit, this isn’t working for me at ALL. Are my dopamine injectors broken? Oh, that would be JUST LIKE MY BRAIN. What? There’s no such thing as a dopamine injector? Well, that would explain why mine isn’t WORKING, now WOULDN’T IT?
Is this fishy to anyone else? NO THAT’S NOT A EUPHEMISM. Or are you all experiencing sex-highs from social media and I got nothing? Eff.
I’m back from the play. It was wonderful, but I’m exhausted. Also, as good as it was, it did nothing to alleviate my crankiness, and the asshole people are still being asshole people. Also, once? I had a crush on a guy? And that ended poorly. And now whenever I see him my stomach hurts. Did I see him tonight? (And did he look frigging amazing? And smell so, so good, WHY MUST YOU MEN SMELL SO GOOD? It makes it nigh-on impossible to hate you when you smell like lusciousness.) Well, I have a stomachache, you do the math. ALSO, did you ever have a bad day, then it’s like the Jenga of bad days, where EVERYTHING just EFFING KEEPS GOING WRONG and you take a BLOCK from the BOTTOM and you PUT IT ON TOP and then the WHOLE EFFING THING FALLS RIGHT THE EFF DOWN? That. I’ve got that today.
Here’s a story that will undoubtedly bring cheer to someone who isn’t me, because I’m in a dark pit of mad that not even The Nephew can rescue me from. Then I’m going to bed, dammit.
So The Nephew goes to storytime at the local library. There are ten kids. They listen to stories, play little games, etc. Mom said yesterday, the story lady gave all the kids a penny. Now, The Nephew was STOKED. He was SO EXCITED. Someone gave him money! Then the story lady put ten felt donuts on a felt board, told a little story about someone selling donuts for a penny (what kind of dark magick is this? I want to live in penny-donut-land), and then called the kids up, one by one, and had them pay her their penny for a felt donut. Yeah, I know. It’s the stupidest, I don’t get it, either. I feel like something’s been lost in translation. So she called The Nephew’s name, he went up, he got his felt donut, he sat down, good kiddo. Then she kept telling the donut story (what the hell else is there to tell? This storytime is LAME, I would ROCK storytime, can you even IMAGINE how good I’d be at storytime? Those kids would NOT know what HIT them) and Mom said a few minutes in, a little voice said, “Can I have my penny back now?” and yep, it was The Nephew. He didn’t want that lame felt donut. Who would? It’s all about CASH MONEY BABY. So story lady ignored him, so he apparently thought it was because he wasn’t loud enough? So he was all, “CAN I HAVE MY PENNY BACK NOW?” and finally she was all “Ha ha! No! You can’t, you…um…already ATE your donut!” (This might go down as the dumbest thing anyone ever told a toddler in the “I put anything in my mouth ever” stage in the history of time.) So The Nephew looked at the felt donut, shrugged, and popped that thing right in his pie-hole. Story lady is all, “WE DON’T EAT THE FELT DONUTS!” Well, LISTEN, lady, you’re the one handing out money to toddlers, then making them trade it for a metaphoric handful of beads. Then telling them to EAT THE FELT DONUTS. Don’t be surprised when they follow orders. Weirdo.
Off to bed. Hoping for cheerierness tomorrow. Or I might punch someone in the uvula. That’s frowned upon in polite society, I think.
