Sadly, with the mood I’m in now, it might end up being less… positive than I would like.

Whatever, y’all know how I roll by now, right?

I had my yearly ob/gyn appointment on Tuesday, which was also a “let’s figure out just how fucked up your uterus is and why you can’t get pregnant” sort of appointment.  The good news is that it went extremely well, much better than I ever expected.

But it’s a long story worthy of a post all its own, and right now I can’t even think about that because I’m a little concerned that come next weekend we’ll be living in a cardboard box.

We have been looking hard-core for a place now for 3 and a half weeks, and we are basically right where we fucking started.  Tomorrow we’re going to look at our last resort, back-up apartment complex.  I’ll be praying they can get us approved in time to arrange everything to be out of here next weekend.

God help everyone if I have to go without internet access.

Why is this so difficult, you ask? Well, I really don’t know other than maybe being a property manager is a super hard job that makes returning phone calls, scheduling appointments correctly, or showing up on time damn near impossible.

Apparently we lost that other place, but I don’t know for sure because Big Local Property Management Company never did call us back.  Despite reassuring us twice, with rolled eyes and a heavy sigh, that they would call as soon as they knew something.

Maybe they were too busy rolling around naked in all their application money.

Sometimes, we call about a place and find out that all that stuff on their ad about how they allow pets, or will do a month to month lease, isn’t true.  But maybe we would consider a longer lease, or a different property that happens to be more expensive?

Bait and switch, much?

And no, I don’t mean Craig’s List.  I mean actual websites of legitimate property management companies.

Or, sometimes, we call and after being assured we are the first people to call, and will therefore get the first available appointment all by ourselves, we show up to find someone else looking at the same time. This person is always either a ninja, or someone who has already filled out an application.

We’re still waiting to hear about the duplex we applied for on Tuesday.  There are lots of things I like about it, but it’s not my first choice at all.  It could be nicer, cleaner, and closer to town.

But, I guess it beats living in a cardboard box.

For the purposes of my rant, I’m going to assume that most of you know the basic details – he drugged and raped a 13 year old girl in the late 70′s and than ran away to another country to avoid imprisonment.  Here’s his original plea agreement if you feel like indulging in a lengthy, disturbing read.

A warrant has been out for his arrest ever since, and he was recently arrested in Switzerland.  Which for reasons I can’t begin to fathom has prompted outrage from some in Hollywood.  Here’s a copy of a petition signed by a bunch of Hollywood types who apparently think it’s OK to rape children, as long as you are a gifted enough filmmaker, or enough time has gone by, or you were just minding your own business at a film festival in Switzerland.

Woody Allen signed it? Shocking.  Because, you know, he’s one to talk….  oh, never mind I’m getting distracted.

I’ve heard people say the crime was so long ago, and the victim has forgiven him.  Good for her, that’s fantastic. (No, I’m not being sarcastic).  But can we stop and consider that she’s had 30 years to get to this point? 30 years that hopefully included therapy and support from loved ones?

Right now, we’re reading and hearing the thoughts of a mature woman who’s had a very long time to deal with what’s happened to her. Maybe if the face of his victim were a scared, crying teenager, this would be playing out a little differently in the media.  Would it help anyone to consider that’s exactly what she was when this happened to her?

But you know when I really got stabby?  When I heard someone ask, “Yeah, but was it really rape rape?” And this particular caller was questioning how much of a rape it really was if she was drugged and didn’t remember much of it.  Another caller suggested it was her fault for being there in the first place and making herself  “available”.  Another suggested that you know, some 13 year olds do look a lot older than their age.

(UPDATE: Ok, about 20 minutes after I posted this, I saw the you-tube clip of Whoopi Goldberg defining rape for us.  Gah, I wish famous people would use their power for good.  How many others besides the radio show calling tool went around quoting this as a good argument yesterday?)

As much as I wish they would, I’m not naive enough to think that everyone in our society has moved past this blaming the victim mentality, especially in rape cases.  But as awful as it is to suggest a woman was to blame for her rape, now we’re going to blame children.  Children? Really?!?

Which brings me nicely to my next point.  Lots are asking “Well, where were her parents?”  True, that is an excellent fucking question.  Someone should have been there to say, “No, you are NOT going to Jack Nicholson’s house to do drugs and have sex with old men.  Now go to your room, young lady.”

And even if she had been blessed with parents who might have prevented this? Let’s say for the sake of argument, she defied her parents and snuck out and went anyway? Because you know, I never lied to my parents, or did shit I wasn’t supposed to when I was a teenager.   *rolls eyes*  Is it still her fault then?

NO.  Because she was a fucking child.  This is why we have those things called, you know, laws.  Laws that say a 13 year old is not capable of giving consent.   Laws that say it’s wrong for adults to have sex with children.  Laws that he broke.

It shouldn’t matter that he broke them so long ago.

People, can we please leave the Obamas alone? Please? I’m begging here.

No, I didn’t vote for him. Mostly because we don’t see eye to eye on most social issues and I’m not a fan of big government. I’m a registered Republican only because there’s not a good third choice. Yet.

Anyway, like I said in a blog shortly after the election, he is my president (and yours) whether you like or not. Yet, here we are barely 3 months into his presidency and people are still bitching and nitpicking every little thing.

I’ve read comments online from people vowing to “fight him every step of the way”. To what purpose, exactly? To keep our country mired in the name-calling, finger-pointing, and lack of getting anything done that we’ve been in for the last 8 years? That sounds like a great plan. And by the way, thank you for showing the rest of the world what a shitty American you are.

Sure, I disagree with some of the decisions he’s made since being in office. I’m deeply disappointed in his decision to support FOCA, for one. Deeply disappointed. I suppose I could write a long ranty blog about it and pour some more negativity on the fire.

But what I chose to do was write my representatives urging them not to support it. And then I pray every day that his heart will be changed about this issue.

But actual politics aside, if I read one more article about Mrs. Obama’s sleeveless dress or how she wore a sweater to meet the Queen, I am going to lose my shit. For one thing, she is supporting American designers. For another thing, has the Queen said that she felt offended or disrespected by what Mrs. Obama was wearing? No? Then shut the fuck up.

And now, the First Family had the nerve to go out and get a dog that wasn’t a rescue dog. Never mind the fact that their daughter has allergies, never mind the fact that it was a dog that didn’t succeed in a first home and could very well have ended up in a shelter, never mind the fact they are still planning to make a sizable donation to a local animal shelter. It apparently wasn’t good enough and has prompted such outrage that I’ve read exactly 10 articles about it.

There is more important stuff going on in the world than Mrs. Obama’s bare arms and Bo’s prior living situation.

Didn’t some dude just get rescued from pirates? Didn’t Lindsay and Sam break up? Isn’t another Duggar pregnant?

Priorities, people.

A. Ignore it completely because you so totally don’t need this shit right now

B. Try to remember which blog you said that in so you can go back and re-read it to make sure you didn’t say anything else too bad before you check yourself and realize his ass is lucky “ginormous mistake” is the worst thing you’ve said about the marriage.

C. Reply to his email with a definition of ginormous and a detailed list of the personal and financial consequences you’ve experienced over the last 10 years as a result of the marriage to demonstrate that said consequences were, in fact, both simply huge and extremely large.

D. Write a blog about it because only a fool would drop sweet ass blogging material right in a blogger’s lap and expect it not to end up in a blog.

Looks like I went with D. That’s how I roll.

Hence the reason I’m having a Bloody Mary at three o’clock in the afternoon. OK, it’s not a real Bloody Mary, it’s just the best mixed drink I could scrape together without leaving the house. And it’s got a V8 in it so technically I am getting a whole day’s serving of vegetables. Last night I drowned my sorrows in 3 buck chuck, and this morning woke up quite annoyed with Mr. Charles Shaw for doing me so wrong. But hey, some Alka-Seltzer, a few hours of resume updating and job application completing and I am ready to get back on the horse.

I would have loved to have spent the entire day ruminating on how unfair life is and why everybody hates me, but sadly once again I don’t get my way. In case you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t heard, the economy and the job market suck ass.

Of the handful of openings in this town that I’m qualified for I was interested in exactly one position. And it closed today. No time to sit around feeling sorry for myself. It was up at my usual time, some hangover curing, and straight to work on finding a job. Fortunately since I just fucking got this job six weeks ago, it took me about two seconds to update my resume. Actually, my resume and master application were still sitting on my desk because I hadn’t gotten around to putting them away yet.

Even with what’s happened, I don’t regret leaving my job at the Church. Parish Place readers will know what I mean when I say I needed to get out of there and I was too overwhelmed with getting through each day to look for something else. So when I heard from friends that an old job that I loved was open and was part-time and was about to be handed to me on a silver platter I leapt at the chance to take it. For lots of reasons. The chance to do something I love and know that I’m good at. The chance to work every day with some of my best friends.

The only thing that gave me pause was the contract nature of the position. I asked and was told, “They just renewed our contract – we’re good for 5 years”. I breathed a sigh of relief and accepted the job, just knowing this was going to be the last job I ever had. Surely before those 5 years were up I’d be a stay at home mom with a couple of rugrats, polyp-filled uterus be damned.

Life was good. We were approaching our first anniversary with a plan, Stan. And it was a good one.

Then all of a sudden, the state decided that technical details like legal contracts weren’t going to stop them from cleaning house. And clean house they did. Of the three of us on the contract (all good friends), two of us are gone. At least I have a husband and was the second income, so we aren’t going to starve or be homeless. Susanne’s a single mom.

And the one who’s left? Feeling like shit as she watches her friends get laid off, at the same time realizing she’s in for a world of hurt. Because knowing Retailbitch, she will expect Whit to bend over and take it up the ass.

And it wasn’t just us – pretty much all contracts are gone or severely cut. For all my smartass comments, I really, sincerely believed that the new administration (presidential and state) was going to support funding for social services. That this economy shit didn’t apply to me – there would always be a need for folks like me – and fucking woo hoo a Democrat in the White House *and* as our new Senator? I was sitting pretty, my friends.

Except. The word on the street is this is happening not only because of a current budget shortfall, but in anticipation of more funding cuts coming down the pike because of the new administration. What what what? That’s not what I was lead to believe with all this Change and Hope hoopla.

At least Options was nice enough to tell us as soon as they knew for sure. But since it’s effective December 1, making my last day the day before Thanksgiving, I get to work for two more weeks at a job that just royally screwed me. I want so much to just say fuck you and not ever go back, but that would only hurt the people that are left and I would never do that.

I hate that I have to compete with my friends for the few jobs there are. I hate that I’ll be 35 in three days and my career is shit. I hate that it feels like buying a house and having a baby is getting further and further away. I hate that my friends are hurting. I hate that I haven’t even thought about what to get the best husband ever for our first anniversary. I hate that he probably already got me something really awesome before our budget went to shit.

K, I’m putting the haterade down now. Thanks for listening.

Come on people, now, smile on your brother, everybody get together.
Try and love one another right now.

The election is over. Obama is our new President. No, I didn’t vote for him. Yes, I’m a conservative…mostly. And before you jump to conclusions, no, I wasn’t a supporter of McCain/Palin either. Furthermore, I do not and never did heart Bush, because I do not heart war, bad economies, and general stupidity. I’m as ready for change as anyone. And I will do everything I can as an American to support our President. Maybe me and Obama don’t see eye to eye on some, ok, well, most things. That doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s a great man who can be a great leader. I cried watching his speech, and felt a swell of pride for my country. And yes, Hope that he will bring about this Change of which he spoke so frequently during the campaign.

That being said, people on both sides are entitled to have feelings about the way it turned out, and to express them without being told not to. This is America, this is what we are about.

I’m seeing some shit on myspace and facebook and it’s pissing me the fuck off. And then all of a sudden last night I found myself going off on people’s blogs and commenting on status updates like a crazy bitch. When I should have been cooking dinner for my husband.

My friend who is a military wife made a simple status update expressing her concern, and next thing you know one of her own friends is ripping her, me and some other people I don’t even know a new asshole. As far as I could tell, it was simply because we dared to disagree. In fact, my comment was that I was fundamentally opposed to most of his prinicples. Well, I am. He’s a Democrat, I’m a Republican. Duh, people. That doesn’t mean I think he’s a socialist, associating with terrorists, and whatever else the media was saying about him.

Then I went off on someone on Nina’s myspace blog who dared to suggest that now we’d have a bunch of “urban” – yes I believe that was his “polite” way of saying African-American – communties full of people living off welfare, popping out babies, and smoking crack. Who then went on to talk about how his parents owned a convenience store and welfare people used their EBT cards to buy cigarettes, so he was going to educate us on the “realities of the field”.

Oh. Hell. No. So I left a comment educating HIM on the realities of the field. You know, that I work in every fucking day. I tried real hard not to swear, but well, you can imagine how that went. My West Virginia comes out when I get mad, too – like if I would’ve been saying it out loud, you would have detected a bit of a twang. It happens when I get mad, drunk, or sing country songs.

What was I talking about? I guess I’m done anyway. My point is everyone just play nice, please. Don’t tell other people what to say and how to feel. Unless they’re racistfuckingassholes like the myspace guy. Then feel free to let them have it.