Warm in winter, and I don’t mind.

While I have a serious history on this very blog of bitching about warm winters, this year, I am glad for it.  This is for several reasons, all stupid (?):

1) Our charming and old apartment is as drafty as a mother-of-26′s baby canal.  (How dirty!  I have a sinus headache and Charlotte broke my neti pot.  It happens.)

2) Our neighbor is so disgustingly stinky that we need to prop the outside door open.  Warmer weather means that the building gets less cold (not that it’s warm anyway) and that other folks are less likely to close it.

3) I am feeling my age and am achy from lack of good nutrition, lack of exercise and lack of not being a fatass.

You might be white trash if…

….if you move into an apartment building at 10pm on a weekend before Christmas and stink up the building with the smell of seven thousand old ashtrays before your stinky belongings are even in your apartment.  Also if the building stinks so much like garbage and cigarettes now (all the time) that people have to prop the door open in the winter to breath inside.

Also, holy shit, also if you fucking CHEW TOBACCO and leave the tub in the communal trashcan that’s seven feet from your fucking apartment door.

Seriously?  It’s almost 2012.  You fucking CHEW?  Wow.  Am I judging people who chew and saying that they are crazy and/or stupid?  Yes.  If you are or were foolish enough to start chewing tobacco, you are fucking stupid.

And a smoke detector keeps going off.  My new neighbor?  (Fuck.)

Christmas for scumbags.

Okay, so Charlotte has a great affection for a number of PBS shows, especially the one you and I watched when we were little.  There are some really cute little figures that are not easy to find that she likes.  Aside from actually rare special editions, I made sure that she has them all, with help from family.  I was looking on eBay for said rare editions.

I figured out why these things are hard to find.  Hundreds of dirtbags have bought them up and are selling them at a high mark-ups.  I’m not talking about exclusives.  I mean that assholes rush into the store, buy all the stock and then sell them for double or triple the price on eBay, calling them “rare”.  I know.  Capitalism.  Free country.  All that.  But this has me up late seriously irked.  If I had more energy, I’d message them one and all.

As it is, I’m full of hot cocoa (good place for a poop joke) and am off to read A Christmas Carol.

Here, via Google, perhaps, if a public service announcement.  If you’re looking for the Hasbro/Playskool Sesame Street figures, go to Hasbro’s website.  You can get them for the same price as the store.  So there.

Thank you, worst mail carrier ever.

Thank you for tossing my packages up the stairs.  Thank you for cramming my mail into the box and regularly ruining/ripping it.  Thank you for piling everyone’s large mail in one heap on the days you don’t feel like stuffing it into the boxes.  Thank you for showing up, talking loudly on your cell phone and waking my daughter up; the volume you achieve in this fortress of a building is very impressive.

If she were the only mail carrier or postal employee I knew, I would never ever ever use the US Postal Service.  (And I love the USPS.)

Yes, I’ve filed complaints about her.  I might just yell at her next, if I can catch her.  For a fatass who’s too lazy to do anything correctly, shit, she moves fast!

I take umbrage when…

….I am called a “retard” and “9-year-old” behind my back (but within earshot) by someone with several less degrees than I have, especially when said person makes a big deal out of distinctions.  I mean,  I don’t like to play the “I have three degrees, and you failed first grade” game, but if I’m drawn into it, I’m all too happy to quietly gloat as a friend of mine says, “Wait, he’s got a PhD in philosophy.  They don’t give that shit out.”

I have chronicled only a small portion of a percentage of the shit I have gotten, and still get, for my education.  I don’t like talking about it because one of my worst (and probably unfounded) fears is for people to start believing that I define myself by three letters or — even worse still — that I look down on other people because of it.

But, nonetheless, and in case you were wondering:

Mean-spirited teasing toward too-educated people marks you as resentful, jealous,petty and, well, stupid. Because if you don’t realize how jealous and petty this kind of shit makes you look, you must be stupid.  Or you don’t care.  And everyone I’ve met who cares that little about being an asshole has also been, one and all, stupid.

This includes:

“You [sic] got a PhD, and  you can’t XXX.”

(Actually, I can XXX, and I can do it while reading Kant.  Can you?)

“All that education and XXX.”

(Fuck you. You didn’t pay for it or help me or, if you’re talking like this, support me. Once again: fuck you.)

“Well, I don’t have a PhD, so XXX.”

(Am I supposed to feel badly that I traded my 20s, a large part of my sanity and a student loan debt that could literally buy a house to get a PhD I thought I needed for a career I thought I wanted to pursue forever?  What’s it got to do with anyone else that I need to hear what people feel about it so fucking much?)

“What, are you stuck-up now that you’re a Doctor?”

(No. Are you insecure now?)

“[Perceived shortcoming of mine] And you’re a Doctor?!”

(Well, shit, I was busy studying philosophy and shit, not learning to XXX. Silly me. I guess I got into the wrong fucking program.)

In conclusion, there is nothing magical about a PhD — except it’s magical ability to often turn “Doctors” into assholes and — more often, I’ve found, unexpectedly — to turn everyone around said Doctors into assholes.

And that is all I have to say about that.

P.S. Call me “Doctor” please. : )

Ima kick you in the throat.

That’s it.  I’ve had it.  I am no longer speaking to anyone who actually writes/types, “Ima,” for, “I am going to,” — as in, “I am going to do nothing but sit on my fucking ass and hang out on Facebook all weekend after doing it all week.”

It’s my birthday in two days.  If you love me, stop with the Ima, or Ima poop in your car on a hot day.

Or some other empty threat I won’t carry through with.

In other news: I Am a Stranger Here Myself — great book!

And there’s a large tree that was uprooted in front of my apartment building — facing the other way.  It’s blocking half of our street, and assholes in luxury SUVs think they can cross the median and speed down the street the wrong way.  It is wrong that I hoped the Lexus I saw this morning would have plowed into a tree and gotten totalled, all the while leaving the driver unhurt?

Just when I get sad to leave.

I’ve mentioned our long-broken windows and other assorted perils of our current (soon to be ex-) apartment.

Low and behold, someone showed up this morning to fix them.  Over the course of an hour or hour and half, he broke glass, made a mess, cleaned some of it up and left.  Okay.  Come to find out, they’re showing our apartment tomorrow.  One of those windows has been broken for seven months.  But today — TODAY — they get fixed.

Only they don’t.  It’s been about four hours since My Man left and almost two since they said they’d be coming with glass today.

So two of our windows are missing their glass.  Nice.  I also sure had fun cleaning the glass and paint chips from the floor.

I’ve decided to be naughty for tomorrow’s showing, but I haven’t decided how yet.  I do plan on revealing the name of this building, for search engines to find — after we have our security deposit back.  There are some [negative] reviews on the web, but still.  Man.  Gotta give prospective tenants/victims warning.

–Wait.  Another, larger, guy is here to replace the glass.  It only took seven months!  Awesome.

Time to get Charlotte up from her nap, I guess.

I can’t believe that this kid is a year old.


This has been a hell of a year, in ways both good and bad. Good because, well, look at her. Bad because people don’t stop being assholes when your baby is born, I’ve found.  (See part 1 and part 2.)

I think I’ve developed a list of unexpected assholery and ways of dealing with [some of] it over the last year, which is fodder for some longish blog posts.  Maybe I’ll get to some today during Charlotte’s nap, now that I’ve gotten my PHP updated and the look I like back.

On severe Facebook abuse.


Okay, we all bitch on Facebook. If you’re friends with me, then you that I’m not immune to it. Certainly. A bad day at work meant some complaining both before and after lunch, with a gross display of my list of most annoying workplace assholery (not showing up for meetings you call yourself, wasting literally half of my day listening to your bitching about how you can’t handle the drama in your life like an adult, etc.).

But I’m having trouble stomaching the parents who do nothing but bitch about their kids on Facebook. And I mean nothing, aside from a monthly, “Oh, I’m so lucky that I have three [or four] beautiful blah blah blah and a good man yadda yadda yadda.”

Sometimes I meet these kids and expect The Devil, but usually they’re just normal kids, often even delightful. And their parents are just venting — which is normal, so far as I can tell (not that it matters).

Facebook is already a place all-too-often devoid of filters which might prevent us from being jerks in person. Add lack of sleep and the feeling that one is somehow justified in one’s frustration, and it’s a, “my kid woke me up 15 minutes early today, and I don’t get no rest, and my life is hard, and no one gets it,” festival.

What happens when we put thoughts we might best keep to ourselves onto a semi-private feed that most of our friends and family read?  What happens if your kid ever reads it?  Nothing’s supplanted Facebook yet; our tots might find our profiles one day, if they have a high degree of computer literacy and if we actually let them get on Facebook.

Maybe some of us just need to get a freakin journal — or a blog!  Hell, if you blog, no one in your circle can justifiably bitch that you’re offensive, judgemental (hello!) or tasteless.  It’s not like you’re making anyone read it.

Yes.  Blogs are better, still.

All these random effects of parenthood.


Boy, the patience you find!  Despite being chronically sleep-deprived, you find more patience for other people’s demands.  Whether it’s demanding your time or attention, not cutting you any slack (despite being parents oneself), or insisting that one’s feelings are more important that yours or even your child, we get to encounter lots of people who test our patience all the time.  My favorite?  A smoked-out Hampdenite with three teeth and a cigarette in hand who stops you on the street to demand, “How old?”  That’s barely an intelligible question.  I almost responded, “I’m 31.  How old are you?” once, but, like I said: patience.

Must be something built into the human race, for people to test the patience of new parents and, thereby, strengthen it so that we have more patience for our children and our marital/relationship adventures, as we add “mother and “father” to our list of roles.  Maybe it keeps us a calm when our daughter pukes all over herself, highchair and floor or when she gets up when we’re going to bed and stays up until 2 a.m. (like last night!).

Empathy!  Parents gossip about one another, even new parents.  I’ve repeated the story about someone I know who loudly won’t give his/her kids candy or sweets but has given him/her both alcohol and caffeine in my presence.  I even thought some other people were crazy for bragging about their baby sleeping through the night at six weeks (holy shit!) when it was precisely because this kid was out with his/her parents until midnight regularly and that “sleeping through the night” to them meant that said baby would sleep from 1 a.m. when they got home until around 6 a.m. when they got up for work.

And this was before I was a parent!  I find myself empathizing with people whom I’ve judged and/or gossiped about because I know people are judging Mama and I, are analyzing our choices, etc.  I know because I can “tell” and because people people tell us and/or judge us to our freakin faces!  “You read too much,” is a nice one, complete with implied resentment over our massive [over] educations.  “That’s not what I did; I did X,” is another one, wherein you have to make people feel better because they made/make different choices than you did/do, even when your kids are close in age.  “You need a car,” is one I’m going to start peeing on people’s shoes over, along with, “What are you going to do when/if she wants to eat meat?”  “Sorry you feel guilty for the 7-passenger SUV; that’s your problem,” I feel like yelling.  And I want to shake people by the shoulders to force them to tell me the last time I forced vegetarianism on anyone who has a choice.

My point?  I find it easier to understand being on the receiving end of assholery these days.  And more patience.  But I wish people wouldn’t reiterate it all so damned much.

Here comes the 28th.

I have grown considerably tired of explaining what happens when my contract is up Monday. What’s so weird about a father leaving the workforce (at least full-time) to care for his daughter? And what do the three letters after my name have to do with it?

I never need to have issues about being PhDed and “home” — lots of other people do that for me.

Re: Bitch Nipple Receptionist.

Re: Bitch Nipple Receptionist.
“You’re not going to talk down to _me_ just because you’re sitting on the other side of the counter with 1/2 of an AA degree.”
(First time I signed PHD to my name.  Also one of the most condescending things I’ll ever publicly say.)
(10.12.10)

Rightwing pundits are RESPECTFUL!

Saw a news snippet wherein Sarah “I Shoot Stuff” Palin called herself respectful.  I shit myself.  Literally; I ruined a good chair.  I could think of a lot of things to call her, but not respectful.

“Hey, nice language, Buddy.”

Got off my bus this morning, with coffee and the cold on my mind.  I was crossing the circle at the train station, and another man was in front of me.  I noticed his grey Chucks, since the only other grey ones I have seen have been on my own feet.  He began crossing through the crosswalk, when a BMW sped around the turn, looking the other way.  I froze, and the other man froze, luckily.  The car came 3-4 feet from hitting him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” said the pedestrian.

“Hey, nice language, Buddy,” the asshole driver repeated, “Nice language, Buddy.”

Because, you know.  The work FUCK is worse than almost breaking someone’s legs in the morning because you’re not looking where you’re driving at the same time that you are speeding.  Yeah.

I forgot all about it.  But last week was the five  year anniversary of us going car-free, the day we handed a man our keys and $6,600 (yeah, we lost money selling it).  I don’t miss it, but I’m not a happy car-owner, either.  I don’t even like to be in them when I can help it.

One problem with seafood.

Eating it and getting all that mercury messes  your brain up.  Then you don’t realize what a dicky thing it  is to microwave a  bushel of fish for lunch at work and stink up the whole office suite.  Ugh.

Took my daughter to vote yesterday.

The election judge gave her an I VOTED sticker also.  This is Maryland.  There aren’t many people to vote for who are not moderate Democrats, which is to say, full of shit.  For Governor, I didn’t vote for either of those smug bastards.  How different is Maryland, really, since the last governor?  Or the one before him?  We have higher taxes and a new license plate.  But.  Still.  I stood there and knew that it really didn’t make much of a damned difference which frowning/smiling smartass I voted for.

It didn’t make a goddam difference because voting is the most that the majority of us do.

The Big Boys have us so lulled that we think that voting matters, and then we demonize people who don’t vote.  I know; I’ve done it, probably on this very blog.  Voting for one crook over another isn’t going to change one damned thing when a person doesn’t do anything else. Do we think laws are doing to save young men from lives in crime and sloth?  Or the Boy Scouts and other youth groups?  Is a piddly fine for driving with your cell phone going to stop people from the general assholery to which they are accustomed?  (Shit, I don’t know what will.)  Nothing the current government can do (much less anything they will do) is going to save any of us.  I can almost see where those teaparty nutjobs are coming from.  But, then again, morons from Alaska and Glenn Dickhead aren’t the only alternative to Washington inertia.  And, well, we all know where a lot of the teaparty rage comes from.  You know.

And we don’t even have a radical left anymore to fight the teaparty nuts.  “Everyone calm down.  Let’s work together!”  or, as Obama might put it, “I want social change, but I don’t wanna piss anyone off to get it!” The Civil War is what happens when there’s huge social change.  Lynching in the South.  Riots in the 1960s.  The obnoxious riots from the teaparty nuts are not a reaction to anything real or even threatening.  Not enough people are burning shit or really going nuts.  Yelling and signs don’t count.  This could mean that we’re all asleep (like the bumper sticker says).  But I think it’s more indicative that nothing is changing.  And I feel  like a fool for thinking, two years ago, that a lot was going to  happen.  In my (and countless others’) defense, after eight years of Bush, we were right to hope.  But we were wrong to channel our hope into campaign buttons and a vote and to stop there.  Obama told us that back then.  We sat around and waited for the magic new President to save us from the demons of the Republican party who are, you know, so different from the crooks in our own party, right?

Moderation happens when competing extremes can only work together through compromise.  It happens when neither side can win and when there’s no alternative.  When moderates and right-wing nuts fight, where would that compromise go?  A little right?  Or, since few so-called “liberals” really give a shit anyway, it might go largely right, no?

Watching people speed past kids, talking on their cell phones; learning about businesses screwing over my friends who work for them; experiencing first-hand what happens in an insurance state where no one wants to pay for you getting run over by a car; — In all this, I want more government, or, at least, more regulation.  I always say that it’s because people are assholes that we need laws.

But  our government doesn’t work.  Can any?  I thought anarchists were naive because they seemed to believe in some inherent goodness in people that I just don’t see.  But maybe they see an inherent evil in governments and power that I ignored?  Or, perhaps, I was a fool to see the lack of goodness in ordinary people left to rule themselves and also the terrible lack of goodness in people elected to and paid to lead us.

My wife chided me for voting for the Green Party candidate for governor.  She said that I threw my vote away. But did I throw it away more — or less — than someone who stepped in line behind their party (whichever it is) and hit D or R whenever asked?