My deadly foe has struck again.  The bugs have returned.

It seems that they hanker, not for a super-secret lair of leaves and dirt, but of deceptively safe wicker.  That’s right, friends, they live in the baskets.

How do I know this for sure, you ask me?  Because this new plant, this lovely tree that I arranged artfully next to our front door, is FAKE.  These wretched, all-consuming insects have infested a FAKE plant in their effort to snack their way into my body and devour me from the inside.

Needless to say, more stomp-crushing ensued.

I am ever so sad that I will have to dispose of such an easy-to-maintain and pretty decoration.

Round two to you mother-in-law.  Don’t expect to catch me off my guard a third time.

I have been trying to create this post for months now.  It’s been drafted with several different angles, none of which seemed adequate to describe the desperate feeling that has been growing in the pit of my stomach, the feeling that everything is going to shit, that we are on a runaway train straight to hell, and that demons and sodomy are not the worst things that await.

I’ve always been idealistic.  When, many years ago, “Why can’t we all just get along?” was the pop-phrase of the day, I was the one thinking, “Well, why can’t we?”  Really, is it so hard?

And the answer is: Yes, apparently, for a significant portion of the world population, it is extremely difficult to be tolerant, to be kind, to overlook perceived faults, to forgive those things which aren’t really injustices but which are taken as such in order to insure that one’s place in life is assured.

Why is this so?  Is it because of religion?  Is it because of politics?  Upbringing?  Were all those angry people out there beaten as children, or not beaten enough?  Is there some secret club of  haters of which the rest of the world is unaware?

Have we, as a society, been so intent on teaching “every-man for himself” that we’ve forgotten the Golden rule?

No, I say.  These may be symptoms of the problem, but they are not, ultimately, the root.

At the root of the problem is choice.  We make the choice every day to be polite, courteous, giving, tolerant, happy, righteous.

Or we choose to be bullies.

The bullies of the world will use any excuse to gain their way, to push their agenda, to hurt anyone that they like simply because they have the power to do so.  Bullies will stretch the boundaries of law to the breaking point, step beyond, and cry foul when anyone tries to stop them.

And we are letting them do it.

Every day, these people are getting away with more violence, more hate, more murder.  They’re the reason that the rest of the world is running scared.

Well, I’m tired of hiding in fear.  I’m tired of being surrounded by people who would hurt me at first chance, and I’m sick of the fact that many of those people trying to hurt me are in positions of authority within society.

I’m done letting the bullies win.  I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but from this point forward, I will be fighting those bastards tooth and nail, and I’ll be damned if I let them drive this world any further into the ground.

I’m taking back my planet.

Have you seen the new Star Trek movie? The one that is supposed to be a prequel to the original Trek?

I think it is awesome. Especially the part where Kirk is suffering side-effects of Bones’ effort to sneak him aboard the ship. And Scotty. And Chekov, or however it is spelled (is it a sign if I’m too lazy to visit my own IMDB link to fact-check?).

Anyway, that isn’t really the point of this post.  The point is actually that there is something about the beginning of the movie that is seriously irritating.  Like, really, script writers?

I can only think that they (the writers) were probably geeky male Trekkies, who have no understanding of the real world.

My issue: at the very beginning, there is a woman giving birth.  They are in space, so obviously they have the capability of interstellar travel and all of that, so WHY THE HELL IS THE WOMAN GIVING BIRTH THE NATURAL WAY?!

Why is she screaming and in pain and sweaty and ugly?  I mean, if they can use their nifty little transporter beams to transport people off of frickin’ planets over tens of thousands of miles, why can’t they just “beam” the little poop-machine out of the womb and save everyone all the trouble?  Especially mom, who is going to have to put up with the shit lovely child for the next 18 years or so.

Or why is there no other technology that far in the future to aid in child-birth?  Probably because it doesn’t “exist.”

Men never think about the important things.

And that’s why we shouldn’t let them set policy for women.  Because if fiction writers, who have the power of God, can’t get it right, then what chance mere mortals?

I’ve been on the internet a lot over the past few days (now that I’ve stopped my meds entirely in anticipation of starting the MAOI, my head is not really functioning well enough to do a lot else).  There’s a lot going on in the world, some of it bad and some of it good.

The bad stuff?  It makes me feel like shit.

But sometimes, somebody posts something so good, that it renews my faith in mankind.  Or, at least, increases my hope that we’re not spiraling uncontrollably down the drain.

Gina Carroll posted an article on BlogHer entitled Encountering Crisis Online: What to Do When Someone Threatens Suicide.  It’s a must read if you’ve ever encountered a person with severe depression, and probably a “really good thing to read if you’re planning on visiting my site over the next few weeks because I am half-way out of my head.”

Another excellent post, also dealing with online social media as an outlet for expressing emotional pain, and how to respond when you encounter it, was just written by Catherine of Her Bad Mother.  You can read it here: “Who, If I cried Out, Would Hear Me?” On Twitter, Tales And Tragedy.

Sometimes, when life is so awful that you want to give up, it’s just nice to know that there are people out there who care.  Thank you, to all of you who care.

I’m not going to post the context in which this comment was made because I honestly can’t even stand to think about the issue.  If you’re interested in reading about it though, you can find it here, here, and here.

“Suddenly it’s a magical man-containment pouch! Like the TARDIS? Or a tractor beam! Oh no, my man-holding tractor beam is malfunctioning! It must be my advanced age of 27? Here I was thinking that these were parts of people, like hands or ears, with no actual science-fiction level powers.”

I could NOT. STOP. LAUGHING.

Next time I have to go to the doctor to have my lady-business inspected, I’m totally going to ask if my tractor beam is in working order.

Also, if you comment as purpleshoes on Pandagon, you are *teh AWESOME*

ETA: Also, I am not at all trying to trivialize the seriousness of the articles in question- the whole issue disgusts me.  I just can’t even begin to comprehend what the original guy could be thinking.  I’m just glad that the comments are there, and the commentators who think the guy is a douche.

Since June.  With BUGS.

I’m serious people.

For our wedding anniversary, she gave us a plant.  I’m a plant killer and prefer to have only fake ones in the house actually, but that is beside the point.  I had the plant in the house for a few days until I read online that it is toxic to dogs and since my dog loves to eat everything but her food, I put the plant outside on our front porch.

It turns out, that move probably saved my life.

We don’t go out our front door very often, so I only noticed yesterday that the plant was dead.  Did I mention that I’m a plant killer?  Yeah, I think I watered it last in like, October.

Anyway, so I thought, well I don’t really need a dead plant on my porch because how classy does that look, even if only the FedEx guy and the Mormons see it, and the basket that the plant came in was really nice, so I could use it for storing my yarn or something.

Today I went out to dispose of the plant and recover the lovely wicker basket it came in – and that’s when I almost died folks.  I was picking up the basket and moving it around on the porch, trying to cut away the plastic liner and BUGS started falling to the ground.  Hundreds of them!

They were these icky, beetle-like things, and they must have wanted to devour my flesh because they kept swarming toward my feet and I would kick them away and they would come right back.  Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and I started crushing them, just like Gimli crushing the skulls in Return of the King when they are looking for the dead army.

I’m pretty sure I had that face too.

The point is, I know what kind of bugs we have around our house, and I know that we never had any flesh-devouring beetles.  Ergo, they could have only come from the plant.  Ergo my mother-in-law has been subtly trying to kill me all this time.

But I’m on to her now.  See if she slips another plot past me!

Bored with my life.

This blog is supposed to be all about how I’m trying to become the kind of person that I wouldn’t mind admiring, if I was someone else because I’m not sure that you are supposed to admire yourself, and also a place to hone my writing craft because that is how I define myself when I’m not depressed and defining myself as a loser.

But it’s just like “meh.”  That’s it.

Here’s a run down of the things I’ve been up to:

• I went to Disney World.  There were poopy people there, and I got an awesome hat and bag.
• I’m tapering off of Cymbalta and I have the almost irresistible urge to stick something metal in an electrical socket, just for fun.  And I feel like barfing 65% of the day.
• I made a dollar with an online survey.  Woot.

And that’s about it, other than inter-personal problems that I can’t really write about because certain people read this blog because I was retarded and gave them the link.  Oh, and I’m looking into a business venture and thinking about re-branding.  And I want to move because I live in a terrible area and I’m afraid to go outside because I’ll probably be shot and raped.  In that order.

What’s new with you?

ETA: Apparently I can’t remember what medication I’m taking anymore – it is Cymbalta, not Celexa. Figured that out from an older post …

The wonderful staff over at BlogHer have approved my blog, and I’m now in the life section!

Screenshot: My Place on BlogHer Life List (click to enlarge)

I guess this means that I should start writing some posts …

My husband’s best friend is a guy named Ian.

He is one of the most reliable people I have ever met, and he’s an awesome friend.  He’s also a freak of nature.

Have a package of three-month-old, slightly green cocktail weenies?  Yeah, he’ll eat ‘em.  And live.

Need a washing machine carried upstairs?  He’ll do it.  By himself.  And then go do some push-ups just for the hell of it.

He and hubby used to intimidate the hell out of all those guys at the gym who walk around all buff but who really got that way from drinking protein shakes and lifting sissy weights – yeah, Ian and hubby would be pumping 400+ pounds on the bench press.

Anyway, so Ian has always been into martial arts, and in the last year or so he has really gotten into competing in amateur MMA.  His ultimate goal is to go pro with the UFC.

So far, his record is 4-0, all wins in the first round.  Here is the vid of his last fight, on November 21st.  You can see a red wrap around his left leg – that’s from slamming it into the corner of a wall during practice a few weeks ago.  His whole leg and foot are swollen; hubs says it’s probably fractured.  And he still kicked the other guy’s ass.

This is the Meme of Indescribable Awesomeness.   I totally did my picture based on the MacGyver pilot.  We’ve just started watching season 1 at home.  It is freaking PERFECT.  There is seriously nothing better in life than watching RDA sneak up on some communists wearing a bright red beanie and blue boots.  Oh, and he’s totally a man-whore.

I crushed hard when I was younger.  You can check out the episode on IMDB.

Click on the picture to make it bigger.

Peek-A-Boo!