Archives for August 2011

Monday Dare: Uh-oh, you got found out.

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Fuck the fuckers

I am furious.

Since it’s the last month of my Project, I wanted to talk about the positive things I’ve learned over the year. Things like how to be grateful and how to enjoy the small pleasures in my day-to-day life. Today, I wanted to talk about bucket lists. But there’s been a change of plan. We need to talk about fuckers.

What’s a fucker?

A fucker is a person who brings you down. He or she is a person who makes you feel sadness or stress or anger or discontent.

I feel all of those things right now.

This morning, I punched in a search on the internet. I wanted to find a picture for today’s post. Surprisingly, the search turned up an image from my own blog.

How very strange. This is clearly a mistake. 

Sadly, it wasn’t a mistake. When I clicked the image, it sent me to another site. After perusing the site for a few minutes, I realized that it had been stealing my posts in their entirety since November. With no credit back to this blog.He has also posted pictures of minors and original artwork from other blogs as his own without permission or credit to the original source.

I’d like to say that I handled the situation with class and dignity. I’d say it, but I’d be lying. I sent a very unladylike message to the owner of the site. I also spent most of the morning contacting the other blogs that have unknowingly supplied this motherfucker thief with material.

I don’t have a funny story for you today. I do, however, have a request.

If you are a blogger, please take a minute to do an internet search of key phrases from your blog. Make a list of ten or fifteen things that are signature “you” phrases. Maybe search for the names of your kids or pets or the name of that unfortunate date you talked about two years ago. Add a Google Alert for key phrases and your blog name. Once a month, type your own name into an internet search.

I am not linking to the offending site because I refuse to give them traffic.

Pattrick- You got found out. You should run. (Y’all it’s a GUY who spells his name with two T’s. I don’t want to crack a smile here, but I can’t help it. Oh Pattrick, you weird son of a bitch.)

I’d like to punch this fool, but instead, I’m going to put on my Big Peoples Pants and try to calmly resolve the situation- by eating some Necco wafers and watching Little House on the Prairie.

Friends, I need some tips. How do you stay calm when your inner gangsta wants to come out?
image via

Fuck y’all, I’m from Texas.

Even after moving 20 times in 30 years, I still consider myself a Texan at heart. I still honk when I pass a car with a “Don’t mess with Texas” bumper sticker. Usually, the driver doesn’t understand why I’m honking, and I’ll get the middle finger. Once, I saw an unfortunate looking man wearing a “Fuck y’all, I’m from Texas” t-shirt with his Tevas and camo shorts. It brought a little tear of joy to my eye. He was my peoples.

I still make a big deal when the county fair comes around in Los Angeles every year. It’s not the Texas State Fair, but I go because I enjoy the nostalgia of megajillion dollar hot dogs and fajillion dollar funnel cakes eating fair food, riding rickety deathtraps carnival rides, and trying my hand at old-fashioned games like ring toss and the dunking booth even though those motherfuckers are rigged I rarely win.

I also go because it reminds me to be grateful.

The first time I went to the Texas State Fair, my singular mission was to ride the giant ferris wheel.

I passed most of my time waiting in the long line by spying on my fellow Texans. I was intrigued by the middle-aged woman who ushered fairgoers in and out of the cars. The most striking thing about her appearance was the deep frown lines permanently etched into her face. She was the most miserable looking person I had ever seen in my short life.

When we got to the front of the line, my dad realized that we didn’t have enough tickets for all four of us to go on the ride. He insisted the three of us ride while he took pictures from below. We argued that we should get back in line after purchasing more tickets.

As we started to leave the line, the family behind us offered to give us the tickets we needed. We declined. They insisted. We accepted. They waved away our thanks.

The miserable woman shook her head as she watched us get into the car. She said loudly enough for all of us to hear, “I don’t know why people want to be nice to strangers. What’s the point?”

Even now, I don’t know the answer to that question. What’s the point? I’m not really sure. The only thing  I know for sure is that I choose happiness and gratitude over misery.

I am grateful for kindness without strings attached. I am grateful for the small things which bring so much pleasure. Also, I am grateful for Bel Biv Devoe.

And y’all?  What are y’all grateful for?
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image via the yellow house shop @