xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Yeah. Good Times.: November 2012

Friday, November 30, 2012

It was a Pyrrhic victory

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Social media tips from @jillsmo

Let's say you're following somebody on twitter who annoys you. You think they're a whiner, you think they talk too much about getting drunk or something, you think they're a shitty parent.... for whatever reason, you don't like them. You no longer wish to read the things they have to say about their lives.

This is potentially a very common problem for those of us who use social media, and so I've decided to use my vast social media experience and give you guys some tips on how to deal with a terrible situation like this.

If the offensive behavior is happening on Twitter, here's a simple button you can press that will instantly alleviate you of your crushing burden:

And on Facebook? There's a similar button!

Here's what you should NOT do, however:

Because.... why is being an asshole necessary?

The answer is that it isn't: being an asshole is not necessary. It makes you angry, it makes other people angry, it causes unnecessary fighting; it's just bad shit, in general. If something bothers you so much that you feel the need to say really, really shitty, personal things to somebody you don't even know? Fuck off and keep scrolling.

In short, my social media tips can be summed up with this handy graphic, which you are free to use and share:

For more social media tips, constant talk about vodka, stories about shitty parenting, or just general planet-killing irresponsibility, you can follow me on twitter at @jillsmo or on Facebook at Yeah. Good Times. YAY!

Friday, November 23, 2012

The bane of my existence

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The ebbs and flows of poor personal hygiene

Earlier today I was sittin' ... just sittin'.... you don't need to know where.... and I was looking at my arms and noticing that I have a ton of freckles and sun spots and shit. I remember asking my doctor about them years ago, she said they're there "because you're old." I love her. That's just something that happens to your skin when you've spent your life in the sun, it develops freckles and spots and other unsightly things.

But today I noticed something was new; there was a new spot I hadn't seen before. I spotted it and immediately thoughts of melanoma went through my head. That's the kind of cancer that killed my brother so everybody in my family is hypersensitive about any changes to our skin. I inspected it and saw that it was dark and symmetrical in color and shape, so probably not melanoma. Probably just a new freckle that's there because I'm old. I pondered the new spot on my arm, thinking about life and how everybody ages; one day my kids will be my age and I'll probably be dead; one day they'll have kids of their own who will also be my age... the circle of life, the constant ebbs and flows of it all. Very existential stuff for a Sunday morning.

But then I moved and I bumped my arm onto the side of the counter and suddenly half of my new spot was gone! So, I scratched at it and the rest of it just came right off.


I guess it was food. Last night I made duck with a miso glaze and my spot was the exact same color that the duck skin had turned out to be. A nice, deep dark red, almost black; it really was very tasty.

So much for the ebbs and flows of life, this was just some food I'd dropped on myself while I was eating, about 12 hours earlier.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Fuck you, cancer

We have this area in our house that has a very long section of floor; you can see by the picture, which I took just now, that today the space is used to spread out a really long piece of easel paper, and said paper is then used to draw elaborate BART tracks or elevator schematics. When Child 1 was a pre-walking baby, this space was used for him to crawl back and forth, or push his cart back and forth. Eventually, and also today, this space was used for him to run back and forth.

My brother died in April 2003, he was 35; in 5 months it will have been 10 years. One day when Child 1 was a baby he was at my house, sitting on the couch that would have been just off to the top left of that picture. Watching Child 1 crawl back and forth in that space I remember him commenting "wow, he really likes to go back and forth back there," or something like that; I don't remember the specifics. It didn't make an impact at the time but I guess it stuck in my mind, for some reason.

This was before our diagnosis, before Child 1 even had a speech delay; he was 15 months when my brother died. We had no idea, at the time, that this space would become significant in later years; when he would spend hours running back and forth in this space, this roomy space on the other side of the couch. Where he can now spread out his very long piece of easel paper and draw his most favorite things. There was nothing significant about his comment of my brother's, at the time.

Today, though, I will sometimes watch Child 1 flap his hands, jump up and down and run back and forth in this space, and my memory of that day is sparked. I remember what my brother said about that space behind the couch and I get angry; so very very fucking angry. My brother, who took notice of the significance of this back and forth space before any of the rest of us did: he's supposed to be here now. He was supposed to have been here when Child 1 started walking, when he was diagnosed, when he went through his home program, when his brother was born, when his brother started walking, when they both went off to school..... He was supposed to be here for this. He's supposed to be here now. He's supposed to know his nephews, to be the awesome Uncle who gives them treats and teaches them tricks that I disapprove of, who they want to hang out with when they have a day off. He was supposed to be here for them. They're supposed to know him.

He would have kids of his own now; I would have my own nephews or nieces. My kids would have these cousins, they would have their play house in San Francisco with all the toys and the games and the piano. This is what was supposed to have happened. But cancer had other plans for us, apparently. And almost 10 years later I still get so angry about it. So fucking angry.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

It's not fair. It's not fucking fair.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Dead mouse revisited

I discovered a dead rat in my house earlier today and as I forced hubs to deal with it, while I cowered in the corner, I was reminded of what happened the last time I found a dead rodent in my house: My most favorite post ever. I originally posted this in July 2011

So, it was Friday night, late, and I was making my final rounds through the house, turning off lights and such, when I encountered 2 things in my TV room: 1. A dead mouse, and 2. A bowl of cheerios that had been spilled all over a chair. I took pictures of them both, assuming I had something for a "Things I Find In My House" post.... little did I know that fate had other things in store for this particular blog post. I would show them to you, but, nobody really needs to see a picture of a dead mouse, right? So you can imagine what it looked like. Plus, I have no doubt that you can also imagine what a spilled bowl of cheerios might look like.

I stood there for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do about this situation. Normally what I would do would be to call hubs and make him deal with the dead mouse, and then get one of the kids to come and clean up their mess on the chair. However, everybody was already in bed, hubs had the flu, and I figured I should just deal with it, myself. But what was I supposed to do?

Then it came to me! I'll take the bowl, where the cheerios used to be, and I'll use it as a scooping device, of sorts, and I'll take the dead mouse outside! Awesome! Oh, did I mention that it was Friday night? And that I was drunk? Yeah. That fact isn't necessarily important to the outcome of this story, but it should be pointed out, nonetheless.

So, I do the scooping thing, and I head into the backyard, and suddenly I'm being followed by about 5,000 (murderous) cats who are very interested in what I might be carrying in this bowl. Hey, what do you have there, human? Can I see? Can I just check it out? Just real quick like? And suddenly I have this sense of urgency, that I must get rid of this mouse as soon as I possibly can. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with it; I actually considered composting it, but that would have required a whole lot more effort than I was interested in at the moment, so, instead, I head to the back of our backyard, to the fence that separates our property from the neighbors, and.... observe.......

And then I went inside and went to bed.


Thursday, November 8, 2012

The R-Word and Why It Matters: The Case of Jenny Hatch

Please take a moment to read this article, written by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, about Jenny Hatch. Jenny is a high-functioning 28-year-old woman with Down Syndrome who has been placed under temporary guardianship and sent to a series of group homes, away from the community she knows and loves, and against her will, and then sign the petition at Change.org.

Thank you!!!

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Horray for vaginas!

Last night was a victory for vertical smiles across the country!!  Congratulations cooches!!!

Let this be a lesson to the cranky old men who want to wield their power sticks and try to control our love muffs.

Our beavers will not be silenced. Last night they spoke out, taco-style, and discharged a very clear message to politicians: Stay out of our clams!!


Sunday, November 4, 2012

Things I Find In My House

Thursday, November 1, 2012

I'm getting fuzzy for my boys

Look at me, I'm wearing a mustache in that picture. Isn't that CRAZY???

Well, no, not really, but here's me wearing a french maid's uniform AND a mustache. That's actually more awkward than anything else.

For the month of November I will be participating in Movember, which means I'll be wearing a mustache here and on Twitter, and probably Facebook. And wherever else I go, I don't know, reddit? Anyway, Movember is a movement to raise awareness for testicular and prostate cancer. Men are supposed to stop shaving and grow a mighty stache; women support them by.... well, considering my PCOS I probably could grow a mighty stache if I wanted to, but, no.... not so much. Instead I put a fake mighty stache in my avatar.

Oh, and I create a page at Movember.com in case anybody wants to donate. Money goes directly towards prostate cancer and testicular cancer initiatives. After all, I live with 6 testicles and 3 prostates that all need to be kept safe!