I'm a bad girl

By which I mean, not that I am a bad person who is female, but that I'm bad at being a Girl.

Exhibit A: I hate wedding planning.

I mean, truly and deeply hate it.

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Fucktards

We're in a recession, people. You really care so much about who the people down the street are having sex with that you're going to waste millions of dollars so you can pass a law making their lives more difficult? I swear, you people spend more time thinking about gay sex than the gays do. It's like a sick obsession.

You people suck. You disgust me.

The Popularity of Hope

I'll never be popular. But at least, if and when the United States is overswept with some horrific social philosophy calling for, say, the ritualistic murder of red-headed children of Ukranian descent born on the full moon, I'll be one of the martyrs instead of one of the conspirators. Um, yay.

I've never been "normal." I've always liked Sci-Fi (which is bad enough for boys -- I can personally assure you that it's really unacceptable for girls). I never had great fashion sense. I have never, ever cared one whit about brand names. I think MTV and reality television shows are boring beyond boring. I do not understand Dane Cook's appeal, and I never will. I was using computers long before it was cool. (In fact, I was one of the few who joined the first-ever online networking site -- pre-AOL, let alone Friendster, MySpace, or Facebook). I didn't particularly like Britney when she seemed relatively normal, but now that she's so screwed up I feel sympathy for her (unlike those who love nothing more than kicking a girl when she's down). I was loud when I was supposed to be quiet, and bored when I was supposed to be interested. I was homeschooled. I was not remotely popular, ever, as a kid.

So it really shouldn't come as a surprise that, once again, the ocean is flowing one way and I'm facing the other thinking "what the fuck?" To what am I referring? Why, the U.S. presidential race, of course.

Now, here's the thing that really kinda gets me: I was a trendsetter here. I liked Obama before it was "cool" to like him. I liked him when he was an underdog with beautiful ideas and inspiring speeches. I liked him before will.i.am probably even knew who the fuck he was. Nothing's particularly changed since then... so why am I so goddamn sick of the Obama love orgy? Shouldn't I like the fact that people recognize and value character (or at least, apparent character) in a politician? Shouldn't I be glad that we might actually have a black president?? I mean, aside from political differences (an issue with every politician, in spades), how AMAZING would that be.

And yet. I just. Ugh. I can't feel it anymore. I can't get into it. I watched the video the other day and by the time it was over I was feeling pretty emotional... about the fact that apparently I'm the only person in my generation who doesn't "get" how "important" it is elect someone with such a message of hope. Is it because I disagree with the message? Of course not. And I really, really love how even-handed he's been, as a general rule, throughout his campaign (although, sadly, I cannot say the same for many of his supporters*). Is it because I don't like his policies? Well, they certainly aren't ideal from my quasi-libertarian perspective, but they're far from the worst in this election. In the past I have certainly supported candidates with whom I've had at least as much disagreement.

I worry that it may be some bizarre, vaguely misanthropic distrust of mass support and popularity,** with a bit of a thing for underdogs thrown in, brought on by the fact that the people that everyone flocked to when I was younger were: 1) not me, 2) not my friends, and, most importantly, 3) complete tools.

Because... I can definitely get behind an idea that lots of people support. If the situation were simply that Obama was winning all the states, without some powerful, emotionally-grounded mass movement driven by college students and celebrity musicians, I think I'd feel a lot less wary of it. Even though I'd likely still suspect that a lot of the support was based on platitudes rather than pragmatism, at least I wouldn't have people screaming in my face constantly about how I have to vote for Obama if I believe in hope.

I went into this election season discouraged -- as usual, not a single legitimate, consistent, rational libertarian-leaning candidate out there (no, Ron Paul does not count). I'm afraid I may end it even more discouraged that I belong to a generation of lemmings (and, to be clear, I'm certainly not suggesting that all of Obama's supporters aren't thinking and researching for themselves -- but I am suggesting that many of them aren't).

*Don't even get me started on the rampant sexism this campaign season. Yes, there's definitely been a heaping dose of equally-ugly racism too, but not at the level of hecklers yelling at Obama that he should get back to the plantation (compare, e.g., "Iron my shirt!"),*a and, perhaps more importantly, not en masse from Hillary supporters -- very little aggravates me more than supposedly progressive sexists. At least from the right wingers (even the nice ones are generally benevolent sexists, which is less emotionally offensive but no less limiting) I expect it.

*a That said, if I have to listen to another person talk about how Obama wants to turn us all into Muslims and anti-white Christians simultaneously (how this is possible, I have no idea), I may just march up to the local Democratic party headquarters and demand that an extra vote be added for Obama's name, just to spite the racist asshole.

**And it probably doesn't help that my favorite subgenre -- the only type of book, other than caustically sarcastic humor, that I could honestly say I regularly find myself reading "voraciously" -- is dystopian fiction. I need to remind myself that just because everyone loves Obama doesn't mean he's Big Brother.

I hope.

Disappointing

Last night I had dinner in Santa Monica with a friend. We were seated at a bar with empty chairs next to us and at one point during our get-together a thirty-something guy sat down near us and struck up a conversation. We chatted with him for a bit before I made the mistake of using the word "exploit" in a sentence and he pounced: "Are you a feminist?" Unfazed and unashamed, I smiled and answered that I was (my friend does not consider herself a feminist because "feminists think all women should have to work." Sigh). Then came the typical thinly veiled hostility, the ungentlemanly remarks about my and my friend's bodies (superficially complimentary, but completely rude and obviously meant to antagonize), the totally inappropriate topics of conversation. Etc., etc. Pretty much the same thing that happens every time I talk to a guy who comes to realize I'm not a typical pretty ditzy LA girl, but I actually have a brain and not only do I know how to use it, I will use it to run circles around them if they can't keep up. I found the conversation somewhat entertaining, because usually these guys end up digging their own holes. By the end of dinner, he was suggesting that my friend and I come to his place for a wine tasting, noting how "romantic" his place was. Riiiiight. Thanks but no thanks, buddy.

Anyway, we left and I was still giggling at the absurdity of the conversation. My friend was laughing a bit too, but she was decidedly more shocked than I was. As we drove away from the restaurant, she talked about how unbelievable this guy was, how he had seemed cool and normal at first but he had acted completely rude, etc., and she'd never seen a guy act so badly in so many different ways before. I shrugged -- it actually seemed to me like a fairly typical conversation with a random barfly who wasn't worth our time. I mean, this is why I almost never date -- they're virtually all like this*, so what's the point?

And then it hit me. I always figured guys responded a little bit differently to me because I'm smart and outspoken, etc. But my friend is smart too, and she's no wallflower, and yet this guy's behavior surprised her. The realization dawned on me that men treat me disrespectfully because I have the audacity to insist on equality. To these neanderthals, I'm not an equal they can have a beer with and shoot the shit with and complain about their jobs with. I'm a little girl insisting that she be allowed to drive Daddy's car. And when they realize I won't back down from my unreasonable demands, they get nasty. It's like they're challenging me, competing with me, trying to beat me for the sake of putting me in my place. Showing me that I'm different from them and therefore not equal. (To be clear, I'm not suggesting this is their conscious intent, since I don't think most of them are smart enough to consciously intend it.)

I never realized how very different I was treated from other, non-uppity women, until a non-uppity woman witnessed the rudeness with which I'm consistently greeted by men and expressed how unusual it seemed to her.

Man, talk about paradigm-shifting.

* There are, of course, exceptions. Like my boyfriend Andy Samberg.

In which our intrepid blogger streams her consciousness

My POS computer broke. I got back from vacation this week and it worked for two hours, then it stopped working. I thought this was strange but figured it was one of the computer's many stubborn brain farts and turned it off, waited a few minutes, and turned it on again. But then Windows wouldn't start. Turns out the hard drive is broken. This is not the first time this has happened to me. My POS laptop (which I have roused from hibernation to satiate my internet addiction) did the exact same thing toward the beginning of my 3L year. I have to admit, that time was worse than this time; I had class notes on my laptop, which were irreplaceable if they were lost. I called Dell and was informed that the only way to retrieve my data was to send the hard drive to a data recovery service who would charge me $2,000 to get my data. I almost cried out of frustration and rage. I did not take Dell up on its extortionist suggestion. Instead, I took the hard drive home with me over Thanksgiving break. Dad asked a computer-savvy acquaintance to see what could be done and he was able to get the data off with almost no problem whatsoever. I know for a fact it cost nowhere in the same universe as 2K. Dell assholes.

Anyway, fortunately my computer is still covered by the Best Buy service plan I wisely invested in when I bought it almost two years ago. I took it in to the Geek Squad and the repairs will all be free. The data recovery, however, is another story. And, yes, I do have an external hard drive and, yes, I *did* try to back up my files, but at some point the POS computer, which *Best Buy* sold me, stopped recognizing the external hard drive, no matter how many times I tried to reinstall it. Notwithstanding any of the foregoing, Best Buy's philistine policy is not to cover data recovery under its service plans. Even though data recovery is likely the least expensive of the services it could provide, it's also the most lucrative. People will pay ridiculous amounts of money to recover lost data. A computer's just a computer. But pictures, movies, important documents -- these are priceless. I braced myself for a number that would set off a conniption fit, and was pleasantly surprised when informed it would cost only $160. The Geek Squad employee cautioned that there was a chance they could not recover the data, in which case I would still be charged $60 for the attempt. Well, these are amounts I am willing to fork over for pictures of my dead dog and music and videos I would otherwise have to convince Apple to re-send to me, which would take hours upon hours upon hours. So I gladly agreed as the employee assured me that, given that he was able to access the setup screen, it was quite likely that the data was recoverable.

So you can imagine my chagrin when Best Buy called me yesterday to explain they were unable to recover the data -- OH, but if I wanted, I could send it to a Geek Squad group in Santa Monica who had "better software" that would probably be able to get the data that the store I'd gone to "couldn't"! Well, how much would that cost? At least $500, and possibly $1600, if my hard drive is damaged badly enough.

I smell a scam. I wonder how many other people are told that Best Buy local is "unable" to recover data (after getting the nonrefundable $60 deposit) and directed to the more expensive store?

Fuck you, Best Buy. I am asking my computer genius friend to see what he can do, and HE'LL get my data for beer and pizza (actually, he'd do it for free, but I'm happy to buy him the beer and pizza for his trouble). Lying cheating asshole bastard extortionists.

On a lighter note, apparently I am a man. According to SparkLife's gender test, that is. Now, I've scored "man" every time I have taken their test (and, no, I didn't memorize the test and intentionally try to score "man." I couldn't even remember the questions, and I think some of them have probably changed). But when recording my score, I was informed that this new score was even MORE manly than my previous score. In other words, it appears that being a practicing attorney for two years has made me more "manly," or has made me think more "like a man," or something. Very, very interesting.

Also interesting: perusing my archives, I see that I used to be a much better, much more entertaining writer before I stopped having a life. I'm not positing a link, I am just drawing attention to two things I noticed today. This one makes me very, very sad.

Finally, I've learned that I have some important decisions to make in the next year, and I'm completely at a loss as to how to make them. So, those of you who are the praying type, prayers are appreciated.

Wimmins beware!

I can't really call this gloating, because I'm fucking pissed.*

But for what it's worth, I called it.

* Symbolically. I won't pretend to understand the medical mechanics of this particular procedure, which admittedly sounds pretty nasty -- although I did see someone on another blog remark that pretty much every woman who does this, does it because her doctor informs her she needs to for her health, and many (most?) of these women wanted the babies, and some would like an intact corpse to say goodbye to (in addition to the fact that it appears this procedure is sometimes safer for women than the alternatives). Interesting perspective. Anyway, putting all that aside, I've come to the conclusion that the primary reason for this legislation was to chip away at women's rights. And I am simply NOT okay with that, for reasons that ought to be more obvious than the sun.

Fuck you, Steve Jobs

Look.

All I'm saying is, there's nothing wrong or illegal or troubling about me wanting to watch season 3 of Battlestar Galactica from the comfort of my couch, on my actual TV, rather than hunched in front of my computer.

And yet iTunes, in its wisdom, has decided to make it impossible for people who spend hundreds of dollars a year on Apple products to actually enjoy those products in any manner that doesn't involve, um, purchasing more Apple products. Or something.

It's really fucked up that you won't let me watch something I purchased from you unless I do it your way. Twenty-something years ago people like you tried to ban VCRs, and you all got a resounding bitch-slap from the Supreme Court (back in the days when it worked right).

I'm not going to buy a damn video iPod for the sole purpose of hooking it up to my TV so I can watch a show I've already bought. And when you, Google, and China take over the world, I'll still hate you.

Thank God for my laptop. I don't get the TV part, but at least I can have the couch. Asshole.

Fear not, fellow Man-Haters(TM)!

Your Man-HatingTM Queen has returned for more Hatin' on Teh Menz!

I just got back from an awesome nine-day-long rest-and-relaxation visit back home Man-HatingTM Spree!

My first act of Man-HatingTM involved staying up late to chat with my mom and dad a patriarchal asswipe with whom she conceived me, though I usually pretend not to know him it. It sure was fun, filling them in on the details of how I'm doing exciting work in the career I've worked hard to succeed in because I'm ambitious and driven and would ultimately, someday, like to achieve some good in the world I Hate MenTM!!

This was followed up later in the week with a massage selfish Man-HatingTM act of slut-tastic relaxation in which I allowed someone not my husband to touch my body in a manner that pleased me. Then Mom and I met up with one of my old college professors for dinner Hated MenTM by purchasing food, for ourselves, with money we made working Man-HatingTM jobs. We also made sure to tart it up like the slutty little Man-HatersTM we are by wearing bright, attractive clothing.

I also spent some time hanging out with my brother watching Season 2 of my latest TV obsession, Battlestar Galactica plotting ways to overtake the man-pigs in my "family" and turn them into my man-slaves, as is the secret ambition of all Man-HatersTM like myself.

Of course, I also attended services at the church where I was confirmed six years ago, because even though I may not always agree with the rector's politics, I respect and like him and many other members of the church, and I think that my common faith with them can in many circumstances (e.g., Sunday services) transcend our real and important differences plotted the subversion and ultimate destruction of Christianity because I Hate MenTM, and God is a man, so I hate God.

The highlight of my trip was getting to visit with my sister, a fellow Man-Hating FeminaziTM, and meeting her new boyfriend, with whom she's planning a trip to visit me next month oblivious soon-to-be man-slave.

So, sorry for the break from the Man-HatingTM you've all come to expect from me. I promise it will be back in full force shortly!

* I felt it was time for a post where I came out and admitted, for reals, how much I really, truly, deeply Hate MenTM. I realized that some of my posts might have been a little ambiguous on the whole Man-HatingTM thing. I mean, in some of my posts it actually looks like I favor rights for gay men, when clearly really I only say these things as a great big "fuck you" to ALL men. And in some of my posts it even looks like I get along with the men pigs in my family, which is total bullshit. The only reason I ever spend time with them is in the hopes that one day I'll have the chance to hurt them, deeply and permanently. Everyone knows I'm a big ol' Man-HaterTM with a capital F! As are all women with the gall to demand basic respect and equality.

** See? Feminists make jokes, too!

You ever read one of those news stories

That kinda make you want to kill someone?

People who hurt animals are the lowest of the low. They're right down there with child rapists and child killers in my book. Anyone who would intentionally inflict harm on an innocent pet deserves far worse punishment than our system is comfortable doling out.

Shit like this makes me think the God of the Old Testament was onto something.

Happy Fucking Valentine's Day

I had fucking JURY DUTY today. Everyone at the Los Angeles Superior Court (with the exception of one very patient and courteous bailiff in Department 55 of the criminal court downtown) is fucking RUDE and INCOMPETENT.

After wasting my entire goddamned day sitting in the jury assembly room (thank God I brought work, which I finished in about 3 hours and then sat around wishing I had a fucking computer), they finally called me to a courtroom at FOUR O'CLOCK PM. This is an asstastically stupid time to call a jury panel, as the court closes at 4:30. The idiot judge swears us in and tells us we have to come back tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. for jury selection. I hope maggots eat his toes. He did NOTHING productive by having us come in at 4:00. He could JUST AS EASILY have called a new jury panel tomorrow at 10:30 a.m.; the difference would be he would only waste ONE day of their time, whereas he is now wasting at least TWO of mine. For my trouble I will receive a grand total of fifteen fucking dollars. I make fifteen dollars in about as many minutes. This is bullshit. Next time I get called I'm seriously tempted to just pay the $1K fine (yes, $1K) and be done with it.

As a delicious irony, this being V-Day and all, it's a domestic violence case. Me being the unabashed radical feminist (not to mention, you know, attorney) that I am, you would hope that no one would want me on this jury (having an independent mind and all that). My mom and secretary both seem to think they're so desperate for people there's no guarantee I'll get off (what, they're desperate? When they pay people fifteen dollars for two days of jury service? How can this be?). Well fine then. The instant anything remotely sexist comes out of the mouth of the defendant, his attorney, or any of his witnesses, he's earned himself a prison sentence (short of a hung jury).

Also, I have plane tickets to Boston next Friday, and I'm taking that flight. So they'll either have to finish the trial before then, or they can wait until I'm back to get a verdict.

This is so fucking retarded. This is my VACATION time they are taking. I get ZERO billable credit for this. They are robbing my PERSONAL time. And the "payment" for service? Thanking us for "taking time out of [our] busy day[s]"? What a fucking insult. I'd rather they do us the dignity of just admitting that this is the ass-rape of voters that it is, and apologize for not having the intelligence to think up a more efficient system (say, one that doesn't make me waste an entire day before I'm even called, "just in case" they might randomly need me), and maybe flagellate themselves a little. Seriously, I'd much rather have that than some insulting $15 check.

Oh, also, Blogger forced me to switch to new Blogger today. Fuck you, Blogger. I prefer the old Blogger.

And now back to making up for all the work I had no time to get done today.

UPDATE: Yay for plea bargains!!

God, I feel dirty just saying that.

UGH

This pisses me off.

He'll probably tie up more of our courts' precious time suing me, and waste more of our media's resources calling me "fat" or "slutty" or something similarly mature and well-reasoned if he ever finds my blog, but I'll say it: DONALD TRUMP IS A PATHETIC WEASELLY DELUSIONAL LITTLE BOOGER OF A MAN. Donald, I don't even hate you. I just think so little of you I can barely even believe we're the same species.

The King of Idiots' latest addle-brained ploy is apparently to hang a flag on a flagpole that exceeds the height permitted by content-neutral regulations regarding the height of building structures. Including, you know, flagpoles. The city gave him notice that he was violating the regulations and graciously gave him a month and a half to take down the flag or seek a permit to keep it flying. Apparently this wasn't good enough for the little man-child. Here is an actual, honest-to-God quote from the article:

"The town council of Palm Beach should be ashamed of itself," Trump said Thursday in a telephone interview with The Associated Press. "They're fining me for putting up the American flag. This is probably a first in United States history."

Wow. Just. Wow.

This man is a billionaire? Seriously???

Fuck, if being this stupid makes you billions, then why did I waste all that time in law school, learning unimportant little things like the fact that content-neutral regulations on the size of public structures do not implicate the First Amendment? What a sucker I was! Here I could be wasting the country's resources by filing a twenty-five million dollar lawsuit because I didn't bother complying with perfectly legal and reasonable city ordinances. And running a overhyped network series, to boot.

My God. Did I just step into the Twilight Zone?

Oh brother

I think that sums it up nicely.

While the thing about President Bush winning for villain and hero is interesting and all, that's not the part of this poll that gets my goat.

Here's what does: apparently people think that Britney and Paris are worse role models than Mel, and by a sizable margin.

Come again?

That's right. Heaven forbid our children DANCE and PARTY in their twenties! We'd much rather have them turn into curmudgeonly anti-semitic misogynists with an actual drinking problem.

And of course, this couldn't have anything AT ALL to do with the sexism and misogyny perpetuated by the likes of Joe Francis (see here and here for discussion of the disgusting manner in which these creeps prey on young women in order to maintain society's virgin/whore dichotomy by which women who express themselves sexually are deemed less than human and undeserving of basic human dignity). Nope, clearly it's because Britney and Paris are just worse people.

Um. Am I the only one who thinks God might be marginally more pissed about someone who hates His Chosen People than about someone who forgets her underwear?

Well dammit.

It's supposed to be a White Christmas, not a White Winter Solstice.

It appears I will be driving home tomorrow (in a one-way rental, which is extra money out of my pocket on top of the stupid $500 piece of shit flight that is now not taking off).

"Extremely upset" does not even begin to cover it. Add to my anguish the snottiest United rep I've ever had the misfortune of speaking with, informing me that no, I cannot get a refund for only the leg of my trip they've canceled (I have to cancel my flight back here, too), and you can imagine how my "vacation" is starting off.

In conclusion, United, I hope you have a shitty shitty Christmas and that Santa gives you smelly shit in your stocking.

Those of you who are the praying type, if you'd say a little prayer that I not crash and die on my cross-country journey, I'd really appreciate it.

Ciao!

Urgh

A friend's recent male-related troubles have given me pause and gotten me reflecting on my own recent issues.

Boy I Was Dating Last Year has recently started IMing me again. He did this once before but it quickly became apparent he was seeking sex, so I excused myself from the conversation and made it clear I had no interest in such advances. Recently he says he'd like to be friends, and he's not looking for anything more.

For some inexplicable reason, I want to try to be friends with him if I can. I don't really know why... looking back on our "relationship" I actually think I don't like him too very much anyway. He's vaguely sexist (as most men are -- no offense guys, but you just are. Those of you who at least try to work on it get minor kudos). He's lazy. He has a weird laugh. He's a little deluded/full of himself (which, in fairness, you kind of have to be if you're a struggling "actor"). And on more than one occasion while we were dating, he disrespected my religious beliefs. Frankly, I should have dumped him long before I did. But, I guess we all do stupid things when we're dating. I imagine my desire to be friends with him stems from the fact that it's a challenge. The closest I've come to being friends with an "ex" is being vaguely friendly with a guy I went on about two or three dates with in law school. So it very well could be that I just want to prove to myself that I Can Do It. But I can't help but begin to think that this guy might be the wrong one to attempt this with.

Anyway, I agreed that this weekend we could meet for coffee. He suggested watching the football game together (he remembered my favorite team... this worries me). I said no, we would stick with coffee.

I asked if he still had my number and he said he didn't. Another red flag... it means either he was hurt when we broke up (which leads to a complicated post-relationship-friendship), or he's lying (which is bad for obvious reasons).

The hattrick? As he was signing off of IM, he said "bye bye sugar pie." I quickly responded with a "???" and rather than answer, he signed off.

Ohhhh, this was not a good idea.

He called yesterday afternoon while I was in an exhausted stupor from throwing a party the night before and cleaning up afterwards, which is no simple task. I was awake enough to answer the phone, but I knew it was him and opted not to. He, quick on his feet, left a message saying he could no longer do coffee that day because he had suddenly gotten busy, but I should call him back if I wanted to meet up with him before I left for Christmas vacation.

All signs point to "don't speak to him again." I don't want to be a bitch, but... I don't want to be an idiot, either. It's obvious he doesn't want to be my friend. Frankly, I'm not sure if I want to be his, either. But I know I definitely don't want to be anything else to him.

Sigh... I really really wish girls weren't socialized to be so damn nice. If we weren't, this really would not be a difficult situation for me At All.

Gah

This will probably make me sound like a broken record, but this is still really bothering me.

Why won't people just take some damned responsibility for what they say? Look, Michael, if you say "it wasn't racist, I was just mad," you're making excuses. You're essentially saying, "look, what I did wasn't that bad."

It was that bad, Michael. And I hope that the men you insulted with your hate speech take you to task for it. Own the fuck up. Admit that what you did was wrong, that it means you have a problem, and for the love of God, start working on your problem.

I am so sick of people pretending that they're "apologizing" when their apology consists of saying "I wasn't really wrong, but I'm sorry you took it the wrong way." That's not an apology. That's another insult.

Oh no he didn't

Well, apparently even here in good ol' progressive La-la Land, our national version of royalty is just full of backwards and offensive ideas. First Mel Gibson, now even B-list has-beens? I hope this doesn't become a trend. Racism is never cool, and I hate to think it's going to start becoming fashionable as more and more celebrities say things they pretend they didn't mean.

I'm only racist in the sense that everyone raised in the U.S. is racist. That is to say, I'm aware that I have certain perceptions and viewpoints that I only have by virtue of the fact that I'm white, and that these views sometimes end up oppressing minorities, and for this reason I do what I can to lessen the effects of my prejudices. I'm a work in progress, but I'm not an active racist. So I guess I'd say I'm a recovering racist, which is about the best any of us can say for ourselves. As someone who recognizes her own prejudices and biases, I also have certain mental "walls" built that block me from saying and doing certain things. For example, I have trained myself to the point where I'm virtually physically incapable of uttering the "n"-word. I have used the "f"-word in front of my 80-year-old grandmother, but I can't say the "n"-word under any circumstances. Just can't do it. No matter who I'm around, how much I've been drinking it simply does not happen.

I am not some amazing disciplinarian. I'm lucky to get my apartment cleaned once a month. I only make it to the gym because my membership and trainers cost an obscene amount of money. Most of my free time I spending plopping my lazy ass in front of the TV. Thus, if I can keep myself from spouting off racist bullshit, anyone can do it.

This includes you, Mel Gibson. This includes you, Michael Richards.

And while we're at it, I will just note that I am still pissed that no one seems to care that good ol' Mel, in the midst of his racist tirade, apparently made some pretty misogynist statements too (I mean, maybe this is just me, but I'd never call anyone I respected "sugar tits." Unless, I guess, his tits were really sugary).

But I guess we're not as horrified by misogyny.

Stupid America.

Bruce Willis owes me 120 bucks, a new carpet, and therapy for my dog

I hope you're paying attention, Bruce.

Why? Let me start at the beginning.

Two weeks ago I adopted the sweetest little puppy in California. He's some kind of mutt (likely a dachsund/corgi mix with probably something else in there too -- maybe chihuahua, since he's pretty small?) and has a beautiful short black coat. He has this precious little underbite and the sweetest personality. He follows me around everywhere I go and he loves to snuggle. I've named him Cujo.

Now, Cujo did not come to me straight from his mom and dad. Rather, a woman found him wandering the street and brought him to someone who tries to find homes for rescued dogs. I cannot fathom why someone would abandon little Cujo, but they did, and frankly, I'm the luckier for it.

As a result of this, though, Cujo has some separation anxiety. He's generally done well while I'm gone -- he'll whine at the door for a few minutes and then just sleep until I get home (at least, as far as I can tell). I've left him for up to four hours and he's been fine -- no chewing, no accidents in the apartment, etc.

Saturday night my friend had a party to celebrate passing the bar (congrats Andrew!!), and he lives down in Irvine. I headed to the party, thinking I'd hang out for a few hours, probably three at the most, and then head home -- so with driving time of roughly 45 minutes each way factored in, that would put me at about 4 and a half hours, and I knew Cujo could handle that.

And I imagine he would have, had Bruce Willis not SHUT DOWN THE FUCKING 405 TO FILM HIS STUPID MOVIE. The article linked to doesn't specifically say that he's shutting down the 405, but I can't imagine why else they were siphoning off every single car near the airport, even though all four lanes of traffic were completely clear of any accidents, construction, or other *real* reasons to close the busiest freeway in Southern California.

It literally took 45 minutes to move a single half mile. One fucking half mile.

By the time I got home, poor Cujo had had a panic attack. I'd been gone for nearly six hours. He was probably worried he'd never see me again. The POOR BABY. It's going to take forever now to train him out of his separation anxiety.

And as if that wasn't enough, Cujo tore up the carpet next to my door. Literally pulled the carpet away from the floor and chewed it up. I don't think it will cost much more than a hundred bucks or so to replace (once I work up the courage to call my landlord and tell him what happened), but still, it's gonna be a pain in the butt to deal with.

And for the time being, I've bought a kennel to crate him in while I'm gone so that he can't cause any more damage (I've also heard that smaller dogs sometimes prefer closed-in spaces, because they make them feel safe and protected). He hung out in there for a bit last night and seems to like it pretty well, so hopefully this will kill two birds with one stone -- his separation anxiety and my worry of having to replace everything in the apartment. But the damn kennel cost 120 bucks. Jeesh, I seem to remember those things being lots cheaper when my parents got one for my dog back home.

So anyway. None of this would have happened if it weren't for you, Bruce Willis. So pay up.