Update to Doghouse Diaries’ how to find cups in someone else’s house flow chart, as the ubiquitous pasta cabinet was missing.
With all this talk of DOWN WITH THE 1%/DOWN WITH CORPORATE GREED/F YOU WALL STREET/ETC, why does it look more and more like Mitt Romney, the Republican candidate who is a spitting image of corporate greed, is likely to run away with the nomination?
Why do over a THIRD of Americans think the most important quality in a republican nominee is “electability”—the ability to beat Obama? That is ridiculous. That is not how you choose a president. That is how you make things worse than they already are.
In the same vein, why do people keep saying things like, “I like Mitt Romney because he just looks presidential. And he dresses presidential! He’s a politician’s politician, and that’s what this country needs right meow.”
Close to 300 million people hate the country’s trajectory and want it to change drastically. Election season is the opportunity for those people to spring into action, and yet THIS is how a scary amount of them propose to make things better? Hire someone electable for the sake of being electable? Hire someone who looks like a president? Hire someone who made millions for no reason while a bunch of us suffered for no reason?
I currently have no idea who I might vote for. And I really don’t know anything about how to fix the turd stain that is America. I just know that many people are idiots and it bugs me all day.
I did try. For an hour forty-five.
It’s TOO HARD!!
In 2011 I rang in the New Year in a strange suburb, tip-toed in the Pacific Ocean while Californians bundled up, wandered Vegas for 16 hours, tried my first turkey burger at the giant needle, missed a porn convention by one day, came home to a blizzard, moved, squatted, watched too much HGTV, started wanting a house, started wanting a job, got a house, moved, got a job, ate too many Cheetos during training, cost my company $30k in one day, cried in my cubicle, cost my company $32k the next day, laughed, took dance lessons with my dad, entered marriage counseling, planned a wedding, tweeted some stuff, learned the difference between Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger, got married, danced, bought too many Powerball tickets, ruined the radio knob in da Jetta ‘cause I stabbed it thrice with my car key, stormed a college town on Halloween dressed as an elder with 10 others, won first place at a costume contest, lost all the raffle drawings at work, dogsat, celebrated my first Christmas as a Mrs., found out the word “orgy” is in Catchphrase, thought seriously about getting a puppy, tried to break in to many silver Jettas that I thought belonged to me, and laughed til I cried on many a Wednesday girls’ night.
I am excited to meet you 2012! Don’t be a bitch.
I want to go back to school. I want to get an MFA in Nonfiction Writing or a graduate degree in Journalism and I want to do nothing but sit in coffee shops and airplanes and pin the world down and mold it into truths I can explain and hold it hostage until it promises to change and then go home for Christmas and bring the right kind of candy thermometer this time so my mom can teach me the right way to make her peanut brittle so I can give it to people who say things like “I don’t like peanut brittle, I just don’t know what it is about the stuff,” and make them realize they actually do love peanut brittle and are desperate to have more, as a matter of fact.
I am currently listening to a young Texas schoolteacher, who is spending part of her winter break at a Starbucks in Iowa, talk breathlessly at her lady friend about a dilemma: to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes or not to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes?
In case you’re wondering, she has so far opted not to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes. This decision is not based on anything related to scruples or self-respect. It is because she “doesn’t weigh 110 pounds, but I have started to be more vain since he started asking me for them. I do my hair now, and I dress nicer. And I know he sees regular pictures of me on Facebook, so he can’t be that repulsed by me.” They have not yet met in person.
Is this what dating in 2011 actually looks like? It is so creepy. I hate it. I don’t know how you people do it. Thank God I met Cory when I did—pre-3G, when Facebook was for documenting math finals and weekend parties, way before the “sexting” phenom had yet to materialize.
She just whipped out her phone to show her lady friend naked pictures of her Facebook suitor. I am gagging a little on my latte.
and her status is “I’d slap you but I don’t wanna get SLUT on my hand(:”
Gah.
Discussion items—
The last thing I remember is falling asleep in the middle of it. When I woke up, I was standing in the corner of my bedroom, knee-deep in a clothes hamper, scratching the wall with my index finger in a futile attempt to tunnel my way out.
When I came to, I actually looked back into the darkness over both of my shoulders, thinking to myself, “I really hope nobody saw that.”
And tonight it interfered with my bubble bath.
Not cool.
It’s widely known throughout my world that my name is the source of much confusion. How quickly Lindy evolves into Linda into Mindy into Mandy into Amanda into Katrina into Gert into Barb.
Then I got married, and all hell broke loose. And now I get to answer to Mandy Moore or Amanda Bryant AND have conversations such as these:
Coworker: Okay whoa. Your desk used to say a different last name so I’m like really confu—
Me: Just give me the damn paperwork.
and
Coworker: Are you Lindy M or Lindy R?
Me: Both. Lindy R is my new name.
Coworker: New as in you got married or new as in you liked that name better so you decided to start using it?
