we are doomed

Orange Fury

I watched Donald Trump’s speech Thursday at the Republican National Convention. It was…uh…good? I’m afraid I don’t know what words mean anymore. It was definitely loud, I’ll give him that. Lots and lots of yelling. I felt like I was back in 9th grade band.

I had not realized that America had become the Thunderdome, a hellish landscape filled  with marauding gangs of illegal immigrants in place of bikers. Um, okay?

It was a laundry list of a country in crisis. While it was low on information and high on fear mongering, it had little in how Trump will actually accomplish anything other than by saying “believe me, I’ll do this.”

I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.

I condensed the best parts of the speech:

He insisted he would honor us with his “truth.”

liar

His obvious affection for the GLBTQ community

gays

His “policies”.

laws

thefixer

isis

beatles

maryceleste

becky

vincefoster

He declared he was the voice of the voiceless.

compassion

oppression

yourvoice

SHOUTING

A few other gems:

judge

trumpu

wall

And finally:

stink

I don’t know. It kind of smells like napalm.

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Does Social Media Make Us :-(?

Fuck no!

It makes us super, super :-).

Some bozo at some newspaper–yeah, I know. Newspapers! What is it? 1995? :-P–wrote with his quill and ink that social media is a platform to promote a fake life and then make you feel shitty about said fake life when put in contrast with your real shit life and others’ fake lives.

My son accidentally peed on the floor today and then ate a piece of food off the floor. I posted this to Facebook:

lovinglifeI felt better.

In fact I felt :D.

Until I only got 12 likes and not even from the A crowd, you know, the popular gals I went to high school with who now post about how much wine they drink because kids, amirite? Oh my god, and they looovveeee their husbands so much! Happy anniversary to the most wonderful men on the planet. You make us the most sexually fulfilled women on earth!!! We love you, sweeties <3!!!

But what else are we suppose to do? It’s not like we can handle being with our own thoughts. In fact in one science experiment, people preferred to shock themselves with a 9-volt battery rather than spend any moment with their brains at full volume yelling at them about their cellulite.

So we sift through our newsfeed and feel crappy about your most fabulous vacation to consumerism hellscape Disney World and your delectable microwaved-bag-o’-crap dinner at The Olive Garden.

And in retaliation we post this:

happythoughts

So at least there’s that.

Gardening 101

We are in the process of putting our house on the market.

It’s been awesome.

Wait, is awesome the right word?

No…I was thinking of something else, like arrggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!?!

Yes that sums it up nicely.

So apparently when you want to sell your house, you have to really get it in good shape. You have to return to those home projects you long abandoned in favor of watching Bachelor Pad: The Night of the Living Herpes. For instance, you have to finish building the stairs so they connect directly to the second floor. You can no longer use your couch as a napkin. And you should dismantle the 50 Shades of Grey torture shack in the living room.

We have lived in our house for eight years. We began our home ownership with gusto. We painted the exterior ourselves and made a solemn blood vow to never do that again. We painted most of the interior, leaving the hallway and ceiling above the stairs unfinished because of the whole not-being-14-feet tall and the not-wanting-to-use-a-ladder-on-the-stairs-are-you-out-of-your-mind thought pattern.

Then our cable got connected and I tuned out the house projects and tuned into reality television. And the hallway remained beautifully unpainted. The landscape left to fester. And the dust bunnies met more dust bunnies, and you know how bunnies are.

But now we’re back in gusto mode.

Our realtor tells us we need to view our house through the eyes of the perspective buyer.

This is what worries me. Especially when I look at our non landscaping.

I don’t know how to garden. I have never had a green thumb, which I’m thankful for because that would likely be a sign of gangrene.

I don’t know. Be honest, does this scream “Buy me!”

See we have a carport, and a part or a port of the carport blew off, and we kind of threw that port or part right behind the house and piled some lawn chairs we never use on top of it. That’s a design of sorts, right? I believe it’s known as “clusterfuck”.

On the side of the house, we have trees that have commingled with our house à la Swiss Family Robinson style. But back-to-nature, no-birth-control-for-anyone-but-viagra-for-everyone, the Poltergeist-tree-is-real is all the rage now, yes?

Let’s hope so because this is my home:

It’s pretty in a my-house-is-being-made-love-to-by-trees kind of way. If I were the realtor, I would advertise it as a house with lots of oxygen potential. And most people are in favor of oxygen.

We also have a giant pile of leaves our neighbor lovingly raked into our shared bushes that is now home to a stray cat that enjoys spaying and mewing loudly. I would have taken a picture, but I was afraid my neighbor would see me. That should not deter you from buying the house. It’s not my neighbor, it’s me. I have gelotophobia, the fear of being laughed at.

There is much to do. And here I sit writing this blog.

But I’m hopeful it will get done because I learned today that this is not a flower so I can get to pulling.