Lookit me, y’all! I’m a grumpy old woman! GET OFFA MAH LAWN! *shakes cane*
Seriously, I’m full of gripes right now, even if I’m not actually angry. Well, I try not to be angry.
- First off is yet another change in wordpress’s layout and functionality. I need to get to my “Add New Post” page – you know, the full one that shows all of the functions? I’m an author trying to be found and trying to crosspost and properly tag and categorize my shit! WORDPRESS WHY YOU MAKE THIS SO DIFFICULT?!(I did finally find the right posting page, but seriously – it was hard enough before to flip through the eighty different ways of looking at and using WordPress. Now they have to add another way? Grargh. Yes, yes, I will flippin’ bookmark the post-new.php page from now on, damnit.)
- Secondly, Dogs. We’ve all seen the news clip about the Labradoodle that’s getting mistaken for a baby lion, and the multiple 911 calls from people in Norfolk reporting a lion “on the loose.” If you haven’t seen it, the top google search for “lion dog” will land you at all the stories, including video of Charles running across streets. Okay, yes – the dog is fucking cute. Most Labradoodles are. But am I the only cranky old bitch who is utterly face-palming at the stupidity and carelessness, here?Here. For starters, have a picture of an actual “baby lion”…
However, with as many people as there were calling 911 to report a lion on the loose from the local zoo, don’t you wonder at what point some trigger-happy genius is going to shoot the thing?
But most importantly of all, I’m sorry, but does Norfolk not have any leash laws? Even if they don’t, what fucking moron lets their dog run loose around the city, darting across streets unattended?
- I’m also grumpy because there are some young girls in my neighborhood who have a young pit bull – they walk it around my block sometimes, and they just – they just should not have this dog. It’s a rambunctious little thing, and cute as a button, and their walks consist of them screaming at the poor thing to quit pulling, sit, etc., and smacking it. I’m so upset, and ultimately, even if I knew where they lived, there’s very little that can be done about these little assholes. The only thing I can think I can think of at this point is to find where they live and leave them a package with a copy of My Smart Puppy (DVD included) and a note begging them to be patient with their dog, and explaining that dogs aren’t people, they don’t understand words unless you teach them, and yelling and smacking their dog is only teaching it to fear them. And a fearful pitbull? sad and not good.
What would you do, realistically? Suggestions?
- You know what? We’re broke! I pride myself, however, on maintaining my awesomely wry sense of humor and mad food skills. It’s been a while, but I do have poor-living skills under my belt. And the wheel will come back around eventually. But meanwhile, I made some kick-ass rice and some balls-awesome crock-pot Mexicali chicken mess to throw into some tortillas for the next several days. It’s funny, though, how uncomfortable some people get when you’re honest about things not being hunky-dory. My in-laws, for example, would freak the fuck out if they knew how we’re scraping by right now. I’m like, “What? It’s just a thing, man!” I swear, the longer I have in-laws, the more sane my own family seems. We know shoestrings, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And ultimately, ‘shoestring’ in my privileged white world is still a far cry wealthier than a lot of people have it. So there you go.
- I have a bunch more gripey things. Instead, I need to just share the awesome retro-ness that’s in my head this afternoon: