General Internet Etiquette for G+ and Facebook

1. Do not post amber alerts about missing kids, if you haven't verified that the child is "still" missing. That's just stupid and inconsiderate.  You freak a lot of people out for no good reason.  I always check those and I always find that the kid is safe and sound or dead.  That's messed up.  Check that stuff before you flop it out there on the internet.  
2. Do not post stuff quasi-weird garbage and waste my time, if you haven't actually researched it to be true, telling me that you haven't verified it.  I will unfriend you so fast you'll feel like the last kid picked in gym class.
3. Do not go whole-hog nuts posting your crap into my feed about your Libertarian, Teabagger political view, if you know I don't want to read that crap.  Just set up people you'd like to send that garbage to and be so kind as to not send it to me. I was guilty of it and then I started getting a dose of my own medicine and realized that it truly sucks.  Join a group of like-minded people and let that come through your feed and you can post all day long to your groups.
4. Don't post 10-30 inspirational pictures a day in my feed.  I know you're going through emotional turmoil, but honestly, if I wanted that crap, I'd get one of those balloon posters that says, "Inspiration" on it, like I should be inspired by hot air balloons.  I think they're really cool, but I can't say I think of those as inspiring.  After the first five inspirational quotes from the Dali Lama, I'm totally done.  He's cool.  He's awesome, but for the love of turnips, turn down the volume.  Pick a couple that are essential. Print them out.  Put them on your wall.  Please keep them off mine.
5. Don't post anything on anyone's feed that you would mind your grandmother hearing come out of your mouth.  If it's a little risque, then just message it.  I have had ex-boyfriends in front of my children, husband, and in-laws, make reference to how I looked in spandex 20 years ago.  My in-laws, parents, husband and kids don't need to know about who I had sexual intercourse with before I met my husband.  My husband knows it all already and he's politely not expressed jealousy, but if you keep that crap up, things can change.
6. Do not post vague references about your state of depression without explaining it.   "I"m so depressed" should be followed with "because my kids are driving me nuts" or some other explanation.  I don't mind helicoptering you a little, but work with me a little.  That vague stuff puts me over the edge and ticks off about everyone else I know.
7. When you put pictures of yourself and your friends on the Internet for me to see, give me an explanation of what you're doing and with whom.  I actually like knowing what you're doing and I enjoy going through your pictures.  I have so many friends I've met via the 'Net that I know your story, but I may not know your face well, nor do I know your family.  It's nice when you tag and explain a little.  It gives me a face to put with the personality I've known for 10 years.  
8. I hereby declare that all pictures of the old Willie Wonka and all cute meme's associated with it, are fucking banned.  Enough said. (That goes for all cartoon characters from Looney Toons, too!)
9. Take the time to spellcheck what you say.  If you're on your phone, I forgive you.  If you're on a computer, you're a lazy douchebag.
10. If you must rant about something, do it in your damned blog or have it as a note for a specific audience and warn me.  I will brace myself and commiserate as appropriate.

Dear Manufacturers of Clothing for Females under 20,

Please consider the fact that most schools require that straps be the width of a dollar bill, skirts must be no higher than a dollar bill above the knee and that they can't just throw leggings under it or whatever at a lot of schools, especially here in the Bible Belt of the Volunteer State, where I exist with my secret identity of Liberal California Hippie Chick, hiding amongst some Seriously Scary Baptists.  

Additionally,  I am tired of her saying, "Mom, I can't wear that to school" because she's got really long legs and that dollar bill doesn't begin to make that short mini-skirt skort work.  When she was 3 feet tall, that skort length worked -- not so much now.

So, when you make clothing for someone's daughter, realize that if it were your daughter you wouldn't want to purchase a wardrobe that only crack whores use and neither do I. 

• Make shorts with a little more length, make skirts with some length -- even adjustable with ribbons or buttons -- and for goodness' sake, do the same with dresses. 
• Please do not make the neckline too low either because she doesn't have the chest to pull it off just yet and if she did, she would be completely mortified to show it off.  
• Do not produce something with spaghetti straps and claim it's for school because I'd get a lot of phone calls if I took your word for it. 
• She wears camisoles as undershirts NOT regular wear unless she's in the house and going to bed. I cannot and would not purchase something missing a strap either for school.  I'm not getting the kid expelled.  
• Think uniform coverage, but with cute designs, details and fabrics.  

Additionally, if I can picture a 60 year old hooker in it, my daughter isn't wearing it. Thus, a spaghetti-strapped, low-cut tank top with animal print and sparkles, won't touch my child's skin, nor will a dress that's short enough to see her navel, nor spandex, for the love of all that is holy. Unless the cleavage is covered and it's long enough for her to bend over at the waist without anyone seeing her Hello Kitty underwear, it won't be purchased. I'll just sew a few.  

Deplorably yours, 
Ruby, A pissed off mother and devoted seamstress until she's 18 and can legally make her own choices

You know those vague, awful emails that the world is going to end or that we're on the edge of catastrophic, mass genocide?  My mother sent me a version of this fallacious one, which I easily found in Wikepedia, snopes, and other true/false sites.  I read the email thinking, "What a load of crap!"

This is what I sent her:

Mom, this is bs.  Snopes and other sites have information about this.  I do not think that putting an Islamic symbol is any different than claiming foods are kosher.  There is no way that communities like that would take place in the US, nor have they.  This kind of article demonstrate a common logical fallacy, a call to authority.  "The basic structure of such arguments is as follows: Professor X believes A, Professor X speaks from authority, therefore A is true. Often this argument is implied by emphasizing the many years of experience, or the formal degrees held by the individual making a specific claim. "   The truth is that that doctor didn't say it, nor is he from Germany.  It was written by someone else, who didn't have much in the way of a pedigree of authority, frankly, as he was a Canadian and a blogger. 

The Truth:  Dr. Emanuel Tanay is real and a holocaust survivor but he did not write this article, nor is he German.  This is an opinion piece that appeared on the web site of  Paul Marek, who wrote it in March 2007 under the title of "Why the Peaceful Majority is Irrelevant."   Click for original version of article.

Dr. Emanuel Tanay, the son of Jewish dentists, was born in Russian occupied Vilna in 1928, which is now part of Lithuania,  according to the personal account of his life in a Polish ghetto during the Holocaust.

Marek's article was apparently altered and posted on several reader and comment boards on the World Wide Web. Some altered versions include Marek as the author and cite Tanay as the original forwarder of the story.  

^This is where I stopped because pitching a fight with someone who is going under the knife for both heart surgery and breast cancer in the next two months at the ripe old age of 72, deserves not to have dumb political arguments with their kids.  I think that merits a "Get out of political arguments free" card.  

Here's what I didn't say to her, but what I'll say to you:

I also think that many of us would actually stand up and do.  I still go, with my walking sticks and children, to pro-choice rallies.  If it's wrong, we should all stand up and say so. That's our right.  That's our duty as Americans.  If we don't vote, don't write letters to our representatives, we aren't in fact, represented.  I think it's more important to instill the idea that every voice counts and that every voice needs to speak in our children.  I think showing them a copy of the letter you sent to your Congressman counts for more.  I think dragging their butts in the cold to stand witness to legislators, who are attempting to pass legislation that most of their constituents do NOT agree with, is excellent practice. I think taking them to their legislators' offices and showing them how to find that information online, is also excellent practice.

However, sending stuff like this is also something I don't care for -- it's slanderous, it's full of falsehoods, and the logic stinks.  Read further on logical fallacies:  logical fallacies. It's not Muslims that are wrecking our economy.  It's very rich guys who have every intention of staying that way and are manipulating voting areas by the people they contribute money to and voting rights(limiting people's voting access in numerous ways), funding anything that would in effect avoid making them pay the taxes they should.  I dislike that heartily.  We're struggling to pay our bills day-to-day and a lot of families are in the same boat.  We lost our house when the stock market tanked and Mike lost his job along with a 3,000 people at his company.  There still are no jobs in Nevada, as they sport a nearly 20% unemployment rate.  Bush bailed out the banks, when he should have let them fall on their faces and just let the FDIC do its job.  The banks are continuing to rack up record profits and throw bonuses to their vp's, and they're more slippery than eels in oil.

I think that moment of silence in schools is there so that anyone can silently pray or whatever they want.  The pledge of allegiance isn't going to disappear and that mentions God.  I don't think it means only a Christian god, or a Jewish god, or an Islamic God, but just God.  

I also think that the squeaky wheel gets the grease.  If you're loud and proud, you get heard and you get the grease needed to shut you up.  I think that goes for ALL Americans.  Be loud, be proud, BE HEARD!

I think the only way  to be both a responsible American and a responsible parent is to show your family what a responsibility being a voter and being an American is.  I've shown my kids.  They've written their letters. They called their offices.  They are the next generation of activists, actively watching, calling and participating in their country's process.  They are Americans that are both proud and of whom I am proud.  My husband, who never voted before, votes now.  He knows that his vote counts.  

If I've fucked up everything else in my life, I've made three intelligent voters in my life, who understand that voting is a privilege and that a free society requires vigilance to be maintained. 

If my mom and I have disagreed politically, I think she can be proud of the American and the voter I've become and the voters I've taught.

Fat Kid in a Chocolate Factory

I have started seriously looking at bariatric surgery.  I had them run my insurance even.  It turns out that Mike's company's insurance has a rider that doesn't cover bariatric surgery.  In talking with friends, it seems I can probably appeal that on the basis of my medical conditions.

I have a half dozen friends who have had the surgery and only one who has actually done most of what she's supposed to on it, but she's new to it and a practicing Mormon.  There is a second friend who comes close, but she does drink, occasionally, which you're not supposed to do because it goes straight to your bloodstream without passing Go or collecting $200. A third is kind of close, but she eats all things sugar-free and is on a heart monitor. I guess on a heart monitor, I'd go on the straight and narrow sans booze or crap of any kind until things were more stable.

I also realized that thanks to my mother, I don't eat poorly.  I eat whole grain everything, even in stuff that shouldn't probably have whole grains, like lemon pound cake.  Even there, my mother rarely used whole grains in baking and I actually do.  I usually use half and half.  If there's a way to puree vegetables into it, I do. I have friends who complain that they're more regular after they leave my house.

I have three friends here in Tennessee, who've gotten the surgery and there are some disturbing things I am seeing.  It reminded me of things I saw with another friend.  After surgery, it is essential that you do not return to your old eating and exercise habits.  Just because you can eat cake, doesn't mean you should.  Just because you can get away without regular exercise, doesn't mean you should  The surgery doesn't cure your crappy eating habits, it just makes it a lot more difficult.

I went with my three friends to a Russell Stover chocolate factory yesterday at their demand and behest.  I hadn't planned on going and had hoped they might forget and they didn't.  I had all three of them in the van and there was a unanimous demand that we go to the chocolate factory.  I guess if had been See's chocolate or Godiva, I might have been more enthused, but Russell Stover isn't my idea of actual chocolate I'd lose sleep over.

We go to the factory.  I watched as my three friends circled out on a mission to find the specific chocolates of their choice.  One of them was wearing a heart monitor.  One of them had a leg infection.  The third is morbidly obese like I am and had been diabetic before her surgery.  I picked out a bag of chocolate covered cherries because is basically one of my favorite treats (dried cherries) with dark chocolate (better for you than milk) and sugar-free black licorice.  I picked up a few other things for the kids and headed for the cashier, where I spent less than $20.  I saw a wooden-handled umbrella with a brass release button for $5 on the way out and that's when I was completely gaga and had to have something.  I know I'm getting old, but geez, an umbrella?  It reminded me of my mother commenting that she was turning into her mother when she saw some enormous head of garlic in California and just had to have it.  She then put it back, realizing that hauling a head of garlic back on a plane was crazy and that, indeed, she had turned into her mother for a moment.

I had to have that damned umbrella with Russell Stover's logo and crappy chocolate on it.  It's been pouring here for five days solid pretty much.  It's July in the South, and I'd been cold from being drenched to the skin.  I wanted a big enough, wooden-handled with brass release umbrella for five bucks.

I went with my new umbrella and Mike to the car and waited for everyone else to come out.  And waited.  Genny came out next with a stuffed animal and a candied apple.  Then my friend with the heart monitor came out with $85 of sugar-free candy.  I was floored. This wasn't Godiva or Ghiardelli's or See's.  This was freaking Russell Stover's.  She has the same hideous gas issues I do with sugar-free anything, so she'd rather have hideous gas from so-so candy.

Then came my last two friends.  They both had big bags like my previous friend.  They'd clearly spent similar amounts.  They're married.  I happen to know he keeps a stash of candy.  Most of what I saw from said stash was sugar-free, but still, I looked at that behavior pattern and thought, "Wow, I'm glad I made a different choice than that."

I guess I see that kind of behavior as destructive and self-destructive.  Five morbidly obese people go into a candy factory and the three with gastric bypass surgery meet the expectations of the cashier.  My impression of the reasoning behind that is because the "dumping" syndrome that occurs with that choice will make them sick enough to expel it and they've managed to trick the system, rather than use the tool of bariatric surgery to make better choices.

I remembered a different friend from many years ago who started regaining weight after the initial loss from surgery and wasn't exercising and had lots of excuses and ended up diabetic again.  I could totally see that happening to me.  I am AFRAID of that happening to me.

Yesterday's experiences and observations made me sad and scared me.  I don't want to be someone who eats too much crap she shouldn't, doesn't exercise sufficiently, and remains morbidly obese three years post-surgery.  I'm already making better choices.  I mean if the worst snack choice I can make right now involves low-fat yogurt spinach dip and whole grain crackers, I think I'm doing well, not perfect, but better.

I shouldn't be the weird one with whole grain buns, pasta, and veggies, in that situation.  I just shouldn't.

I hope that after I finally am able to obtain surgery to help me, that I will use it as the gift of health that it can be and that I will lose weight, continue to set aside bad habits, and work at exercising as regularly as I possibly can, doing whatever I can.

There's been a load of shit flying ever since Paula Deen's deposition over an employment dispute.    This article at CNN is one of those flying fecal chunks.  I kept thinking, did you actually see the deposition?
It is interesting after looking at the actual context of her deposition that this editor went toddling off down the road to hop on the bandwagon.  Paula admitted to using the word at a time when it was thought to be culturally appropriate.  Everyone learned after that that it wasn't cool, and she was included in that.  I think after living in the South some, that while I do not approve of that word or the racism it represents, that I understand that past a little.  I think things like that need to be set in their time in history.  Her deposition does that.

My mother told me to never use that word and I don't think it's passed my lips.  I grew up in the North.  Anyone other than folks of Northern European heritage were an anomaly, but a welcome one from the doldrums of being like everyone else.  I always thought race was less about color than culture anyhow and I always have loved finding out about other cultures and sharing in the food and customs.  I love languages, different food, and learning about how customs and language shape the way people think (or vice versa).

Race to me is a misnomer.  Race seems like it should matter and it doesn't, it's just a physical attribute which no one can change or share.  Because you are born with dark skin and can trace your roots back to Africa, so?   The bright white uniform against dark skin might be crisp-looking because of the contrast.  I know the white linen jacket, tshirt and pants worked for Tubbs on Miami Vice.  (Hubba, hubba) A lot of men with dark skin like sleeping with women with very white skin, like I have, because they like the contrast of colors. So?  I think liking the look of something isn't racist.  I personally love the deep coffee brown color my half Mexican son gets with sunshine.

Culture on the other hand, is such a totally different ball of wax because then you're getting information that matters on a multitude of levels. You're getting clothing, colors, language, attitudes, food and sharing.  It's intimate though and sometimes, the physicality of race makes people assume things about another's culture without pursuing the intimacy required to actually learn things specific to the person in front of you.  Just because I'm white, for example, people in Tennessee have often assumed I agree with them on things regarding tea party politics and abortion.  In a very red state, I guess that's possible, but that is also racist. Weird, huh?

Dear Sacrum,

Please just knock it off. I could barely walk today and that sucked toad balls.  My back feels like you're jamming ice picks up my spine.  This behavior SUCKS!

Knock it the hell off.

Thanks,
The Brain

___

Dear Brain,

Would you keep the racket down?  My gosh, how's a woman my age supposed to rest with you whipping by at 90 mph?

Due to your excessive work ethic, we would really enjoy eight hours uninterrupted sleep in which we weren't playing work taxi for Russell or trying to get one more hit in at Mechanical Turk or worrying ourselves into a coma.

Please shush!

Thanks,
The Body

___

Dear Sandman,

Do you think you could get off your ass and drop a beach on me, so I can get some uninterrupted sleep?  Between my body, my brain, the kids and my insomnia, I could really use more than a four hour stretch.  Oh, and could you drop that beach on me, AFTER I've had some naked time alone with the husband?

We'd both really appreciate it.  I'll even bake for you.

Thanks,
Ruby

I think I inhaled 10 lbs of chocolate last night and almonds.  Oh, so many almonds!  Yeah, that's my PMS thing, even as I head into menopause.  Today, chocolate had about as much appeal as any other food.  I still wanted almonds, but I think that's just a genetic defect on my part.

I didn't have the explosive anger fit I usually do, though I thought about it a lot.  I did lay out Russell, but I did it gently and just told him to please not be disrespectful or unkind to me.  We talked it out like adults.  I didn't shout, wax insane or anything.  OK, well no crazier than usual. The angels wept.  The demons pouted.  OK, not really, but I have been drinking a lot of caffeinated beverages, which really solves most of the world's ills, I'm sure of it.

Mike and I have been having "dates."

It's so weird.  We've been playing Ingress on our phones.  We go to all these places, hack the portals, grab a burger in between and the whole time, we're chatting with each other, joking, laughing, copping a feel, and finding some romance in our lives.  There's been some discussion of dropping the oversized bean bag in the back of the van, putting curtains up and obtaining knee pads, but I don't think I could appropriately explain the curtains and bean bag to people Mike carpools with, without convulsively laughing and blushing like a teenaged girl.

I'm back to the sewing table making blankets for a few people, this evening and over the week and weekend.  I have jewelry ideas floating in my head.  I've got a garden planned.

My wisdom of the day is this:  Never let an asshole ruin your whole day. Assholes are made to be wiped and then clothed and sent on their merry way, hopefully less full of shit. 

Mothers have been doing it for millenia, so I'm thinking they have the right idea.

I've been feeling very distractable lately.  I know I should be focusing on certain things, but I'm more interested in winging it for right now.

I usually always have a plan.  I'm still in plan formulation.  My plan was to get a full-time job and do that, but dude, I so don't want to do that.  I think I'd be happier doing part-time until Russell gets his license.  Of course, getting him to do so, has mostly been a knockdown drag-out fight.  He likes being chaffeured around.  This is the kid who always wanted to feel special and he was my first and he's always been special. I've always had to do so much for his health and now, for his job.

I hope he stops needing me so much.

I'd like some time for myself.  I'd like to be able to schedule time with Mike that didn't involve having to figure out when we were picking him up and dropping him off.

I'm stuck in a bad health cycle.  I'm going to my doctor tomorrow to discuss things.  I want to see what he thinks my priorities should be.  Basically, my game plan is get my fibro under reasonable control, look into and obtain bariatric surgery, then see if Genny's independent enough not to need a momma taxi much to be as wildly successful as possible.

I got a myofascial massage on Friday, two days ago, and man, all that agony that had built up over the holidays move off.  I keep moving and expecting something to hurt, but it doesn't.  It's just plain weird.

I feel twinge-y, like things are still sore and swollen, but if I give it a day or two, it won't be.

I'm thankfully away from holiday foods.  Whatever I was eating over the holidays gave me back 10 pounds, but that's just melting away, now.

I'm just tired all the time.  It's not my sugars much.  Mostly, my sugars are well managed, but I got into the "I hurt, so I stay up all night" thing and now, with a new job starting in a week, I need to get to a more reasonable bed time.

I think my sleep gets interrupted some with the kittens.  They come visit at night looking for my hands and nudge me to pet them.  The one little girl kitty is apparently a Maine Coon and is getting to be HUGE, even though, she still sucks on blankets and thinks she's a kitten.  I swear that cat has big dishpan paws.  She thinks she's cute and dainty.  Well, cute is true, but dainty?  Not so much.

I know EXACTLY how she feels. :)