Is it just me??

I wouldn’t think this would be good for their business.

I’m so not lovin’ it.

I got nothing. And with nothing I should probably just stop right here, but I don’t think I will. I will warn you here that I’m in a pissy-ass (is that hyphenated?) mood, and EVERYTHING is annoying the crap out of me right now.

Like what you ask?

Well!

Mamma DOES NOT Love…

Public speakers who mispronounce words that they must use regularly. Example: Woman conducting my weekend birthing class who kept saying “cervEx.” Seriously, the baby hadn’t crossed mine yet, but I was pretty sure it was a fucking “i” in the word, hon.

Freakin’ reality shows. This is no dis to the Dancing with Stars, American Idol, Project Runway folks. But I CANNOT understand who these women are who will go pimp themselves out to some “bachelor” of negligible pedigree. Are you that desperate for attention? Honestly, you’re obviously beautiful. Do you really want to get married to some guy who had to resort to a television show to meet someone? Listen girl. That kind of guy is going to take longer than you to get ready in the morning.

Skinny women who complain that they’re too small to wear XS in a particular brand of clothing. There is nothing more that needs to be said about that. YES, I am the bitter fat girl!

Oh and those of you with perfect marriages and perfect children that are always well-behaved and always clean and who clean your house for you while you sleep in on Saturday morning. Yeah, you piss me off too.

People with a basement. Okay, I’m getting carried away here, but I have shit everywhere in my house and I could really use a basement to store some of it.

I’m stopping now, because next on my list will probably be three-legged cats and girls named Tifini with an “i.” And there is no reason to take my bad mood out on little fluffy things.

When I got married I was still the young, idealistic mamma who thought she was going to save the world. I was working for a reproductive rights advocacy organization and therefore with a number of women who were shocked by my decision to take my husband’s last name upon marriage. I explained that changing my name wasn’t a big hang-up for me.

My husband never assumed I’d take his name. I don’t know that we ever discussed it really. Maybe because I didn’t feel pressured I was happy to do it. I knew it meant something to his older relatives and frankly, I just didn’t care. Our last name is a good strong name. It’s pretty common and it put me right up at the beginning of the alphabet, which makes it easy to find my nametag at big conferences.

After our wedding, I changed my name on all my credit cards (in all honesty Shakey took care of that as I’m not really the best with those kinds of details), my business cards, my insurance cards and my driver’s license. I never really got around to changing it on my Social Security card, because really who has time to wait at the Social Security office?? The IRS didn’t seem to mind. The forms had this great little check box for people like me who filed under a different name than their Social Security card. Obviously the DMV didn’t care as they were happy to issue my license and even retake my photo to ensure the best shot on that little card (oh how I miss that old license).

Years go by. I’ve completely adapted to my new last name. I got over the momentary hesitation that takes place when having to interrupt your signature with a new set of letters half way through. We bought a house. We had children. And, oh yeah, September 11 occurred.

Meanwhile, my license expired.

So I haul myself down to the DMV with a toddler and infant in tow and all the appropriate documents. I take a number, fill out some forms and wait for my number to be called. Hand the papers to the woman, I’m shuttled to another line and wait for my turn in front of the camera. Photo taken, move to another line to await my new license. Toddler running circles around me, infant getting ansty in his stroller and I continue to wait. Finally, I’m called up to a special desk where I am informed that I cannot renew my license because the name on my license is different than the one on my Social Security card. *#&$)(@@*! Patriot Act!

Now I was a big talker up above, “I didn’t care about my last name” blah, blah, blah. I was irate!! Everything was just fine as it was. I was using my married name in day to day life, but at the heart of it I was still the old mamma because my one last official document had my pre-married name. I didn’t want to change, but those beasts at the DMV (sorry any precious DMV working readers) are a tough bunch and they weren’t going to budge. Poor mamma was not going to get a new driver’s license that day.

Stubborn woman that I am, I stormed out of the office vowing not to give in. But then there was that whole driving on an expired license thing that no matter of my brother-in-law being a police officer was going to help. A few days later, I admitted defeat and resigned myself to an afternoon of waiting in the Social Security office.

Yada, yada, yada, I find an afternoon to leave work early, spend three hours waiting to have my number called and finally get my turn at the desk. Having accepted the fact that I am going to have to change my last name on my SS card, I proudly hand my marriage license over to the woman behind the counter. She takes one look at it and says, “I’m sorry. We can’t accept this.”

Wha?? Huh?? I didn’t get married in Cuba or China or even Las Vegas. I have an official document from the state of Massachusetts. “Whadda you mean you can’t accept it?” I am then informed that my document is too old (five years by this time) to be accepted. “Sorry, new rules since September 11.” “Do you have your driver’s license?” she asks. Knowing it contains my new name, I quickly hand it over. “Well we can’t accept this either since it’s expired.” At this point, I being looking around for hidden cameras. “So let me get this straight,” I say. “I can’t renew my driver’s license because my Social Security card has a different name and I can’t get a new Social Security card because my my driver’s license is expired?” “Yes,” she says with a straight face, and I’m told to sit back down to wait for someone behind the opaque door to come out and get me.

Let’s just say that by this time I was pissed and my ass was sore from sitting in those hard plastic chairs for three hours. I finally get called back and the woman lists off all of the possible documents I could use change my name: a marriage license–nope mine’s too old; a driver’s license–nope mine is expired; a court order changing my name–funny I don’t have one of those handy.

At this point, I’ve rummaged through my bag pulling out every credit card, library card, insurance card and random piece of mail I have with my married name on it. Nothing is acceptable. To each document I proffer, she calmly states that she can’t do anything about the law. You know, national security and all.

At our apparent stalemate, she consults her list of acceptable documents one last time and says I could use a medical document with my new name on it. I’m now envisioning a visit to my doctor’s office to get a copy of my charts and coming back to the SS office another afternoon to go through this all over again.

And then I remember an old prescription I never filled in the zip pocket of my bag!

I unfold the paper, hand it over to her and she examines it. Understand this is a basically a Word document printed on a generic laser printer with an incomprehensible signature on the bottom authorizing a pharmacy to dispense me the mini-pill (I didn’t want to worry about the spotting). She gets up, asks me to wait there and takes my paper back to some higher authority to determine it’s validity. After a few minutes she comes back and tells me they’ll accept it, but they can only use the name for my new SS card as it appears on this document, which just so happens to be my first name, the initial of my maiden name (with no period) and my married last name. I’ve been defeated. This is not my name–not the name I wanted–except the government has now said it is.

I’d like to pause for a second. In case you missed it, I could not renew my license originally because of the Patriot Act. Then I couldn’t use my valid marriage license as proof of my new last name because of the tightened security procedures, but I was allowed to get a brand new social security card with a Word document! Do you feel safe??

Anyway, my original plan had been to have my first, middle, maiden and married name (yes all four) listed on my SS card. I would never use all of them on a day to day basis, but I wanted to keep them all, because you see I’m currently on my second first name, my first middle name and my third last name.

I was given a first name at birth. When I was adopted ten days later, I was given a different first name. After my mom got remarried many years later, my last name was changed to my step-father’s and now I’ve taken on my husband’s. In a way, you can see how I really didn’t have a problem changing my name as it had been changed so many times already, but I didn’t want to lose that middle name. It’s the one name I’ve had that hasn’t ever changed. Alas, I still consider it part of my name, but as far anything official is concerned, it’s gone.

Yes, this entirely too long, drawn out story was just my way of telling you that I’m adopted. Remember? I promised I was going to start revealing more personal details.

Don’t start your email with, “Hello Mommy Blogger!”

Sorry, but I’m going to respond to you in the same way I did the bow-heads in highschool who asked me in excited, high-pitched voices if I was going to try out for cheerleading too.

{laughing AT them as she walked away}

I may have the right clothes, I may drive the right car but I have much more fun in the parking lot than at the game.

I am a mommy. I blog. It doesn’t mean I’m going to hock your baby goods site for free.

{excited and high-pitched} Good luck with the try-outs though. {waving with her middle finger}

…but this pisses me off.

Paris Hilton has been released from prison and is serving the rest of her sentence under house arrest.

OMFG!!!

Sources are citing “medical” conditions for this development.

What?! What could it possibly be that demanded house arrest?

I was thinking maybe constipation or having to pee in front of others.

Wait!

Those are the same things that happened to me after birth. Oh yeah! And, I didn’t leave the house for a while either.

Sorry for the interruption. Move along. OF COURSE that’s the appropriate manner to deal with those “conditions” (and my shit comes out in baggies).

House arrest should help her get better. I mean I didn’t have the maids, butlers, goose feather pillows or cooks, but I like to rough it like that.

You can find me over at Gunfighter’s today.

He offered me the opportunity to guest blog and even gave me a topic. How nice is that? Go check out his site. He’s a good read.

A giant THANK YOU to all of the terrific folks who reached out to me today with the supportive comments. I will come back and properly thank you in a moment, but now? Now I must go yell at MySpace.

I’m sure you’ve heard, they’re removing breastfeeding pictures–but the soft-core porn shots of all the teenage girls can stay. I’m off to go set up an account and post a breastfeeding image.

I’ll be back.

Up until today I loved the blogosphere. I mean I hearted it in a major way. In a very short time I have become addicted to the entertainment, community and insight I derive from reading others and writing on my own.

But that all ended today.

I plopped myself in front of my computer first thing this morning as I do each day and what was waiting for me but some comments. Well I love comments–the affirmation, sweet affirmation–so I dove right in. But the first one…oh the first one…it changed everything.

Anonymous left me a comment today telling me that I had made an awful comment about a homeless mother on another blog and that they came over to tell me just how mean I am.

My first reaction was sheer hurt. What had I said? Where did I say it? I scanned my list of regular reads, I picked through a few possible posts to see what I wrote. But nothing. Now I’m no saint despite the fact that I may hang out with some, but I don’t make a habit of leaving rude or thoughtless comments on others blog. The fact that I might have hurt someone’s feelings upset me. The idea that someone thought I was being mean really upset me. The fact that it involved another mother was even worse.

After a while the hurt gave way to anger. You know if this person really had an issue with me, they didn’t HAVE to read my blog. They COULD have sent me an email to tell me they thought my comment was inappropriate, they COULD have had the guts to leave their name so I could find out where this incident had taken place and either apologize or explain.

I have to say that all the blogs I read today I read with a jaded eye. For the first time, I couldn’t just enjoy the writing or become intrigued by an idea without wondering if the author was Anonymous. And that made me very, very sad.

The problem with writing is that meaning is often left to interpretation. And I’m well aware of the number of “mommas” there are out there, so there is room for confusion. But this whole thing has got me wondering if I want to continue to participate in the blogosphere.

Day 14 (con’t because I haven’t gone to sleep yet)
Mood: Relieved

Day 8
Mood: Freaking Ecstatic!

In case you haven’t heard, there was an election yesterday. The people of my country–the very same people I had begun to suspect may indeed be zombies–finally said “we’ve had enough!”

I have spent the last 12 years feeling like an outsider, out of step with my fellow citizens, but today I have a renewed sense of optimism about the American electorate–about We, the People. However, before God Bless America begins blare from your speakers I need to get some stuff out of my system.

Neh, neh, neh, neh, neh, neh. WE FUCKING WON!!!!!

And it was so bad, so terribly, horribly, ferociously bad that you had to sacrifice one of your own this afternoon! Not that we’re surprised that you’d be willing to leave a man behind. What has come to light in the last year or so with DeLay and Ney and Cunningham and Macaca and your lie last week about keeping Rumy on board reaffirmed everything I knew to be true about you–you are not nice people. You have been hoarding power for your own gain. You do not love your country! And damn you, you suggested that because I didn’t agree with your war or your suspension of civil rights that I was the unpatriotic one. Well fuck you! You were wrong! And I’m starting to suspect you might be getting the hint. You know what that makes me say?

YEEEEHAAAAA!!!!!! I’m doing my happy dance all over your goddammed yard signs!!!

Phew! That felt good!

I wanted to come home to celebrate with a glass of champagne, but I was too damned superstitious to put a bottle in the fridge. As an alternative and in honor of the cleaning up of Congress, I got a bikini wax instead. I seriously think I was so deliriously happy that it hurt less than normal. So now you know, we’re all neat up here in DC.

Just in case that didn’t make you feel better, I leave you with some of the funnier election-related brilliance that crossed my screen today.

From the prego mom of two D’s to be I received:

George Bush goes to a primary school to talk to the kids to get a Little PR. After his talk he offers question time. One little boy puts up his hand and George asks him his name. “Stanley,” responds the little boy. “And what is your question, Stanley?” “I have four questions:

First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN?

Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes?

Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?

Fourth, why are we so worried about gay-marriage when half of all Americans don’t have health insurance?”

Just then, the bell rings for recess. George Bush informs the kiddies that they will continue after recess. When they resume George says, “OK, where were we? Oh, that’s right, question time. Who has a question?”Another little boy puts up his hand. George points him out and asks him his name. “Steve,” he responds. “And what is your question, Steve?”

“Actually, I have six questions.

First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN?

Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes?

Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?

Fourth, why are we so worried about gay marriage when half of all Americans don’t have health insurance?

Fifth, why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early?

And sixth, what the hell happened to Stanley?”

The always lovely Jay–studying his little tooshie off in GA–sent us this gem (trust me it’s worth the click).

And finally, our friend the former Minnehaha Mama, Jill provided us with this post this morning.

We’ve won the House for sure, the Senate is soon to follow and Rumsfeld is out. It’s like Christmas in November!