Stop Telling Me How to Vote!

Stop telling me how to vote…all of you.  I don’t need Facebook friends or political pundits telling me what to do and what I should think. In fact, I think it’s part of the big ass problem.

If you feel Hillary is a crook and can’t vote for her, I’m fine with that.  I understand. But don’t tell me that I’m throwing my vote away by voting third party.

If you feel that Trump is the worst thing since Hitler and that our country will implode with him in office, I’m fine with that too and I do understand why you feel that way, but don’t use your fear as an excuse to tell me who you think the only viable option for my vote is.

I’m going to vote third party. I don’t expect anyone to have me sway them in the same direction, because I think the whole purpose of our system is for each citizen to vote what they believe in the most.

So far I have heard that not voting for Hillary is “immoral” and “a waste”. I have had many people try and bully the “Blue or Bust” down my throat until I choke. I get it, you think you’re going to save the world one vote at a time, or something like that.  I get that you’re rallying numbers for the outcome you think is best. But it’s folly to believe that there is only one right outcome.

In giving my opinion I do not want to be told why I am wrong, and I also do not want people to think that I am trying to change anyone’s mind.  I just want respect. We will not get anywhere by bullying each other or being condescending.

Will my vote or anyone’s vote get a third party candidate elected into the highest office in the land this November?  No, it’s highly unlikely. I don’t think I’m voting for anyone that will enter the office, really. That’s not the point. The point is not to be short-sighted.

I cannot abide by this two party system who puts such candidates in front of me and expects me to “fall in”. I will not be forced to choose between Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber because the Democratic and Republican parties are treating us like fucking toddlers who can only make decisions between choice A and B.

The parties are running themselves as corporations. They are here to tell the people what they want and to control outcomes.  It’s not about issues and doing work.

Am I worried about what will happen if either one of these people are elected? Yes, a bit.  But the reality is that under eight years of both Bush and Obama, my overall quality of life didn’t change. Things don’t happen that quickly in first world countries.  If there’s a sickness, it’s a slow death.

I’m more worried about what is going to happen in 2024 and beyond. What is going to happen if we keep allowing ourselves to be told what’s best for us? What is going to happen if people are too scared to act as free citizens because they have been told that Tweedledumber is Hitler?

I am going to vote third party because I have to vote against the two party machine that is steamrolling elections and giving the illusion of choice to keep the public in line.

Before you go on to tell me that Trump was NOT the choice of the Republican party, I know. But the fact is that he IS their candidate now and they were unable to do anything to stop him so they just accepted him. They are still responsible for the outcome.

I’m not going to post a rant on Facebook because I hate people thinking they know better than me about what I feel and what I should do.  I don’t want to make anyone else feel that way. Everyone just needs to chill the fuck out and realize that none of us is really in control here. We’re being played so you might as well just do what you feel you gotta do.

My only hope is that this election will change how elections are held from now on.  Maybe we will have better quality put before us.  Maybe we will have MORE choice next time. Maybe we won’t.  But don’t let anyone out there tell you what to believe.  Just follow your heart, that’s what I always do. Also, your mom goes to college.

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Drab Woolen Balls

The other day I fashioned a reaching tool out of Thomas The Take Engine Track Master tracks in order to retrieve a roll-away dryer ball from under my Pottery Barn couch. I was so happy with myself that if I could have, I would have given this bitch a high-five.  But one clap is weird, even for me. Also, Pottery Barn is NOT worth the extra money you pay. Nope, not at all.  That couch is sucky…and probably haunted.

The elation I felt over the small victory of ball retrieval was just sad. How low have I sunk into the world of domesticity if the moments of happiness I snatch are based on woolen balls and kids’ toys versus men’s balls and sex toys?  Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch, my youth was not exactly an adult testicle and battery powered free-for-all, but you know what I’m getting at here, folks.

I’m old and settled down.

It’s more than just the music being too loud.  I mean, the music isn’t just loud in bars and clubs, but in stores. I hate shopping at clothing stores because I can’t even hear myself think about how terrible the “Boho Chic” trend is for everyone.  Not only that, but it hurts my brain to see a revival of 60s-90s attire paired with horrible modern country pop. Mostly because country sucks. That’s right!  I said it.

My last blog post was about finding joy in the little things in life, but what happens when those joys make you feel tired and drab? Shouldn’t I be hanging out drinking micro-brewed beer and talking about underground music and gastropubs? Instead, I have had more than one conversation about how I was skeptical of Boogie Wipes at first, but now see that they are essential to parenthood and maybe even life.

To be honest, IPAs suck too.  That’s right! I said it. I’m no fucking hipster!

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There was a time where going “downtown” was the height of an exciting night out.  Now, if some of my childless friends suggest going out to eat downtown I can physically feel my soul sink into my knees.  I will slump my shoulders, soften my knees and throw my head back and wail “But we’re gonna have to find paaaarrrrkkkkiiinnnngggg.” Honestly, most of the time I say we’re busy if it means going downtown or to any place that doesn’t have a handy parking lot.  I don’t need that kind of God damn drama in my life, you DINKs.

I once promised a friend that my writing was not a “mommy blog”, but in reality, you don’t need to be a parent to hate complicated “fun”. You just need to be a homebody and not need others to entertain you.  It’s called being “content”.  Try it you extroverts!  You might like it! Just binge watch something in your elastic waistband pants, get to bed at a decent hour and you tell me what your “hangover” is like the next day?  You won’t be able to because you’re going to be content and get shit DONE the next day.  Or maybe you’ll binge watch another show, but you MAY fold some laundry at the same time and that is productive and doesn’t cause STDs.

That’s right!  I said it. Damn young hipsters! Get off of my lawn!

 

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A Soul Sucking Hiss

I Can’t Get No…

Satisfaction.

Well, I guess I can get a little bit of that sweet satisfaction. I’m not talking about sex here folks, this is a fucking family blog. I’m talking about the little things in life. The things we are all supposed to be appreciating. Those unscheduled moments where we realize we are capable of happiness, though it be fleeting.

I feel like at this point people will start waxing poetic about how we were more in tune with these tiny magical moments in a time before this or that. But every new advancement is a chance for those who are unable to find a few seconds of bliss to blame it on something they don’t understand.

“The reason kids don’t play outside anymore is because of smart phones.”

“Before that Keurig coffee machine, life was slower and people didn’t mind waiting for coffee.”

“We need to get this country back.”

You know, total shit like that. The type of things people say when the inside of their heads looks like a small town Kmart. No imagination.

The truth is that little joys and small nuggets of satisfaction are created. If you’re not having those moments, it’s because you have lost an ability, not because the world has gained an advancement. It’s up to your sorry, beige ass to make sure that additions to the world create more opportunities for happiness.

I’m sorry, that was racist, not all asses are beige…but it was more of a metaphor than a literal observation. I don’t really care what color your ass is, just shut the fuck up about kids these days and how things were better before…blah blah blah. Life has always sucked, and it always will. New ways for it to suck will continue to be created so you might as well stay ahead of the game.

I recently experienced one such moment of pure satisfaction and it was completely unexpected. I didn’t create the moment, but I did allow myself to recognize it. Same fucking thing.

It all started with a rash of ear bud thefts in the office. It was a huge deal because we had to listen to everything. People with allergies were sucking up their snot. Cheerful people were making it a point to say “good morning” to everyone in the office. Truly, it was a dark day.

Thanks to the crap insurance that the global corporation that owns my company provides, we had plenty of XYZ Company swag ear buds that my manager had hoarded. I grabbed a pair and went to put the buds in my ears when I realized that the y-cord part was still attached, making it an “I” cord, I guess. I pulled the buds apart and was so overwhelmed with satisfaction of the feeling of making the I into a Y that I actually chuckled to myself.

Now, the actual ear buds themselves sucked, even for free ones. They had a loud hiss to them that sounded like our parent corporation’s sucking of souls, but they were free and I discovered a satisfaction I had forgotten about.

If you look hard enough and learn to recognize satisfying moments, they can be everywhere. A puddle that has just iced over but only has the thin, unbroken frame of ice that you can break with your shoe. The can or bag of coffee that you are just breaking the seal on. You hear that suck of air that is totally different than the sound of soul sucking and the thick, brown smell of roasted coffee beans fills the air. The piece of food that has been stuck between your teeth creating a most annoying pressure suddenly being dislodged (promptly and grossly swallowed). The sneeze that has been hanging out in the bridge of your nose and despite the ridiculous faces and hand flapping you are doing, hasn’t yet left your face, finally coming out in a super loud shower of germs.

You all know I’m right.

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The Questions We Ask Ourselves

I think it has long been established that talking to yourself does not mean you are crazy. The story used to go that you’re only mad if you answer back, but we all know that’s not true either.

We all talk to ourselves, all of the time. Whether it’s out loud or the imagined conversation you’re having in your head after dealing with a rude person, it’s part of our thought process.  It helps us know how we feel, find things, and vent frustrations.  It’s totally normal.

I recently noticed how often I ask myself questions that I never expect myself, or anyone else, to answer. Talking to ourselves for no reason…is that madness?

Why do we buy them (kids) markers/play-doh/paint, etc.?

Honestly, why? I really don’t know.  We can tell ourselves (in a sane self conversation) that it is because we like to see them happy, but let’s face it, put a big ass box in the living room and those simple-minded kids will be entertained for hours.

Never, ever in the history of the whole world since the combination of disaffected youth and spray paint has the world been so inappropriately colorful. My boys have tagged every single surface of our house with their mini gang sign.  I think they’re in the Pre-School Kings or something like that.

My kids have also become very adept at giving themselves washable marker prison tats. If I bothered to wash them everyday, that wouldn’t be so bad.  Keeping kids clean is an exercise in madness anyway. Why not just embrace the early stages of rebellious body art?

How does that even happen?

There are things in this world that don’t make sense. Scientists may tell you that we just haven’t found the answers yet, but really, it’s some sort of mystical sorcery that none of us will ever understand, nor are we meant to.

How did Donald Trump get this far in an election? Why do old people keep driving through buildings? Why is Kanye West still making “music”? We can perhaps wrap our minds around the logistics or physics of these phenomena, but we can never know the “why.” Our tiny human brains can’t grasp the awesomeness of these curve-balls the universe insists on throwing at us.

How did I get this bruise?

Remember the story of the shoe maker who was a lazy bastard and some elves came in and saved his ass?  There might be bruise elves out there.  They usually target women. They see the tender flesh of an inside upper arm and must leave their mark. A shin is just begging to be tested for durability.

These elves are not the benevolent kind that cobble out of the goodness of their tiny hearts. These guys are fuckers. All they want to do is make you wake up and ask yourself if scurvy could be the cause behind these inexplicable bruises. So, you get up and eat an orange and that night, the process starts all over again while last night’s bruises turn yellow.

Well, I guess this is a question you will no longer ask yourself. I’ve just solved the mystery for you. Don’t thank the universe, thank me.

Seriously, blogging and parenting is a thankless job. I need your adoration to feel whole again.

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I Love a Child in Uniform

All schools should require uniforms. I came to this conclusion while discussing the fate of human existence if the Yellowstone volcano should erupt.

I guess there isn’t quite a linear progression from the whole of human kind being wiped out to school kids not being able to do fashion shows, but stick with me here…I promise that I will write more.  Whether or not you will continue reading or be entertained is up to you.

The truth is that I never think about what might happen if ash snubs out all living things, or if the “big one” hits and this whole place is going to be Life After People.  What I do think about is whether or not my kids will be okay when they start school or if I need to watch some more Lifetime movies about cyber-bullying to bone up on what i need to do to protect them.

If Joey had a Lifetime movie about bullying made it would be called Tracks to Puberty: a story about the teenager who loved Thomas the Train too damn much. 

I think if Franky had a Lifetime movie about bullying made, he wouldn’t be the victim.  I would like to think that he also wouldn’t be the bully either…we might need to watch that with him.  Regardless, I think the title might be something like Playground to Prison Yard.

The fact is that all school situations, whether they be public or private, put a bunch of kids who are different in an environment and expect them to treat each other the same. It’s not going to happen.  The only reason adults manage this feat is because we have been taught and conditioned. And let’s face it, not all adults are able to muster up manners and compassion enough not to be total ass-hats.

As a parent it is my job to try and prevent my kids from becoming social outcasts who are miserable or popular fuckwads who treat people like shit. If you’re a good parent, it’s the time in your kids’ life where you would really like them to just be in the middle of the pack. Not the most popular, and not a Napoleon Dynamite…but just a nice kid with a solid group of friends who aren’t into huffing, black magic or One Direction.

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As a service to my fraction of a One Direction fanbase, I have decided to share some parenting tricks to help you direct your child into the best possible social position.

  • If your is a total asshole because they are never told “no”…you need to stop that shit right now.  Not only will it make them unlikable in school, but the rest of the world would just really appreciate it. Tell that shitty kid of yours that their glory days are over and shit is about to get real. You may want to show them some 80s movie villains to show them the error of their ways.  May I suggest James Spader’s character in Pretty In Pink. Also, try slapping them up a little bit.

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  • Personal hygiene is really a must. If your kid has an odor or is at any time secreting anything, you need to get that shit under control. Do not have the smelly kid. There is really no recovery from that stigma.
  • Please give your kids the tools they need to manage their emotions. I think we all remember the kid in school who became disproportionately upset over being “out” in kickball. That kid was usually labeled a “Spaz”. Now, that is not to say that there aren’t kids out there who honestly come by their emotional problems, I am not talking about those cases.  I am talking about jerks…see the first bullet to learn how to deal with such kids.

Lastly, there is appearance. I didnt add this topic to the bulleted list because it’s usually the most difficult concept to swallow.  We want to teach our kids that the clothes you wear aren’t important, it’s your gentle little snowflake spirit that people should like…but that just ain’t how life’s ball bounces, is it?

Nope.

So, what do we do?  How do we walk the thin line between giving in to your child’s social pressure to have the best of the new “it” items and letting them run around being the teenage tapered sweatpants kid? Can we guide these impressionable, yet hard headed buffoons toward the path of dressing in accordance with the social group they most identify?

I’m not saying that all kids should be wearing the same, run of the mill clothing.  I am saying that if your little Johnny Goth wants to dress like his gothy friends, that’s okay, but don’t let him be rejected by having his only black piece of clothing be an old blouse of his mother’s.  Also, don’t waste your money on all of the Hot Topic crap that he thinks he needs.  Even goth kids who fancy themselves as individuals and super deep can turn into entitled assholes.

But none of this would matter if all schools would just require a uniform and only school sanctioned accessorizing. Right?

So, you may be thinking, “My KehVaughn needs to express himself in any way he wants.” First of all, it’s “Kevin” bitch. And no…no he doesn’t. It’s a place of learning, not a fucking fashion show or a display of the depth of mommy and daddy’s pockets.

The fact is that public schools are basically socialist institutions anyway. I know a lot of you just gasped, but it’s true. It’s a government run program that is available to everyone…um…hello? There is a formula and curriculum followed in order to create a body of people capable of contributing to society and the workforce. Do ya feel me now?

Uniforms would level the playing field of this already standardized institution. Having all kids be told what to wear will help lessen the us vs. them attitudes of both rich and poor and popular and unpopular. No one is going to know how much a  pair of khaki pants and a blue polo shirt cost from the school store and no one is going to fucking care!

Girls will not have to be subjected to unfair and sexist dress codes because they are a “distraction”. As long as the Catholic school girl image is not perpetuated, every kid can attend school to learn and not be “bothered” by the fact that females have legs and boobs. I’m not saying that girls should have to cover up in order to other students to learn, but if the rules were the same for everyone it might just help kids keep their head in the game a little bit more.

So, there you have it. From volcanoes and the end of human existence to smart little jumpers and button-down shirts. You’re welcome, society.

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I Worship Me

The great thing about not being beholding to a religion or theology is that it frees up a lot of time and head space to worship at the alter of the gods of our own making.

No, that doesn’t mean that we have made up some deity to help us understand what is yet to be explained…

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Now, before you get all of your grundies in a bitch bunch, let me just say that there are people in my life that subscribe to all sorts of faiths and doctrines and we all are cool with each other.  How does that work, you may ask? Well, we accept that we are all good people and can have respect for one another and leave it at that.  Try it…it totally works. I’m a Secular Humanist, I have friends who are Catholic, Jewish, Athiest, Lutheran, Hindu and a score of other religions and it’s all cool because no matter what you believe, loving your fellow man should be part of it and all my people are down with that funk.

BOOM…world problems solved.

Well, unless you subscribe to the belief that Nickelback ever made good music…I’m going to persecute you for that shit all the live-long-day.

Back to the purpose here: Those of us to haven’t given our hearts up to this or that are are single and ready to mingle with our feelings.  For example, I am pretty sure my husband is at The Church of Neil deGrasse Tyson flagellating himself as we speak.  Science is his bag baby and if you were to throw in the fact that Mr. NdGT looks a bit like Lando Calrissian…well then Mr. Welleff is set up for life.  All of his needs are met whether they be geek, nerd, sexual or entertainment.

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Now, what false idol is set up on my alter?  There are either none or too many.  I can’t decide whether I idolize certain people or if I just REALLY appreciate them but come very short of worship.  I love Kate Bush, Peter Hook, Morrissey, Ian Curtis…I guess I have a faith boner for musicians whose ability, talent and contributions are vital to my world and appreciation of beauty in all of it’s forms.  Grit and shine, I love anyone who creates beauty.

The other hold up I have on love in the form of worship is that I know love that has exceeded all bounds of my comprehension, but it’s not for a “creator”. I love my children with a passion and power that can’t be quantified, yet it is not idolization.

My unwillingness to subscribe to any deity or karmic based theology may be because of my inability to worship or idolize.  Maybe it’s because as I, myself, am so damn cool no one can top me.

Come on now everyone!  Just try and come “save” me!

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Two Black Eyes

There are moments in our lives where we can truly appreciate who we are and what we are. I am sure there are times I am happy to be a woman, like every time I see a dude get cracked in the junk…I am happy I don’t have junk that can bring me down like that. God damn wussy peepees.

But let me point out there are are unsavory parts to being a woman.  There are the obvious ones: The wild wolverine who takes up residence in my uterus once a month and goes crazy all up in there causing blood, cramps and general mental illness feelings.

There’s the body image things.  I know anyone can suffer from poor self esteem, but I think we all know girls kind of have that market cornered.

You get the picture, there are pros and cons to having boobs and a va-jayjay, but here are a couple of cons I bet you haven’t read about:

The fact that you need a fucking safe cracking kit to get into any sort of informational tool meant to be peed on.  Any woman well versed in fertility knows that the most accurate way to get a true reading on a pregnancy test or ovulation test is to use the pee when you first get up in the morning.  So, there you are, about to pee on yourself, half asleep and struggling to open the test.  As if it isn’t humiliating enough that you have to pee on something, they make it almost impossible.*

Here’s another fun fact: sunburns and bras are a terrible combination and I wouldn’t recommend it.**  I can sit here and complain that if society wasn’t so this-or-that I wouldn’t have to wear a bra and things would be a hunky dory, but my boobs have girth and they need to be corralled.  It can get painful if I need to go down some steps or jog into a store and the girls are bouncing up and giving me black eyes.

*Just settle the fuck down.  I am not pregnant, nor are we trying to get pregnant.  Knowing when not to have sex is our only form of birth control right now and I shouldn’t even be explaining this to you! GOSH.

**And don’t even talk to me about sunscreen because I KNOW!  It’s not like I planned this.  Jeez.

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