I’m exhausted having been Super Mommy all weekend, and thus I’m cranky. So my perspective is thus colored by the utter bleakness of my sleepless head, and I’m a lot more negative than I am normally.

But I have to say, I’m so fucking sick of all this “green” shit. First, “green” is not a verb. Stop greening your home, your house, your office, your building. It’s a nice color coded way to say, “i’m trying to be conscious of what an environmental douchebag I am, and maybe mitigate some of the incredible guilt I may feel for living in the USA, which, in terms of world energy consumption, is like glutton at the all-you-can-eat buffet.” Seriously, all this moral superiority wrapped up in the word “green” makes ME turn green, and not from envy, either. The cumulative effect of all this bullshit “Greening” is circling around to bite us in the ass, and yet we’re all bellying up to BUY MORE SHIT that COSTS ENERGY to PRODUCE because it’s been labeled ‘GREEN.’ At the energy buffet, the US and all its denizens need to be told, “YOU BEEN HERE FOUR HOURS. YOU GO HOME NOW.”

1. Corn based fuels? Bad idea jeans. Because once again the production of food for fuel as opposed to feeding people elsewhere who don’t have any fucking food will trump any logical humanitarian concerns. We must drive! All of us! Everywhere we want!

2. All these reusable grocery bags in the stores, with pretty flowers and whatnot? MADE IN CHINA. PROBABLY BY AN EIGHT YEAR OLD. MAKING EIGHT CENTS an HOUR for fuck’s sake. And then flown over here en masse so that we can feel superior for using them over and over until they fall apart and we buy another and throw the first one into a landfill - but it was mass produced so who cares about quality? Then I’m given the dirty look for grabbing extra plastic bags from the store, when I reuse them consciously as many times as I can, for wet clothes, cat litter, dog poop (oh! Look at me! I’m a good person! I pick up my dog’s poop, unlike some other green-loving tree-humping assmonkeys out there who let their dogs take mammoth craps all over the place and DON’T PICK IT THE FUCK UP), storage, etc. But no, my conscious reuse of plastic bags is nowhere near as special and important and self-congratulatorily smug as a shitful, also plastic, allegedly reusable not-for-profit-foundation backed bag.

3. Organic cotton clothing? Great! Made in sweatshops by four year olds earning less than a liveable wage? Oh, don’t look at that part. Look at the pretty organic part of the label, not the “Made in Taipan” part that allows people to skirt the whole “Made in the USA” thing while not paying for US-based union labor to make that there garment.

So, you wondering who stabbed me with the tazer of crankass?

Here in Jersey, we’re having a bit of a budget crisis, and the Gov. wants to raise tolls, but says he won’t raise the state gas tax. Bull fucking shit, sir. Raise the tolls. Raise ‘em hard. Go for it. Spank their asses till they yell for more toll raising. And while you’re at it, grow a goddam pair and raise the gas tax. If greening is so goddam fucking important, then decrease the number of drivers by forcing people to consider their consumption of fuels and their use of the roads which creates more pollution. Mass transit might actually fucking improve if it becomes the only viable option for people who are faced with the requirement that they think before they drive, and before they consume.

But no, “green” is a trendy concern, and people want to choose what green items they spend their green cash on. To be told to spend more green cash on things like gasoline or over traveled toll roads, which, while ameliorating the budget crisis would also go a long way toward LOWERING the POLLUTION LEVEL FOR GOD’S FUCKING SAKE, that makes people grab green pitchforks and light fire to things with green eco-friendly lighter fluid because goddamn it, this is about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of driving aimlessly wherever the fuck we want, which is probably over to Whole Foods so we can pat ourselves on the back for buying an organic papaya that was flown in from Uruguay.

Note to self: read in moments of panic.

It’s not always going to be like this. It’s not always going to feel like you’re drowning in work. It’s not always going to feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day. It’s not always going to be so hard to relax. It’s not always going to be like this.

And the reasons that it is like this are good ones. Keep swimming. 

Why is it folks make small talk with me by asking if I am “surviving,”
as if having two kids and one and three-quarters of a job plus a house
under reno is some kind of punishment? It’s tough sometimes but I
choose each and every part of it and love my life.

Which is what I said: “I am very happy, and I love my life.”

I am surrounded by CNN terminals and all of them combined do not give me papal enthusiasm. Instead I feel bad for the number of flowers that were cut to blanket the podium, and for any security dudes who have allergies.

I can board plane now? Thx.

Dear New York media:

You could not pay me to care about the papal visit to the US. Try to find some real news. Isn’t there a pregnant celebrity you could harrass instead?

Morag

I saw someone I know from work today on the subway and suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself, like encountering someone from a quasi-social setting in a completely different setting threw me off this planet and straight onto the “Planet of Utterly Awkward Morag” where I didn’t know what to say, do, or even where to put my eyes. AGH.

I’m fundamentally a shy person, which is laughable if you know me in real life but it’s true. I do not know what to do with people outside the regular venues in which I normally encounter them. Work people are at work. I rarely run into them outside of work. Home people I see near my home. Everyone operates in separate spheres in my world. I’m compartmentalized like the Container Store lives in my brain (and oh, if it did, maybe my house would be better organized). 

My other site is down for renovation (what is it with me and the renovations? And I’m not actually DOING either reno!) and I’m positively jittery with lack of outlet. I have Things! To! Say! My own limitless and egomaniacal opinion to offer! On romance novels! And man titty! And male fashion! And nipples! And do I have that outlet?

NO!

I’m twitchy, I’m telling you. It’s hard to keep a good Bitch silent.