Caterwauling

Why do the idiots scrambling to play Gene Pool Survivor seemingly have the loudest voices in the anti-abortion movement?

And say what you will about my politics (if you must), but when the anti-abortionist police are quoting from “The Onion,” you realize the next generation of poster children for the procedure has arrived.

The first line of the post:

Here are some quotes from a pro-abortion person, Miss Caroline Weber, who wrote an article at The Onion online magazine.

Can you say “Darwin Award”? I knew you could. 😉

Via Sabre. And there’s a great commentary over at Sufficient Scruples in case Dee Dee Dee rips down the post.

D.C. Car Inspection/repairs: $300 (and three hours)
D.C. Car Registration/fees for expired tags: $300 (and two hours)
D.C. License: $40 (and two hours)

Surviving two trips to the mechanic, four trips to the DMV, two surly employees and three wonderful ones, 20 phone calls to various people who could make this happen: Priceless, as now — today! finally! — my car is legal and registered and titled and happy and snug in her newfound anonymity (as I gave up the vanity plates. *sniffle*).

Moreover, starting life over from scratch: Brilliant.

A gem from Dulcie:

There’s been a lot of gossip recently about how Laura Bush has allegedly moved out of the White House because of George’s “relationship with…

yes…

Condi.

An oldie but still a goodie. Via Tina, who is my new favorite person today:

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?”

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Amy done gone and did a purty site redesign, not to mention she outright got herself a spiffy new domain. Happy housewarming, Snarling Marmot!

She’s been doing a “Best Of” series, reposting some of her favorite entries from past blogs, which is awesome because I remember reading so many of them the first time, and I walk through the flashback right with her.

I decided that since I have not a damned thing to post about, I should do the same. So I tapped what I call “Classic Caterwauling” — i.e., Version 1.0 of the blog that never sees the light of day anymore — for something intelligent. And well, THAT experiment failed miserably. 😉 All I did was talk about wherever I worked at the time. Oh, the angst. It hurts to look back. It’s better to keep it offline.

What I did do was go back in time four years, to July 6, 2002, when I first moved down here and was in personal ad hell. Sorry to say that not much has changed, although I have gotten better at just meeting people in my apartment building without the aggravation of the ads and the electronic world — there’s always a whole ‘nother realm of annoyance to be found in the “real” world!

The old crap is below the fold. …

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It’s all well and good to wear scandalous underwear that matches your outfit brilliantly, but sometimes, that particular style of underwear is not necessarily appropriate for the type of outfit you are wearing.

That is all. Carry on.

We were kinda just hanging out, listening to Stevie Wonder on PBS’ broadcast of “A Capitol Fourth” when the fireworks began. I looked to the TV and while, yes, the fireworks over D.C. were a-happenin’ on-screen, I could also HEAR THEM LIVE. Cause they were, like, OUTSIDE, reflecting in the windows of another building. Squee!

So, luck be a lady indeed and she whispered to get the hell outside. So we went up to the roof and actually watched, live and in person, the nation’s fireworks display. No traffic, no crowds — just about 15 neighbors who happened to mosey out of our hiding places to take in one of the benefits the management company didn’t mention when they bragged about amenities.

Yeah, I am definitely renewing my lease next year. Because it’s so nice when the surprises happen to be wonderful. It’s the little things that make all the other stuff fade away.

I wish I’d thought to take a camera, but as I was out there sans bra, I figured I needed to keep my arms crossed anyway. 😉

I got steaming mad when the conservative press started whining left and right about the liberal media a couple of weeks ago when details of how the U.S. is tracking terrorist financing activities appeared in several major newspapers (not all of which were of the alleged barking-moonbat variety, thank you).

Apparently the White House had told The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal and The L.A. Times to not run with the story, and they all did. And the N.Y. Times took a huge butt-banging without any lube, like nobody else did it. And apparently it’s now wrong to say no to the Oval Office if it says so. The same office that is somehow, indirectly or otherwise, responsible for the Valerie Plame/CIA leak case.

Anyway, now that we’re hearing reports of an American soldier and his buddies allegedly slaying an Iraqi family and then he and one of his merry band raping the girl before killing her, well, where’s the outrage on behalf of the White House now?

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I used to love the Fourth of July. I used to attend every celebration and fireworks display available. And then seven years ago, my grandmother died while the fireworks were going off. And while it took me a couple of years to get back and appreciate the holiday again, it took a long time to forgive myself for not being there with her when she left us.

Needless to say, it’s not really my favorite holiday.

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I had planned to work today so I can take a vacation day on Friday (because I’m so far behind I feel guilty and just plain ill about taking a day away), but somehow I just can’t get up any enthusiasm for it. But yay, there are Reader Poll Monday questions to distract me from my guilt!

1. What’s the last book you read that you didn’t finish?
“The Devil Wears Prada.” I started it years ago and then finally just saw the movie last week. And because I have no clue where the book even is, I just bought the audiobook.

I once worked for that woman, although she was Satan’s Handmaiden and she carried a Coach bag. I cannot look at Coach without stifling a hairball.

2. Would you rather own a trained monkey or a talking parrot?
I think I’d go with the parrot. I’m sure having a monkey to fetch me cold beverages would be lovely, but at least with the parrot, its poop would be contained in a cage. Although I’m sure it would be repeating all the non-ladylike things I utter. But as I talk to myself a lot, the bird would justify that compulsion.

3. What newspaper do you read most often?
The Washington Post

4. Can you whistle?
Yes, albeit pathetically

5. How do you like your eggs prepared?
By someone else! Give me a nice spinach and feta omelette any day.

6. Which is bigger, the measurement around your waist, or around your bust?
The bust

7. What is the most talented physical capability you have?
Running away from my demons. Dodging reality with a single bound. Oops, I mean, my legs are really strong — I’m sure I could put my foot up someone’s ass and they’d not enjoy it.

8. Do you have any Sunday rituals?
Get up, lament the fact that the weekend’s almost over, make coffee, watch “Joel Osteen” and wonder if I’m ever going to get motivated to drag my ass to a real church.

9. What’s the first department you go to in Wal-Mart? In the grocery store?
I go to the most chaotic, obnoxious department first: personal care. I start with the makeup aisle (I’ve just discovered that Neutrogena makeup actually does a half-decent job of controlling my temperamental skin) and then get all the other girly products I require. Then it’s off to the catty litter department.

In the grocery store, I hit the Starbucks first. But then I go to the seasonal crap, which Safeway keeps right inside the door next to the coffee shop.

10. If you could go back in time to any year, what would it be?
Of my life? 1984. Don’t ask. Or maybe I’d go back to 1993 listen to my friends on something they’d warned me about. If I could go back anywhere, I’d visit the Impressionist era.