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My editor seems like a nice person, but her notes are grammatically, um, interesting. And her suggestions are just as interesting.

I don't want to fight over every last thing, but seriously: SAID? Get rid of "said", exchange it for... I don't know what, really? Nnnnnngh. Pooooooop. On your shoe.

...I'm going to leave that alone for now and go look at the rest of it. *Deep breath* *Cardcaptor Sakura-style fist clench* Yosh!

La la la...

LEAVE MY FUCKING SPEECH ATTRIBUTIONS ALONE THANK YOU.

For God's sake, "said" is a fucking invisible word. Ask people how many times they read the word "said" in a book and they'll probably blink at you and go "huh? Why are you asking such a weird question?"

We haven't even gotten to the bottom of the first fucking page and seriously--SERIOUSLY!?--the word "said" is pretty much the least of my worries.

No, I'm more interested in figuring out how to un-fuck-up two fucking sentences that no one seems to like (and YES I CAN fucking see the fucking problems with them so maybe it's just time to fucking rewrite them!)

Oh and quit fucking with my commas, too. I like them right where they are.

They say Snake Oil cures all ills, too.

Reesa posted a rant about essential oils (or rather, the beliefs of certain purveyors of same), which reminded me: A while ago, I was looking after the icky little dogs whose people are obsessed with organic- and natural-everything. One of the dogs had a hot spot and the people said "Treat it by spraying it with this colloidal silver-in-distilled-water stuff."

I said 'sure thing, boss, have a good trip.' After they'd been gone long enough to clear security at the airport, I opened up google and got to work.

Turns out the worst thing you can do for MOIST dermatitis is, y'know, keep it wet.

The best thing you can do, and the thing that I did, was to immediately go out and buy some povidone-iodine (a.k.a. Betadine). I dabbed that on a couple of times a day (diluted, of course), then otherwise left the spot alone. By the time the people got home, the spot was scabbed over beautifully and getting smaller by the day...

As far as I know, they never noticed. Sure, maybe silver does help with bacterial stuff, but it doesn't matter how superspecialawesome the stuff is if the treatment itself isn't beneficial in the least.

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TAKE. YOUR. FUCKING. CHILDREN. OUT. FUCKING. SIDE. TO. FUCKING. PLAY.

THEY HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE ALL DAY AND I AM NOT GOING TO FUCKING TAKE THEM OUTSIDE AND BE FUCKING RESPONSIBLE FOR THEM.

YOU DIDN'T FUCKING TELL THEIR FUCKING WASTE OF PROTOPLASM 'FATHER' TO DO IT -- AND HE FUCKING SHOULD HAVE, NOT SPENT HIS FUCKING TIME HERE "SLEEPING" IN YOUR FUCKING BED AND ESPECIALLY NOT WHEN IT'S UNDER OUR FUCKING ROOF TRUST ME IF I COULD GET AWAY WITH IT I'D "ACCIDENTALLY" HIT HIM WITH A HAMMER EVERY TIME I SAW HIM.

I DON'T GIVE A GOOD GODDAMN IF IT IS YOUR FUCKING BIRTHDAY, BITCH. THEY ARE YOUR FUCKING KIDS AND UNTIL THEY GET TO BE OLD ENOUGH TO PLAY OUTSIDE MORE OR LESS UNSUPERVISED YOU ARE NOT IN FACT MUCH OF AN INDEPENDENT ENTITY SO NO YOU DO NOT GET TO JUST PAWN THEM OFF ON ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT MUON-SUCKING PHYTOPHILIAC. YOU QUARK-GOBBLING ENDOSPERM. YOU PALLET-HUMPING SPAWN OF BRACKEN AND MUCK.

YOUR FUCKING CHILDREN ARE YOUR FUCKING RESPONSIBILITY. I HAVE SHIT I HAVE TO DO, SHIT I NEED TO CONCENTRATE ON, AND YOUR FUCKING CUNT-SQUEEZINGS ARE MAKING IT INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT TO FUCKING FOCUS.

Felonies are a bad idea.

This is what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Also screaming at people to get off their fat fucking asses and fucking DO SOMETHING USEFUL FOR ONCE IN THEIR GODDAMN LIFE.

It's a fucking gorgeous day, and where have the children been? INSIDE. ALL FUCKING DAY. watching fucking TV. Which is where they were yesterday, which was also a beautiful day. Oh, well, no, they DID go outside. But only because I took them outside, despite never having agreed to do it. (The little one went downstairs and happily told her mother that I was going to do it. And if I hadn't, they wouldn't have gone out.)

I want to go home. Why can't I just go home?

Fuck you, pay me.

The appropriate response to someone telling you they need to leave is:

A) "Oh, sure, give me five minutes to get dressed and i will be right out to supervise my hellspawn."

B) "Can you bring them inside so i can get us all ready to go to [destination]? Thanks."

C) A sigh and a put-upon "okay"

D) The cries of some eldritch horror from beyond space-time as it eats your mortal soul

If you picked A or B, you are a reasonable human being. If you chose D, I'm very sorry and will tell your family that you loved them.

If, however, you chose C, you are Bev and you owe me a significant amount of money.


Posted via m.livejournal.com.

But that's not what I'm here to scream about, at the moment.

No, at the moment I'm pulling out my hair and shouting at someone some 3500 miles away from me.

A "horny 16 year old boy" or "a boy not good enough for the boy's basketball team but better than most of the girls on the girl's team" COULD NOT just declare that they're transgender and then waltz into the girls's locker room. IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT, not without the boy in question doing a whole shitload of other things, most of which he probably wouldn't, at least not long enough for a court case to develop.

The refusal to understand that WORDS FUCKING MEAN THINGS BEYOND WHAT ONE HAS BEEN TOLD BY AM RADIO AIRHEADS AND FOX "NEWS" just drives me up the fucking wall.

Also, 'gender neutral language' and 'gender neutral bathrooms' are two incredibly different things.

SEEEEEEEERIOUSLY.

The temptation to demonstrate what the word transgender means has been growing over the last five minutes. I've always liked the name 'James', and I even know where my ace bandages are... I think Walgreens sells replacement clips/fasteners.
You had AAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL fucking DAY to take a nap, Bev. You had at LEAST an HOUR from the moment I left until the moment I returned--and by the way, we should really have a little discussion about that whole driving-around thing--to take your fucking NAP, Bev.

So no. I'm not going to take your fucking responsibilities out to ride bikes because you know what? NOT MY PROBLEM.

They are YOUR fucking children, Beverly. YOU need to suck it up and be the fucking parent, because you know what?

NO ONE LIKES IT WHEN I DO IT. They never tell me what it is I'm supposed to be doing, but hot DAMN do I fucking hear about it when I do anything--because it's always wrong.

When you decided not to schedule an abortion immediately following the positive results of your pregnancy test, YOU elected to take on ALL of the responsibilities of child-rearing. That includes playing with them and looking out for them and otherwise, you know, BEING A FUCKING PARENT when you don't feel so hot, when you're tired, and above all WHEN YOU JUST DON'T FUCKING WANNA.

You can take some time off, sure. But only when you've fucking earned it--and sweetheart, you did sweet fuck-all today, so no. You don't get to have a nap. You get to take the girls outside to play because they've barely been out-of-doors (barring recess) in the last two weeks.

You know what would be AWESOME?

Never having to listen to Fuckface ignore his child/children. I swear to God that it's a good thing I'm a law-abiding citizen, because if I wasn't, he'd be nursing a seriously traumatic brain injury due to blunt force.

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haine's brain's broken, haine has a headache, .guh
missmausie
Miss Mausie

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