Originally Published on Whiskey in My Sippy Cup

By the time this gets posted, most of you who are unfortunate enough to read my little blog will have already voted. And I’ve waited until today to post it because I don’t even for one second want to come across as “this is who you should vote for.” YOU should vote for whoever YOU deem most worthy. This is simply putting it out there for one day, a day far away from now, when I’ll wish I could go back to this day in our history, this monumental day for our nation, and see exactly what the hell I was thinking.

I am a bit of a conspiracy theorist. I will never, ever check Catcher in the Rye out of the library. I totally believe that JFK got shot by the government to get us into ‘Nam. I am fairly sure that we have proof of extra-terrestrial contact tucked away somewhere, and the only reason they interviewed people like my skull-less uncle for Project Blue Book is to hide the evidence. To discredit sightings. To make us THINK it was insanity. Because, really, if that man told me the sky was over my head, that would only mean one thing: I was standing on it.

And so, as my paranoid little mind works, I am predicting a McCain/Palin win tonight. Well, actually, I’m predicting and Obama/Biden win, a big fat temper tantrum, and an eventual GOP win.

It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. *coughgorecough*

I hope that doesn’t happen. I dream that when the GOP starts screaming FALSE COUNTS! that the DNC remembers that we still have a president until January, and we’ll all happily wait while every single vote gets counted, while all the re-votes are cast. If we can dump $750 billion into the market; we can pay the salary of the vote counters for a few extra weeks.

Hell, we’re CREATING JOBS!

But in all sincerity, I dream that I am wrong. I dream that tomorrow night, that socialist, skinny, not-quite-black-enough Muslim terrorist is my new president. I dream that over the next eight years, he gets the chance to make every single person that threw those hideous accusations around about him eat their words.

The cherry on top of our first full week of new posts at the revamped Blog Nosh Magazine was a bit of a sour one, as a few technical snafus prevented us posting Nosh Notes on Friday. Therefore, let’s double our desserts and highlight some of the posts we featured last week, as well as introduce you to our new NoshTube Channel Editor!

We celebrated our first week in our new home with the launch of our Fiction & Poetry channel, featuring a short story by The View from Here. The response was better than we expected, so spread the word to your writer friends that we are open to submissions of short stories, poetry, and posts about the craft of writing.

Another new angle we are exploring here is encouraging our editors to share posts with which they may not agree, but that they feel make intriguing arguments and are worth further discussion. It is important to note, if you have not already, that the posts we republish at Blog Nosh Magazine do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors that select them nor the publisher, however we feel that lends our content selection all the more depth. We are open to considering differing opinions and we hope you will be, too.

The perfect jump into the deep end for this approach was a political post from Dr. Laura on Sarah Palin and motherhood. Dr. Laura is definitely a “love her or hate her” personality, and one that certainly didn’t need any publicity from our magazine, however we were able to offer you something you don’t usually have the opportunity to do: comment back. Dr. Laura’s blog does not allow comments, but we do, so it was interesting to see our audience share their thoughts in an open forum.

{Originally published on The Bloggess}

Yesterday someone asked me how to deal with trolls and haters. I have no damn idea.

Trolls are just like you and me. Only shittier. Or more honest. Or likely to murder gypsies. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know the motivation of everyone reading your blog but what I do know is that in real life you come across assholes and weirdos and someone out there is selling computers to these people. People like the guy who left me this comment:

“I was right, you aren’t that hot. Damn.”

I didn’t mind that some stranger thought I was un-hot but what was disconcerting was that in the photo the guy was referring to? I was seven. And totally hot.

{Originally published on PENSIEVE}

I did something yesterday I hadn’t done in a long, long time.

It was quite by accident, I wouldn’t have planned it, and in fact, had I known what I was getting into, I would’ve done whatever I could to avoid it.

Under cotton ball-dotted blue skies during the afternoon rush, I walked into the grocery store. A full shopping cart and an empty pocketbook later, I walked out into unexpected gray and gloom; not just rain mind you, but furious pregnant drops defying gravity with a sideways pour.

The parking lot had been crowded when I arrived, forcing me to park at the far end. “It’s better for me, anyway” I remember thinking.

There were no two ways about it, I was going to get wet.

Person after person in the same boat as I made a run for it; it’s funny to watch someone make an umbrella out of a bag of dogfood. It’s also entertaining to watch people dancing and dodging to avoid the inevitable–this was a deluge, THEY WERE GOING TO GET WET!

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Originally published on Deb on the Rocks

I have a theory that humans take a fancy to the things that keep them in a perpetual state of foreplay. Not in a perpetual state of pre-orgasm, because as we have established, constantly living on the edge of a volcano could be a bit too much. But foreplay, a continuous state of desire, arousal, exploration and craving, that is the human preference.

Baseball, politics, film, cooking, eating, organizing, Viggo Mortensen,
aquariums, god only know what you are into. I’m betting that if we
could start in the part of your brain where your love of whatever it is
you love resides and follow the sparking and frayed wiring past where
it crosses the blue synapses and the firing yellow connections and that
knot of red wire, we would find a glowing hotspot in your neural
network that’s throbbing and straining to break through a zipper.

That said, I love the roller derby.

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Originally published on Deb on the Rocks

Oh my god. What is this? OH MY GOD?!?!? Who is taking pills? I will not survive these high school years, I won’t.

What
is it, speed, painkiller, what? I’ve never taken anything that looks
like that. What am I going to do? I need to sell this house and
homeschool these kids in Idaho until they are 21.

Crap. I need
to go to the pill I.D. website and describe this thing and find out
what it is. Then I’m going to track down the dealer and go freaky
bloody Kill Bill ninja MILF-on-fire lioness on his pathetic dealing
skanky existence. Who would sell pills to kids?!?! I’m going to pluck
out his eyeballs.

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