TumblrTheThird

My heart’s in the right place 99% of the time. Unfortunately, my foot is in my mouth just as frequently.

eclaggs:

I have discovered the breaking point. The point at which I fail. Loudly.

How in the mother-effing hell do single, full-time working parents keep up with the homework and studying of two children - one of which is ADHD and anxiety-riddled?

There is not enough time in the day to get home, fix dinner, get 2 kids-worth of homework done, take showers and then sit to study for tests on Mesopotamian culture and ratio/proportion math stuffs without losing your confidence as a parent and human.

It’s 11:00.

In the past four hours, I cooked. I drove my kids to their mom’s and back so they could get stuff they needed. Twice. I wrestled with my youngest and her friend’s dog. I had an important talk with my oldest about understanding how she thinks and how it makes her feel and how it will never change and how she needs to realize that’s okay and how it all feels detrimental right now but that she can use it to her advantage the sooner she accepts all of that and accepts who she is instead of fighting it and yes it felt just like this sentence reads. I helped study for a seventh-grade test on Ancient Greece, its different forms of government and the origin/downfall of each. I helped study for a seventh-grade test on the human skeletal structure. I helped sign up for sophomore Honors English, Honors Writing, Honors Algebra II, Honors Chemistry, Show Choir, Spanish I, Printmaking and Intermediate Weightlifting. I explained the probable Republican candidate in the 2012 election more than likely believes in magic underwear.

It’s 11:00.

I still have to write three brand manifestos/anthems, an intro to an employee brand book, an ad about commodities logistics and arbitrage, twenty-ish pages of copy revisions for a website, a brand manifesto/anthem that will double as a script for an anthem video for another client, and a rationale for an upcoming TV campaign. 

I came over to Tumblr to scroll through a few pages while I mentally worked through my gameplan on accomplishing all of this. Then I found this post. E is the strongest, most resolute person I know. If she’s conceding to failure, I’m fucked.

This makes me want to just turn on Episode 5 of Season Three of Breaking Bad, grab a bowl of Trader Joe’s Vanilla Bean Creme Jo-Jos, gain fifteen pounds and lose one job.

I’m opening a business. It’s the worst business model in history, and I never expect to make a penny from the endeavor. But if anyone had the potential to make a living from this business, I assure you it would be me.

C&C Writing Company is a highly specialized service for the very wealthy and incredibly vindictive. It’s simple, really. If you’re going through a divorce or are just dealing with a shitty ex-spouse on a regular basis, you hire me. I move in to your (hopefully vast and awesome) residence for a month. During that month, you pay all living expenses. (I enjoy toro sashimi, Guinness, Patron Gran and a 4” memory foam mattress topper.) At night, the two of us will sit fireside and talk about your less-than-perfect marriage and the resulting deterioration.

As we talk, I’ll take notes on everything you hate about your ex, everything they hate about you and all of the anecdotes and inside information that led to your current relationship status. After a month, I’ll return to my (not nearly as vast or awesome) residence and await your call.

Anytime you have to send correspondence to your ex-spouse, you pick up the phone and dial my number. You tell me the reason for the email or letter and what it needs to accomplish, and I write it. Then, you send me a check for $500. I’m sure this sounds awfully expensive for what – up to this point – seems to be a mere secretarial service. So what value do I add?

I simply craft an email that deals with the issue at hand – financial, parental or legal. To anyone who is only familiar with the facts about the case – a court authority for instance – the email would appear straightforward and professional. To your ex-spouse, however, there would be not-so-subtle digs at their inadequacies, shortcomings and failures that would leave them sleepless with both guilt and rage for weeks on end. 

Essentially, I would be calling your ex-spouse a “cunt” or a “cocksucker” (or, in those weird cases of transgender douchebaggery, both). Thus, the “C&C.” The only two people who would understand that? You and your ex. For them, every email would be akin to bleeding to death from a million papercuts. A judge or county magistrate would remain oblivious, however. For the person presiding over your case and your future, it would be as irritating as fingernails on a chalkboard to the deaf.

In the long run, the cash you pay me doesn’t just make you feel good, it could actually save you money in judgments against you.

After three years, I’m pretty fucking good at this. Tell your rich, irate and spiteful friends.

So I made a new thing. You can find it at Only Samuel L. Jackson. 

The basic question behind it: How would the history of cinema be affected if Samuel L. Jackson were the only actor to have ever lived?

Dumb? Maybe. But it keeps me typing.

When is everyone going to follow iOS and make a double-clicked space bar add a period?

This would take care of two problems:

1. Typing a period (which I’ll admit isn’t really a problem, but is convenient).
2. People who insist on double-spacing after a period.

Don’t care about #1? See #2. 

Can this be a part of HTML17 or whatever we’re up to now? How about Web 3.14? Tumblr 1.00001? Bueller?

If you can’t taste it, take it again tomorrow night.

If you can taste it, congratulations. Tonight was your last night. 

(If you can taste it and still want to drink it tomorrow night, don’t forget that the judge made it a condition of your probation that you stay at least 100 yards away from my weblog, Lil Wayne.)

I can’t sleep, and it has a grand total of zero results on Google, so I’m rectifying that. “Jesanthapuss” isn’t represented, either. Hopefully, that gets indexed, too. “Jezanthepuss” gets one hit, and I’d really like to avoid any debate about which vowel is representing the schwa, so that guy gets a free pass.

“Jesanthapus,” on the other hand, is returning two results. But, c’mon. Just one “s” at the end of the name, Fark Guy? One? That’s disgusting. Jezanthapuss may be a little asshole, but the story didn’t mention anything about any physical festering. Pay attention to your eighth-grade English teacher when she’s talking about phonetics and how they alter definition. 

And, no I didn’t mean “geo physics,” Google. Thanks for asking, though.

[POST-SCRIPT: Now that I think about Jezanthapuss and Google a little more, I’d probably turn on “Safe Search” for images once there’s an entry for “Jezanthapuss.”]

Thing I just remembered about my run this morning: I got passed by a guy on a bike. He had a cat on a leash. The cat was riding on his shoulders. It stared at me until they both disappeared around a corner.