Breitbart Got It Right

I like to spend time each evening reading pieces that make me think. Since someone stole my People magazine (You know who you are! Don’t even!), I was at a loss as to what to do. I could have borrowed a book, I suppose, but Goodnight, Moon frustrates me, and the politics in Peter Rabbit is too intense. So I did what normal people do. I turned to the internet. I found this one article, and I found myself nodding in agreement. They are so right!

breitbart

No pigtailed girls are ever allowed in science and math! But her glasses and hair ties and shirt all match! SO CUTE!

Now, I have never read anything on this site before. This article/post/thingie was written by a guy named Milo. I’m not 100% positive, but I am pretty sure it’s this guy:

Milo is the cat. I couldn't find anything written by the dog, which is too bad. It's understandable, though. Everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs.

Milo is the cat. I couldn’t find anything written by the dog, which is too bad. It’s understandable, though. Everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs.

So in case you don’t have time to read for yourself, I’ll summarize. Men sometimes drop out of science and math mid-career, but only, like, 48% of them. Women hit the road running WAY more often. Like, 52%. So it makes perfect sense to Milo the cat AND to me that women should only get maybe 10% of the spots in STEM programs. Because 52-48=10 women who stick around, and those girls are mostly dried up old maids who never had a date in high school.

Women don’t like science and math because people are mean, and math is hard, and we’d rather be curling our hair and painting our nails and biting each other in the back and stuff like that. I’m so, so lucky that I fell into herpetology as a career because that’s, like, not real science at all. Herpetology is basically Home Economics.

Like, we work with these totally endangered species, but incubating the eggs is really just baking.

Ignore that data sheet-looking thing next to the eggs. I don’t know what it’s for. It just makes me feel smart to have it. I sometimes write the mommy and daddy on the paper with little hearts.

Animals need good nutrition to grow properly, and you and I both know that’s just cooking.

This mush goo they're eating is made of grass. I think. It might be oatmeal. And everyone knows that oatmeal sticks to your ribs like a hair in a biscuit!

This mush goo they’re eating is made of grass. I think. It might be oatmeal. And everyone knows that oatmeal sticks to your ribs like a hair in a biscuit!

And sometimes we breed snakes, but that’s basically like making spaghetti. Throw a couple of noodles together, and then wait a while. Pasta takes FOREVER to cook. Don’t you hate that?

Snakes don’t eat oatmeal, so we have to feed them icky mice. SO GROSS! This job would be easier if we had a hair dryer for the mice so we don’t have to dry them with paper towels. And everyone needs a blowout to feel their best, even a dead rat. I need to ask Santa to bring me a hair dryer for Christmas.

This is a Black-Headed Python (Aspidites melanocephalus). We know how to deal with blackheads, right? Facial, anyone?

This is a Black-Headed Python (Aspidites melanocephalus). We know how to deal with blackheads, right? Facial, anyone?

Sometimes we work with the Chinese Alligators. Here I’m helping the vets do a check up, and that’s just like taking a kid to the pediatrician.

It's mouth is shut using vet-wrap because it's a girl and is very much into back-biting.

Its mouth is shut using vet-wrap because it’s a girl and we ALL know how bad girls are about back-biting.

Sometimes we have to clean up after the animals. I learned all about cleaning in Home Ec. Thanks, Mrs. Binkley!

I'm cleaning windows inside the Chinese Alligator exhibit. You know what does a GREAT job on windows? Vinegar and newspaper. NO STREAKING! No, I'm not kidding!

I’m cleaning windows inside the Chinese Alligator exhibit. You know what does a GREAT job on windows? Vinegar and newspaper. NO STREAKING! No, I’m not kidding! Try it! You’ll be amazed! I don’t have any tricks to help with the turdballs in the drain, though. Sorry.

And we have a greenhouse to maintain. But knowing which plants are non-toxic and safe for tortoises to eat is a piece of cake.  Green is green, so it must taste good and be good for them.

Home decorating. A man's home is his castle, even if he's just going to eat it.

Home decorating. A man’s home is his castle, you know, even if he’s just going to eat it.

Sometimes we have baby animals. Who doesn’t love wittle bitty babies? They can probably eat what the grown up ones eat. I guess. Who knows? They’re just so cute!

Radiated Tortoises (Astrochelys radiata). See that red mark? That's nail polish! Girls are gonna be girls, amirite?

Radiated Tortoises (Astrochelys radiata). See that red ID mark? That’s NAIL POLISH! Girls are gonna be girls, amirite? It’s sparkly, too, so this little tortoise is ready to go out on the town!

And sometimes we have to feed the Komodo Dragon, but that’s mostly like walking the dog. Or watching Game of Thrones.

Her name is Khaleesi. Feeding her is a lot like walking a dog. You don't expose your Achilles tendons when you feed a Komodo Dragon. you wear kicky boots! And they're black. They'll go with anything!

We don’t expose our Achilles tendons when we feed a Komodo Dragon. We wear kicky boots! And they’re black. They’ll go with anything!

I don’t bother with things like spreadsheets to keep track of growth and breeding groups and the like. They make my tiny little woman brain hurt. But if it’s sheets that interest you, I can fold the fitted ones like nobody’s business!

I definitely don’t read scary old textbooks into the night because reading math science-y stuff will make my uterus fall out. I also don’t keep any kind of computer records or work with any complicated programs, either at the Zoo or in the computer classes I teach. I mostly just bang my fist on the keyboard until something breaks, or until my tears bring the nearest male running to rescue me.

It’s no wonder girls drop out of science. It’s tough on the ole noggin. They should all come into my line of work. It’s easy, and we can braid one another’s hair and bake cakes and stuff like that. Come and join me, girls! Herpetology is women’s work. Talking cats are never wrong.

 

***I am lying. I can’t fold a fitted sheet. I just wad it up and stuff it in the back of the closet.

 

A Candidate I Can Get Behind

 

It took 15 minutes per page, and there are four pages. He is prepared.

It took 15 minutes per page, and there are four pages. He is prepared.

I found this speech on my counter today, written by a young candidate who had been sent to his room to think about things.  Allow me to translate since some of these words haven’t made their appearance on the second grade spelling list yet.

“I here by decree I will make NO groundings, and I will make New Years Eve movie nights (Done and done!), and on the weekends movie nights, and on Christmas, you get what you want, and if you don’t get what you want on Christmas, then everybody else shoots them with Nerf guns (Nope. Vetoed, along with a brief chat about how Christmas ain’t about presents)., and on Easter we have Nerf gun battles (Because nothing says resurrection of our savior like being pelted with foam darts), and football games on Saturday (mostly if the Vols are playing, and I’m fairly certain that this administration will ensure that the Vols are ALWAYS playing),

Go, Vols! But you had better win! This administration will ensure the Vols always win by pitting them against local high school leagues. Maybe Pee Wee leagues.

Go, Vols! But you had better win! This administration will ensure the Vols always win by pitting them against local high school leagues. Maybe Pee Wee leagues.

and on Sundays we have to to go the pool, and we will have pizza and pancakes and Belgian waffles (because we’ll need to carbo-load after all that swimming. I am totally on board with this one.) And we will have Tacos for Tuesdays (Thank you, Lego Movie)

And I think I should be President because I will make the house more smooth (I choose to believe he is speaking of Congress here), and Saturday and Sunday we’ll play Nerf guns and go out to eat on Saturday and Sunday.”

Our candidate thanks you for your consideration.

And wait until you meet his running mate.

Run? I don't even want to walk! I'm his carried-in-arms-like-a-Queen mate.

Run? I don’t even want to walk! I’m his carried-in-arms-like-a-Princess-mate. Or how about benevolent dictator, except forget the benevolent part.

 

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!!

It’s fine if you politely decline to answer that question. If you know me in real life, you probably have an entire list. It’s cool with me if you keep it to yourself. No, I insist. Seriously, STOP TALKING!

So here’s my problem. I am home alone. Okay, that right there is not the problem. Home alone means getting stuff done. Or it should. I had a list of wanna-do kinds of things. I want to write some, do a bit of NaNo prep, work on my digital scrapbook, get some exercise, make a pizza, do some dishes. You know, nothing much.

But here I sit, bound, tied, gagged by anxiety. The worst part if it is, I don’t even know WHY. There is no single, logical thought that has become my tripping hazard. So in an effort to contain this prickly beast that feels like electricity in my chest, I blog. It’s a Sunday, it’s beautiful weather, people are busy with Halloween parties and their own NaNo prep, so I don’t even have the pressure of having people read this post. So it’s good.

If you have never experienced inexplicable anxiety, this is kind of what it looks like.

Why am I anxious? It could be because…

  • I haven’t processed the Padawan’s new diagnosis and made my peace with it
  • The Girl-Child is on a camping trip
  • The Girl-Child seemed ill-prepared for this camping trip
  • The Girl-Child may get eaten by a bear
  • If Girl-Child isn’t eaten by a bear, I have to drive her to Chattanooga when she gets home
  • The boys are on a hike without me to try to complete their 100 mile challenge
  • Their dad may poop out early and call it quits and they won’t get their 100 miles
  • I will be forced to rally the troops next Sunday and lead them to the finish line myself
  • If I am forced to lead them across the finish line, I will be missing valuable NaNo writing time
  • This is the first NaNoWriMo in which I have absolutely zero ideas speaking to me
  • What if I start NaNo and can’t finish for the first time ever?
  • What if I start NaNo and I struggle every, single night to get the words down?
  • I have not managed to stay awake past 9pm for the last 3 months. How will I complete NaNo?
  • I should be working on my mom’s scrapbook, but it means I have to upload photos
  • Once the photos are uploaded, I have to arrange them on the page
  • After the photos are arranged on the page, I have to CAPTION them
  • What if I die during the scrapbooking/NaNoWriMo/Hiking challenge?
  • Can I arrange to be eaten by a bear?
  • What if the baby kitties get fat?
  • Who you calling fat, lady? This is technically a ruff, not a double chin.

    Who you calling fat, lady? This is technically a ruff, not a double chin.

  • What if my cinnamon tree cutting dies?
  • Can I order cinnamon trees online?
  • What if it gets too cold and dies in transit and the company I bought it from refuses to refund me because I should have known better?
  • Can I grow cinnamon from seed?
  • If I grow cinnamon from seed, I’m supposed to plant them immediately because they have limited viability. But they aren’t supposed to be planted until Spring. And then it takes a month or more for them to sprout
  • What if the seeds are all dead and it’s too late to complain and leave feedback on Ebay?
  • What if I never own the Charlie Brown Funko figure where he’s dressed as a ghost?
  • Curse you, Walgreens exclusive! I missed you! And you remind me of the Padawan, and it makes me sad that I can't have you!

    Curse you, Walgreens exclusive! I missed you! And you remind me of the Padawan, and it makes me sad that I can’t have you!

  • What if I spend all day worrying and never get anything done?
  • What if I don’t get good pictures of the new Radiata hatchlings at the zoo?
  • Best egg tooth photo I have ever taken. Boss man hates the banana leaf background, though, and what if he sees this, gets mad, and burns my blog to the ground?

    Best egg tooth photo I have ever taken. Boss man hates the banana leaf background, though, and what if he sees this, gets mad, and burns my blog to the ground?

  • Speaking of new hatchlings, that reminds me I’m supposed to scrapbook for the department. I need to compile photos into a concise album to make that process easier. Easier? Suddenly it feels the very opposite of easy
  • Also speaking of new hatchlings… My new baby Neon Day Gecko – what if the parents eat it?Are there two new ones? What if they are eaten by spiders?
  • Phelsuma klemmeri, Neon Day Gecko. Extreme close-up. This kid is an inch long.

    Phelsuma klemmeri, Neon Day Gecko. Extreme close-up. This kid is an inch long.

  • What if we are ALL EATEN BY SPIDERS?
  • What if one day while I am hanging upside down to do water changes in the big exhibit, the driftwood becomes so weak that it collapses and everyone sees me fall into the water?
  • What if NO ONE sees me and I drown and my face gets eaten by the turtles?
  • What if I can’t find all the fun photos I want to add to this post?
  • What if I do find them, but my storage is all eaten up and I can’t post them?
  • What if I have to wash my hair again tonight?
  • What if I am out of shampoo and CAN’T wash my hair tonight?
  • What if my ENTIRE family is eaten by bears? It’s bear season, and maybe my whole family put on their best acorn underwear for their big hiking/camping trips?
  • What if Sonic runs out of dark chocolate/potato chip/pretzel Blasts?
  • What if I eat the Blast and it goes straight to my bum and none of my pants fit me anymore?
  • What if it never gets cold again?
  • What if it gets cold and I am very, very sorry that it is cold because I wear shorts all winter and end up with chilblains?
  • What if I never learn what chilblains are? But spellcheck does, so I know it’s a thing
  • What if my headache/anxiety/neuropathy/memory loss never go away?
  • What if I never get an idea for NaNo and the muse has left me and I never got to write again and my new computer sits on my writing table sad and dejected?
  • What if I go outside to go for a walk and a walnut falls out of the tree, hits me on the head, and renders me unconscious in the middle of the road?
  • What if I go to the gym to work out because walnuts typically don’t fall in the gym, but the bean burrito I ate last night makes its presence known and all the other members die of methane poisoning and I go to jail for premeditated foofing?
  • What if I don’t make it to Target in time for the post-Halloween 90% off sale and all the pet costumes are gone and Ravenclaw and Pandora are stuck being naked for the rest of their lives?
  • Okay, so maybe they won't be TOTALLY naked, but bat costumes have limited use.

    Okay, so maybe they won’t be TOTALLY naked, but bat costumes have limited use.

    pandora_the_bat

  • What if I can’t figure out a super-cool Halloween costume?
  • What if we go trick-or-treating and kids come by our house and no one is home, so they egg the place?
  • What if we buy a million bags of candy and we have no trick-or-treaters, so I am forced to eat the candy myself because I take one for the team, and then I get fat?
  • What if the MRI costs $10,000 and insurance doesn’t cover it and we are stuck in debt again?
  • What if my chest actually bursts apart with the electricity that is building in it?

Is it too late to sign up to get eaten by a bear? Then I wouldn’t have to worry about a costume because I would be Winnie’s Poo. Also, now I want a hermit crab.

 

 

This Might Be the Strangest Thing I’ve Ever Seen

I see weird things. When you work in a zoo or have kids, weird becomes a way of life.

Chameleons who have outgrown the tiny branches scrunches down like baby Huey so it’ll fit? Nah, that’s normal.

Go play in the big yard, kid. You're not a toddler anymore!

Go play in the big yard, kid. You’re not a toddler anymore!

Memorial auto decals?

A generic decal with an oddly specific lifespan. 2003 was a bad year for 16 year-old hog enthusiasts.

A generic decal with an oddly specific lifespan. 2003 was a bad year for 16 year-old hog enthusiasts. I do not like. Source

Yes, weird. I haven’t changed my mind. But not the weirdest. I just saw something that took the taco when it comes to the inexplicable.

I was walking in a park I’ve visited a dozen times or more, and tonight for the first time, I noticed this. Click to enlarge. It’s still a terrible picture, but you can see it better.

A head. On a wooden post. Just a head.

A head. On a wooden post. Just a head.

Need a closeup? Brace yourself.

I'm frightened

Hold me, Mommy!  I’m SCARED!

I walked around this… I don’t know what to call it. Statue? Obelisk? Travesty? I’ll go with that one… and I walked around it some more. I thought I was tired, or maybe someone had slipped some drugs in my Fiber One snack cake. (Shut up. They’re tasty, and who doesn’t like to poop?) But no. It’s a head mounted on a post.

A nice plaque rests right in front identifying the disembodied head as that of a former mayor. Questions. I have questions.

  • Was it sculpted out of play-doh by a class of preschoolers? The stump neck has too many thumb prints for my comfort.
  • Could they not afford a whole statue? Did they, perhaps, buy it on time? Will the torso arrive this Christmas?
  • Is this statue a warning to the surrounding counties as to what happens when you cut the library budget?
  • Did the former mayor step down, or was he cut down in a battle with a goblin?
  • Was his successor Vlad the Impaler?

 

I know bronze work is expensive, but maybe save some money and plant a nice tulip garden instead? Just a suggestion.

What weird things have you seen this week?

Pet Peeves Du Jour, Volume 743

I do not know why I am crabby today. It’s raining? I have a million things to do, but I’m completely uninspired? My Ricky Martin CD has a giant scratch on it? All my readers dumped me because I like “Living La Vida Loca?” Take your pick.

Preschoolers with squeakers in their shoes. When a baby begins to take those first wobbly steps, little squeaker-shoes are kind of cute. When the kid has the speed and coordination to train for the Boston Marathon, it’s time to give us all a break. Mom and Dad, you realize that the other people around you have ears, too, right?

Politicians who write off any concern for the environment as a strictly liberal agenda. The Lord gave man dominion over the animals in Genesis 1:26. Dominion is not equal to BDSM. Just because God put is in charge doesn’t mean we have the right to go all Christian Grey on the planet and screw it over every which way from Sunday, dumping poisons into the sky and water and killing our forests. Besides, I thought the notion of not pooping where we eat was more common sense than political.

Radio stations that play the same ten songs. Over and over and over. Hey, DJs! I have a secret to share! New music is released every Tuesday. And did you also know that each new album consists of more than one song? I know DJs gotta promote what they gotta promote, but those truncated playlists drive me to turn off the radio and put in a CD of my own choosing. That I will listen to over and over and over. So there.

Changes in website interface that interferes with functionality. WordPress, I’m looking at you, here. The old interface was easier for someone with my vision issues to read. The new stats page is an endless scroll in a predominately light-blue. I didn’t use my stats page a great deal before. I certainly use it less now. And let’s not even talk about the “new and improved” editor where some of the old options are either gone or so well-hidden I can’t find them. This peeve isn’t the least bit funny, actually. I spend many hours on WordPress. Functionality lost  = time wasted.

Labeling things as “artisanal.” Stop it right now! If you’ve carved a jewelry box out of a chunk of cherry wood, you’re an artisan. If you made a popsicle, you are not. Same goes for “handcrafted.”

Homophones. Why, Y, wye?!

What’s on your nerves today?

 

Recently I announced the winners of the Mixed Feelings giveaway. The grand prize winner never claimed her prize, so we went back to Rafflecopter to choose another e-book winner. Congrats to A. Burdick on winning the e-book. Of course, choosing a new grand prize winner meant turning once again to Pixel, who has the work ethic of, well, a cat. 2 bows, and a pound of catnip later, let’s see how she did.

It’s Debatable

Here’s my weekly confession. I didn’t watch the debate. Clearly because I am typing as the two candidates duke it out on the international stage. I know what you’re thinking. “Don’t you want to know where the parties stand on the issues?” I know where they stand. On opposite sides of a strip of duct tape that goes smack down the middle of the living room.

Democrats? Republicans? They’re just two parents in the middle of a nasty divorce, and you have to decide who you’re going to live with for the next four years. They’re so busy hating each other and trying to take the biggest piece of pie that they have forgotten that they love you at all. And you’re not sure you like them, either.

They scream at each other at the dinner table every night for spending too much money and hide their own receipts under the bed. Each blames the other for the drop in their property value, missing the truth, that the entire neighborhood hates them both because they scream at each other in the middle of the street and embarrass everyone. They play nice when it’s time for vacation then forget they ever agreed on anything the moment the minivan pulls back in the driveway. And they never take you anywhere fun.

And you secretly wish upon every star, wishbone, and eyelash that you don’t actually have to live with either of them. That maybe there’s an auntie you never heard of who will swoop in and offer you sanctuary. Or a fun uncle that will set firm but loving limits because they really do have your best interests at heart. Someone who will tuck you in at night and wish you sweet dreams. And you do dream, and sometimes those dreams even come true.

And all the while, your parents are calling you every night and begging you to please, please do the reasonable and grown up thing and choose them. That your life won’t be worth living if you don’t pick them. And you know then there’s no cool relative to save you, so you pick the one that seems least likely to drop their pants at the grocery store at the moment and hope they don’t quit taking their meds.

Nah. There’s no need to watch the debate. You’ll see them around the table at Thanksgiving. I’ll bring the mashed potatoes. You bring a new roll of duct tape. This mess is going to go on awhile.

Yeah, your pet eagle may have pooped on the living room drapes. And those were new, too.