Rude Awakening

You don't need to guess what I was doing yesterday when the news of Matt Lauer's abrupt dismissal from the TODAY Show broke, because I'm sure everybody was doing pretty much the same thing...scrolling through FB and Twitter or searching for the remote control to determine if what we were reading/hearing was true.

The sad thing is how so many of us reacted in shock over the swiftness of the dismissal, and not in that much shock over the allegations. At 7am, when Savannah and Hoda opened the show, there were no details to report. Thus, by the time we started to learn about Lauer's secret door-lock button under his desk and his general bitch-assiness, we were learning that Garrison Keillor might be as creepy as we always thought. By the evening, we had moved on from those revelations to "learn" that almost no one who works at 30 Rock, except for the folks on the TODAY Show, actually knew Matt Lauer personally. Which is total bullshit.

I am not even going to defend the fact that I continued to watch the TODAY Show even though I was personally bothered by the way Ann Curry was treated. And the way Tamron Hall was treated. And let's not even talk about Megyn Kelly. Or the way I think Matt and Savannah were just as complicit and responsible for the normalization of #45 as Mika and Joe (and every other news team or anchor that gave him a megaphone for his opinions).

But since I am raising the issue of complicity, I need to acknowledge my own. As a loyal viewer of the TODAY Show, I am one of the millions of reasons why Matt Lauer could be such an asshole and get away with it for so long. I always suspected that the rumors about his inability to keep his pants zipped were true. But his philandering was none of my business. His job was to keep me informed and entertained. If I just wanted the straight information, there was Charlie Rose...

Was I sufficiently tolerant of Charlie Rose's lecherousness? Yes, even though I had no idea that he was like that. I had occasionally witnessed the flirty banter that took place on the morning show with Gayle and Nora, but I didn't watch often enough to notice if it was anything other than on-air chemistry.  

With the revelations about Garrison Keillor, do I dare admit my suspicions that his jocular folksy persona was just a cover up for a randier alter ego? After we learned that Charles Kuralt supported a second wife and her family for nearly 30 years, perhaps we should have looked upon those cuddly bookstore owner types as the most likely to use that sweetness to their advantage. That and the fact that Keillor pretty much adopted the language of there-are-good-people-on-both-sides in his defense of Al Franken just hours before his own sins were revealed.

By now, you probably guessed that I am not really admitting that I approved of, knew about, sanctioned, excused, witnessed, or was ever victimized by any of these men who have been recently felled by their 'inappropriate" behavior. I am suggesting that my understanding and acquiescence to how sexism works in the workplace is part of the cover up that we are often too afraid or unwilling to confront. We all know that certain men have reputations and act with impunity; unfortunately, most of us are too invested in getting along to challenge their hegemony.

So Matt Lauer got flown into work by helicopter so that he could maintain the appearance of being happily married, while still chasing skirts. Al Franken could visit the country fair and brush up against his constituents because everybody wanted to take a picture with him. Russell Simmons could appropriate the language of yoga to mis-remember how he might have sexually violated a woman he thought was down. John Conyers checked himself into a hospital for stress because he's 88 years old. Roy Moore was just looking for virgins.

The President? Well, as long as he's still doing this, you tell me.

When Harry Met Meghan

Meghan Markle, future Duchess of Sussex. An American in the House of Windsor! Her Royal Highness, Sista girl M&M from Compton, is now going to have her own postage stamp and her image commemorated on collectible thimbles and teapots!

It was just a few days ago that I branded the latest announcement from Kensington Palace that there would be no daily updates on Prince Harry's love life as #RoyalNewsYouCantUse. I even quoted my Dad, whose knowledge of tabloid headlines is usually quite surprising and random, when he suggested that any upcoming Royal weddings needed to occur after the Queen and Prince Phillip's 70th Anniversary and the birth of William and Kate's third kid. My take was that we're all intrigued, but until there is a ring, nothing to see...

Y'all there has been a ring for like a month! And she looked pretty darn radiant as they casually strolled into the gardens to wave at the press, and then quite ecstatic to finally be able to flash that ice for the world to see.

Y'all, can we wrap our Busy Black heads around the fact that Prince Harry already wakes up next to a woman wearing a silk head scarf with a scalp moisturized by coconut oil?

That when they put together that wedding guest list, they will have to invite and sponsor several of her Compton cousins? And that they are going to need to reserve a section of the church for the delegation of black church ladies coifed in their peacock and ostrich feather church hats paired with matching satin suits accented with sequins and pearls, waving cardstock church fans depicting Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr, and the Obama family?

And that the Obamas will actually be there, whereas Melania Trump will have to watch on TV like the rest of us commoners?

Does everyone get that there will be little curly haired ginger brown babies running after great-grandmum's corgis around Buckingham Palace?

Every bad joke we made about barbecues at the White House with the election of Obama now makes the reverse transatlantic voyage across the pond for British audiences. So we'll let our West Indian and Afro-Brit cousins translate the cultural equivalencies of having a black woman in the Royal family. She's American though, so we are still expecting some YouTube footage of Auntie Ree Ree teaching Prince Charles and Duchess Camilla the wobble. And right now in heaven, Princess Diana, Michael Jackson, the Queen Mum, Prince, and Elvis are working out that seating chart? (If not Elvis then Tom Petty, because we can't forget that Meghan's dad is going to have some say in this too.)

Which brings us back to reality and the controversy of her racial identity. Yes, to every black person on the planet, Meghan Markle is neither half white nor biracial. She is BLACK. And none of us gives a damn about her blow out, her fair complexion, her white ex-husband, or her suburban upbringing.  She can self-identify as she pleases, so if she wants to call herself biracial, we will just nod our heads in collective understanding that her choice is actually more about making white people comfortable than it is about actually denouncing anything. We've already seen her yoga posing Mama with the hair twists. They're from California...it's called La La Land for a reason.

To claim her as one of our own does not negate her father in order to elevate her mother. Contrary to what other folks think about racial identity, most black people are rather pragmatic in understanding how the world works. We didn't devise the one drop rule--it was bequeathed to us by our British/American colonizers/owners. So we're not going to allow y'all to revoke a 500+ year old rule just because it is convenient to support the lies you need to believe about racial purity. Phuck that. We all know about Queen Charlotte. And to those few whiny pants blackademic hoteps and bitter boos who are urging us not to celebrate Meghan because of their own issues with racial identity, phuck y'all and Sammy Sosa too.

Busy, Black, and Blessed

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I got home this morning at 1am, after I chatted with my Dad and cleaned up my parents' kitchen. I was tired, and in that can't sleep mode where I was wide awake, sore, and trying to catch the last 30 minutes of both The Godfather II and Gone with the Wind (don't judge).

And then, as soon as both films ended, I was out like a light. Thankfully, I took the time to remove my makeup during one of the commercial breaks. I made a mental list of all the things in my life for which I was grateful and during another commercial break, I started to write this post to share that list. But as I said, as soon as Scarlett O'Hara declared that tomorrow is another day and the ending credits scrolled, I took her at her word and closed my laptop.

Today finds me no longer basking in the afterglow of feeling accomplished and satisfied about pulling off a pretty decent Thanksgiving gathering. Today, I was awakened by the Toddlersaurus' refusal to use the toilet. She lost one of her earrings because the Hub insisted that I should wait until she was calm to remove it (since he can't figure out how to do so). Apparently, her version of finding calm is to pee in her training panties and then spread her toys all over the living room floor. Such is life.

Earlier, I scrolled through my FB feed to "like" how all of you spent your day. I'm also looking to see who decided to brave the crowds to wade into the Black Friday madness. I'm impressed by your restraint, or perhaps your low tolerance for unnecessary nonsense. I've decided to avoid political news, if I can, until this evening. I'm sure whatever ridiculousness the President chooses to tweet about today will be sufficiently outrageous to occupy the news cycle until the evening.

I won't be making an endless list of gratitude as initially intended, but I won't complain either. Dinner was only half an hour later than I had hoped. The Toddlersaurus didn't get her nap, but she got to exhaust herself by running around the house with her favorite cousin. The Hub's macaroni and cheese (made with penne pasta...yeah, I know), was delicious. We will have the collard greens on Sunday since they didn't make it to the dinner table yesterday. My Mom ate her dinner and my Dad was pleased.

Although I'm still not ready to transition into Christmas, I accept that tis' the season. I'm going to check out a few online deals in advance of cyber Monday. I'll look for some Christmas music for the kid while I enjoy this marathon of first season Living Single episodes. I'll get dressed shortly to take my Mom to Arena Stage this evening. I'm going to plan my birthday outing and the Niece's 8th birthday bash. And I'm going to finish this piece with a shameless plug for my new Busy Black Woman side hustle--coffee mugs (sold individually $15 plus shipping). Email me at ayannadamali@gmail.com to place your order!

What's the Matter With Kids Today?

If a picture is worth a thousand words, it might also be worth a thousand gasps and sighs (although I am unsure if this represents $1000 of ruined product). And it's also worth at least a thousand different opinions about inattentive parents and the damage that can be done by one child who has been left to his/her own devices for a little too long. Idle hands, as they say. And trust, I could write a book about what my Toddlersaurus has done in the space of five minutes by herself...

I've already shared my initial assessment of what probably went wrong at the store, and again that is just one of a thousand thoughts with which you may feel free to agree or disagree. But there is this question out there posed by the photographer and subsequent internet mom shaming, which is how do parents go anywhere with their children without causing some kind of drama?

There is only one answer to that question--we can't.

Our parents and grandparents couldn't either, so before anyone tries to argue how much different it was in the golden era when children were always polite, well-behaved, listened to instructions, were respectful of property, etc...yeah, take a short trip with me down memory lane.

When we were kids, major department stores had toy departments and pet stores. There were electronics departments lined with television sets along the walls. There were record stores and book stores in the mall where we went to flip through albums and magazines. There were arcades and movie theaters. If we were out someplace where none of those amenities existed, sometimes we stayed in the car. Or at home.

At the grocery store, we began in the produce department where we were given grapes or berries (unwashed, right off the display). Maybe one of us was allowed to push the cart with a younger sibling seated up top. Or perhaps we were trusted to help find items on the list. At the checkout, we were rewarded with candy that was displayed by the register. If the trip was meant to be a quick one, we stayed in the car. Or at home.

Sometimes we had to go to places where there were no accommodations for keeping children distracted, like the bank or a repair shop. So we were given the warning not to touch ANYTHING, which was always a challenge and rarely was heeded, and which resulted in an inevitable meltdown. In response, we were disciplined in public, and the business was completed.

Yep, we were disciplined in public! We were also bribed to behave by promises to visit McDonald's or places like Farrell's. Snickerdoodles and pet goldfish were our rewards for staying out of trouble.

All of this was life before personal electronic distractions. Before parents had to be concerned about children being abducted or molested. Before parents were reported to Child Protective Services or became the unwitting stars of viral videos. Before malls began to fall on hard times and people began to do much of their shopping online. Before times changed.

Our parents had it rough because we were kids. However, the world accepted that children exist and enter into spaces that are not built for them, often out of necessity. Our existence was accommodated and tolerated, and it was understood that despite all of the distractions and activities that could keep us out of trouble, nothing was foolproof. A baby will cry, a toddler will tantrum, a school-ager will wander and explore, a teenager will get bored, and all of that is normal.

Our generation has it hard because we can't take our children's safety for granted, so we have to keep them essentially tethered to us in order to monitor both their behavior and our suspicions of strangers. And despite whatever herculean efforts we attempt to keep them out of trouble, isht happens. A display of glasses will crash and break because some kid bumped into the table (Bloomingdale's when I was eleven). There will be a harried Dad calling after his rambunctious kid to stop running and screaming, and to stand still so that they can leave soon (usually on a day with no Mom in sight). You will overhear promises to buy crap. You will see a child concentrating on a game or video on Mom's phone or ipad. And yes, some unsupervised kid might cause a lot of damage to the makeup display at the cosmetics store.

The Busiest Black Woman Holiday

Busy Black Women of the World are already making lists and checking them thrice. They are making the hard choice between disposable dishes and the wedding/heirloom china that rarely gets used. They have declared the proposed the logistics for the day. They have issued the assignments and then made contingency plans. With Veteran's Day now over, the countdown to Thanksgiving has officially begun!

This year, I will assume the great task of being the Busy Black Big Mama for my family, which could be described in one of two ways. On the one hand, it is akin to being the artistic director of a favorite theatre company; on the other hand, it could be described as herding feral cats. I haven't done all of the things that I have mentioned in the first paragraph yet, but how hard can it be to just coordinate a family dinner? My Grandmothers did it. My Mom and Aunt did it. My In-Laws have done it. One of my law school classmates organized a Friendsgiving dinner twenty years ago that I fondly recall as one of the best holiday experiences ever. Another friend, bless his heart, attempted the same 24 years ago with less success, yet it also ranks as one of my faves. And actually, I almost coordinated my first Thanksgiving a few years ago, but in the words of Forrest Gump, that is all I have to say about that...for now.

Why, you ask? Well, for starters, it is the duty of every Busy Black Big Mama to oversee the meal for Thanksgiving, especially the bird. It is my job to make all decisions about the meal, so when my passive-aggressive Dad offered to buy a cooked turkey from one of the grocery stores, I declined. I may not be a Food Network chef, but I can read and follow a recipe. And I've cooked a turkey before. I've also cooked plenty of other meals, so think I can manage without second-guessing from a man who prefers to eat pre-packaged food "cooked" in the microwave.

Second, this is my moment. My Mom took over the role of being the Busy Black Big Mama when I was in college from my Grandmother who became the supervisory BBBM Emerita. Grandma had managed the gathering for years, but she yielded the title with all rights and responsibilities therein to her daughters (my Mom and Aunt) once she determined that they were capable of handling large family gatherings. Unfortunately after her death, the extended family stopped gathering, so my Mom focused her efforts on our nuclear family unit. When I got married, we alternated the holiday with the Hub's family in New York where my Mother-in-law had begun a similar transition of power to her daughters. After a few years I was allowed to contribute the greens that were politely eaten or refused (because apparently nothing green is consumed by Puerto Ricans).

Sadly, both of our mothers took ill at the same time. My MIL had a succession plan in place, which has worked quite well as far as I can tell. My Mom hadn't begun the transition process, so when it became necessary that we would have to carry on without her leadership, I stepped up and devised a plan for our family feast. I understood the basics, so I made the necessary assignments, including provisions to secure a fried turkey from an Uncle. Then moments before the meal was to be served, my plan was upended by a wagon fully laden with food that was rolled into the kitchen. So again, in my Forrest Gump voice, that is all I have to say about THAT...for now.

This year things are different, so I've got this. Yes, I have a Toddlersaurus who might make implementation of my plans more challenging. Yes, my Dad might try to sabotage help. Yes, someone will offer a suggestion that will rub me the wrong way and I will have to lovingly remind them to stay in their lane. Yes, I expect this to be exactly like herding feral cats, and nothing like serving as the artistic director of a favorite theatre company. So what. I have rightfully earned and inherited this responsibility, and as such, I have the right to try and fail (or succeed) just as my predecessors. And like them, I have the grace and grit to fully manage the various personalities and their accompanying drama. That means I will let my Dad make his pumpkin pie from a can, but will not entertain any arguments about the superiority of canned cranberry. No thank you, we pass on the kale and mashed cauliflower. And look, there is no polite way to say this but don't nobody want any store-bought macaroni and cheese!

Look, I know Thanksgiving isn't for amateurs, and I get the inherent danger of punching above my weight class. I have learned from over-thinking almost everything that perfect is the enemy of the good, but good enough is never quite so...which is why we don't allow men to do that much except to buy last minute groceries, pray over the meal, and ceremonially carve the meat. The consolation for most Busy Black Big Mamas is the fact that Thanksgiving is literally just a speed bump on the road to Christmas, so the pressure isn't as great. Our sole duty is to ensure that everybody eats. My only other job is to set an example for my Niece and daughter. And well, if I mess it all up, then I guess that will be all I have to say about that.

Red Beans and Rice Mondays: Post-Halloween Wrap Up

I wanted to follow up on my impressions from Halloween 2017. And in what might be one of the shortest list pieces I will ever compose, you guys did pretty well:

1. Your children's manners were impeccable. Great job parents! Except for that kid dressed as a ninja who pushed past my kid for a ring pop (you're going to get cavities).

2. I started early, but a word of advice to those of you who want to have splashy Halloween decor: start working on your decor earlier than 5pm on Halloween.

3. I didn't see nearly enough imagination with those costumes. Everybody played it safe as a superhero, movie character, or princess (says the women whose daughter was Princess Jasmine, but on Saturday night she was a cat). Next year, I need to see a few kids dressed as Federal Indictments.

4. I went home early, so no slut-shaming from me. Not that I would do that, but if you were a$$ out in these streets, I missed it and the weather was mild. Carry on.

5. A group did knock on my door at 9pm. And I gave them several pieces of candy because according to the Hub almost no one else showed up and I didn't get home until after 8pm. I even set out a bowl and a sign at 4pm when I left the house, so what gives? Maybe it is because...

6. None of my neighbors distributed candy, despite the fact there are now at least six kids in our block. And that is why I gotta take my kid elsewhere!

7. How come folks don't know the Halloween rules (like my brother and Dad). Lights on = candy house. Lights off = no candy house (where there actually was candy inside, so now my kid has spent the week sneaking Milky Ways when Granddad wasn't looking).

8. No lame candy :)  And that includes the goodies that were on the porch of a former senator (one of the perks of trick-or-treating a block from the Capitol).

9. Books are an acceptable candy alternative from a used bookstore, I guess.

10. There is a major holiday between Halloween and Christmas called THANKSGIVING, not Black Friday!!! So, in case anyone wondered why the Grinch was so grouchy, that might be one of the reasons.

11. I am getting old and starting to repeat myself. Seriously...I wrote this in 2012 and this five years later the week before last. Why didn't somebody tell me?

The Ism We All Tolerate

I started this piece the same week that Carolina Panthers QB Cam Newton was fired by Dannon for insulting a reporter with a sexist remark and maybe a few days before Hollywood mega-producer Harvey Weinstein was outed by an article in the New York Times for decades of harassing behavior. I had some of it written, but then every other day there came a new allegation, with the most recent notables being Mark Halperin, Kevin Spacey, and Louis C.K.

I couldn't keep up, so I will just set out my case and watch the chips continue to fall. It is dizzying, but hardly surprising that all of these powerful and influential men are being confronted with their boorish behavior. But this is the culture we have tolerated, driven by a relentless appetite (currently) for more news of sexual misbehavior and scandal.

My initial premise was to argue how sexism is the "ism" we tend to tolerate. We have very strong opinions about all of the others--either you are on one side or you aren't. Patriotism. Nationalism. Historical revisionism. American exceptionalism. Chauvinism. Trumpism. Capitalism. Racism.

But sexism isn't all that easy to define, categorize, or stigmatize unless the allegations are egregious. Take for example, a FB exchange I had the day after the Cam Newton incident. A friend posted an article to his page, expressed his opinion that the statement was problematic, and invited others to opine on the topic. And let's just say the lines were quickly drawn to forgive Cam's statement as not really sexist, despite the fact that it was.

And here is the thing--we can forgive Cam Newton for his dumb comment. But the one thing all women know is that sexism always starts with a stupid comment until it becomes a stray gesture by a revered old man who offers a friendly pat to someone's backside. Or it could be a series of uncomfortable requests, like a massage or forced affection. It could be meant as a compliment that is recalled as a humiliating experience. It could be bragging about what he can do if given the opportunity.

It is not just the overt acts, since those don't really clarify the matter. Apparently it was woven into the culture at FOX News that men could harass the women on staff with impunity. Harvey Weinstein's antics were such an open secret that nearly everyone in town was complicit. And with the balance of power at stake in the Senate, apparently a man can be forgiven for touching a child inappropriately, because the Virgin Mary was a child bride.

Marinate on that for a few minutes. Because I just went from a stupid remark to biblical pedophilia in two paragraphs. There are plenty of other behaviors I didn't explicitly offer up as examples, such as offering commentary about someone else's body or inviting someone to watch or participate in someone's personal sexual gratification...

We have spent the last six weeks exposing the misdeeds of powerful men, but it will be meaningless if we do nothing else to dismantle the wall we have built to protect all abusers from accountability for their actions. When we tell young girls from the earliest ages that boys will be boys, we send the message that the power to stop sexism requires evasive actions by us (the potential targets), and not affirmative behavior by them (the future harassers and abusers). We reinforce the message that in order to get along, get by, or maybe get ahead, we must exercise infinite forgiveness and patience, with no real guarantees (just ask Hillary Clinton how that worked out for her).

And that is the real problem of sexism--the excuses, the false equivalencies, the re-visioning of history, the defensiveness, the outright lies, the victim-blaming, and of course, the silence. A little over a year ago when I was talking to myself out loud in my little corner against supporting admitted sexists in their artistic and political endeavors, I recall feeling demoralized whenever I read alternative viewpoints. Our tolerance for sexism served the greater good, it was argued. By looking past the "allegations" (which are always just allegations), we could accept the philanthropy of Bill Cosby; celebrate the artistic vision of Woodie Allen and Roman Polanski; and maintain the quota of one by supporting the presence of Clarence Thomas (yeah, him too). Ignore the fact that our tolerance for sexism stigmatizes, marginalizes, encourages, tolerates, perpetuates, and ultimately normalizes reprehensible behavior. Because our Pu$$y-grabber in chief will make America great again.

What to Wear

I posted this article a few weeks ago on the Facebook page and am just now getting around to addressing it's central premise: Do women waste too much time worrying about their attire?

The easy answer is yes. But there are ways to streamline the effort so that the answer can become no. However, that isn't my gripe with the article. My gripe is Arianna Huffington's assumption that in order to achieve more success in our careers, women have to become more like men. I would prefer to argue about how we can better support women than to argue about what to wear.

Back when I was a college student, I remember that we were told to invest in a good navy or gray blue interview suit, a simple strand of pearls, some silk blouses, and a sensible pair of black heels. We were also instructed to invest in professional accessories to complete the ensemble, so everyone I knew set their sights on a Coach briefcase and a Montblanc pen/pencil set for graduation. This was the result:

And for years, this was the look I adopted for interviews, important meetings, and court appearances. So to respond to Arianna's initial argument, women do have a professional uniform of sorts. And most of us adhered to that look until we got better paying jobs and could shop somewhere else other than Casual Corner and The Limited.

When we got a little more take home money and a real job title, some of us began to branch out to shopping for more options at department stores. We got to wear real name brands. We realized just how heavy that Coach briefcase was, so we ditched it for a lightweight designer commuter bag. We lost the Montblanc pen (or maybe it was stolen by a jealous colleague), but we soon realized that we needed several pens that work and that don't stain. We experimented with different looks because that navy suit got a little too tight once dinner was no longer ramen noodles every night. We bought scarves to add a pop of color. On one uneventful trip to the department store, we ventured past the jewelry counter and saw a really interesting bracelet cuff. On that same visit, we noticed that one of the cosmetic companies was offering free makeovers. Next thing you know...

And so, yes, women spend way too much time on our appearance. For those of us who have jobs that don't require a uniform, we have choices. Our definition of professionalism has changed over the years to accommodate weight changes, lifestyle choices, and children. We responded to the example of a glamorous First Lady in the form of Michelle Obama and decided to diversify beyond the structured suits. We determined that pantsuits could send the right message of authority and confidence. We rejected the casual Friday tendency to wear anything clean because we are grown ass women (except during the summer...some of y'all need to rethink those outfits #ijs).

Point is, women have earned the right to decide how much emphasis to place on our attire. So have men, and as we all know, plenty of men have rejected neckties, button-down shirts, and leather-bottomed shoes in favor of casual collared-shirts, khakis and Cole-Haan loafers. When I got pregnant, the Hub took over caring for his work wardrobe...and let's just say that the iron hasn't been used in a while.

Back to my issue with this premise that in order to succeed, women need to act more like men because we don't. Women just need the same opportunities as men. And that is a much harder effort.

It means enacting policies that support working mothers that don't pit them against the other women in the office without children. It means providing mentors who actually provide help and advice, not those insecure folks who feel threatened by promising young talent. It means setting reasonable expectations that allow workers to have a life outside of work. It means treating people with respect and clamping down on any conditions that create a hostile environment.

It should not mean that women must conform to standards that have little or nothing to do with job performance or advancement. And for the record Arianna, most women I know (including the Duchess of Cambridge) do repeat their outfits so umm, I don't get your point.

For the Birds

To the asshole who stole the package from my porch, phuck you. Phuck your children. And your mama. Phuck you.

I am so blown. This has been a rough month. So at the moment when I have convinced myself to take a step out on faith to try something new (another entrepreneurial venture), I get robbed. Again.

Remember when someone broke my window and stole the kid's diaper bag? Remember when someone took the drinks for my kid's birthday party from my trunk out in front of my house? Remember when someone broke into my car two blocks from my church and stole two purses? Remember when someone broke into the car in the front of the house? Remember when someone broke the window of my car just for kicks?

Maybe I didn't write about each of those experiences, but let me tell you how each time I really wanted to scream "I hope you break all of your front teeth and choke on your own vomit," but my better angels told me to pray for the person. And I kinda prayed that they wouldn't get audited or have someone smash birthday cake into their new carpet or endure some other kind of awful tragedy as karma for screwing me. And this time, I really want to try to find a silver lining, but I can't.

I can't think of the silver lining to having someone steal a package of mug boxes and crinkle paper from my doorstep in the rain, except that maybe they will feel really stupid for having made the effort to steal mug boxes and crinkle paper. I can't think of the silver lining from when someone relieved my trunk of water bottles and juice boxes for the kid's birthday party, except that hopefully the juice in those boxes was rancid. As for the genius who broke my car window to take the diaper bag, I sure hope they are still picking glass from my car window that has embedded in some really uncomfortable places.

I am tired because this is total bullshit. I wasn't being careless and nothing has ever been stolen from my front porch. Maybe UPS made a mistake, but as the company charged me $30 for shipping and didn't give me any options for alternative delivery, I think I'm screwed so I'm pissed. I'm trying to build something here, and you are phucking with me!

So phuck you, phuck your Mama, and phuck your mama's mama.