Don't Blame Me, I Voted McCain/Palin!

Celebrity Anagrams–Guess Who!

Flully Flullenberger — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 15:09:31 +0000

Today’s anagram:

Good Blood, Moon

Did you guess?
Find out if you’re right!

The Only Thing I Will Ever Post About Jon and Kate Plus Eight

Flully Flullenberger — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 00:44:23 +0000

I have my own opinion about Jon and Kate Plus Schadenfraude. Of course I do. But I have a stronger opinion about the sensationalism of a story like this, and the loss of integrity that would come with writing about it, and so I’ve avoided mentioning it. However, I just read a blog from the Huffington Post that gave a completely unique perspective on this story, has very little to do with the people involved, and actually says something about our society instead of screaming obscenites at a woman in over her head. Jon and Kate Plus You Should Hate Yourself For Caring:

Does it occur to anyone else that some of the criticism of Kate Gosselin, the mom in John and Kate plus Eight, is pure, unadulterated sexism? There is no doubt who is in charge in that household, who wears the pants if you will, and the nontraditional power relationship drives some of this public hostility.

Contrast the recent coverage screaming at us from the headlines of all those colorful magazines at the checkout stand. She gave him an allowance of $5? She travels while he stays home? He is a saint for getting the kids dressed once in awhile?

The Duggers, with 18 children, a made up religion that seems to advocate contempt for the rest of America, and a reality TV show on TLC, also have these same rules. But the pronouns are reversed. They stepped out of the ’50′s – the 1850′s that is – complete with long dresses and an absolute, unflinching patriarchy.

Why don’t I hear screeching about their parenting? Between the homeschooling, the physical construction work on the new house, and the system of letting the children parent each other, they are much farther from the American parenting norm than the Gosselins.

So go ahead and bag on her spray tan, her mullet in the making hair style, or her new boobs, but enough about her emasculating her husband. She’s not the next Lorena Bobbitt, just your average $75,000 a week reality TV star with 8 kids, a sloth of a husband and a book tour.

I’m Sorry: A Short Story

Flully Flullenberger — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 15:15:43 +0000

The following is a work of fiction and should be read as such. It has nothing to do with anything, and it’s definitely not about you, Mister.

I don’t know why I do it.

It’s certainly not because I enjoy it. Fighting, yelling, crying–none of it is my idea of a good time. So why do I do it? Why do I waste entire nights this way, nights that could be spent laughing and talking and fucking?

I guess the biggest problem is simply that I have too much goddamned time on my hands. It’s amazing the horrible things you can think of when you have unlimited time to dwell on them. So an unanswered text, instead of meaning you’re busy, means you don’t care. An evening spent with a friend, instead of being about you being free to talk about comic books for hours without any eye-rolling, is about you keeping me separate from the rest of your life. I don’t like thinking this way, and I mostly believe that I’m wrong, but just because I don’t believe it doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about it.

Conflict is a part of relationships. At least, it’s part of my relationships. Always. Love is a battlefield, right? You have to fight for it, to claw and scratch and take what you want.

And then there’s you, with your laid-back manner and casual approach and “we make each other happy so we’re OK” attitude, and it drives me fucking crazy with how much sense it makes. It’s like you’re this Vulcan, seeing everything logically and trying to make sense of me, a Klingon who’s hungry for blood.* I’m not used to it, I don’t get it, and I don’t like it. Even though I kind of love it.

I guess I hold things in when I don’t have to. I know when something that’s bothering me shouldn’t be, so I don’t bring it up. But it’s still there, as poisonous as it is insignificant, just waiting for the wrong moment. So I let it stew. I turn passive-aggressive. I complain about other, unrelated things. I get drunk and pick fights that I don’t even understand until you go to bed angry and I fall asleep crying when all I had to do is say “Hey! Did you notice that when the three of us drink together you always clink his glass first, and then mine, making me feel like an afterthought even though I know it doesn’t mean anything?”

Yes. That’s right. It can be about something that stupid.

All this is just my way of saying I’m sorry, but it’s also me trying to say that it doesn’t have to be this way. When someone is as determined to fight as I can be, I’m sure it’s easy to play into it. You go into defensive mode, and why wouldn’t you? I can be a real bitch when I want to be.

So let’s try this. If I’ve had to much to drink, if my argument doesn’t quite make sense, if I’ve obviously misinterpreted something you’ve said or done, just don’t let me get mad. Don’t fall into the trap that I can’t help setting. Let me have my say, give me a big hug, and tell me I’m being stupid. I’ll believe you.

*I haven’t looked it up, but I’m pretty sure this is a correct and appropriate Star Trek reference.

Try to Not Love Tom Hanks.

Flully Flullenberger — Fri, 15 May 2009 01:56:42 +0000

Go ahead. I dare you.

Duh of the Day

Flully Flullenberger — Mon, 11 May 2009 21:37:43 +0000

“I am a big fan of talking babies and their humor.”

–Eminem

Taken from a press release announcing that a cartoon Eminem will be hosting Fox’s Sunday Night Seizure lineup with Stewie Griffin. There’s actually a pretty good chance Eminem himself didn’t actually say that, but I choose to believe that he’s a big fan of other great talking baby comedians, such as the kid from the Look Who’s Talking movies and the stock broker baby from the commercial.

(via Videogum)

In other news, Seth MacFarlane’s Family Guy spinoff Cleveland! is being picked up for a second season before a single episode has aired. Plans are in the works for a theme park, restaurant chain, and airline.

The Problem With Mother’s Day Cards

Flully Flullenberger — Sun, 10 May 2009 21:48:43 +0000

I was standing in the drug store today, looking through Mother’s Day cards and thinking none of them said what I wanted them to. Not that I was entirely sure what I wanted it to say. My main goal was to find one that didn’t lie.

Look, I love my mother. Of course I do. But let’s not kid ourselves. I don’t have wonderful memories of baking cookies and learning to put makeup on and watching sappy movies together. Or whatever it is moms and daughters bond over. We managed to get along while I was growing up, and we manage to get along now, and considering the circumstances that’s really the best I could hope for. They don’t make that card.

Of course I could have just grabbed any of them and signed it and she would have eaten it up, but something in me wouldn’t let me do it. I had an image in my head of her reading the card, getting weepy and thinking about what a wonderful job she did raising me, and I just couldn’t stand it. I could try to figure out what that might say about me, but I’m not prepared to think about it right now.

The other option, of course, is a cute card. A cat that hopes she has a purrfect mother’s day, maybe. But this seems wrong, too. I’d like it to say something, at least. She wasn’t a horrible mother. I don’t want to express the way I feel about her with a pun. Not even a cat pun.

The problem with Mother’s day cards is that they don’t have enough of a range. You can either get a long, flowery poem about the joys of having her as a mother, or a dog in a hat. There are no cards that say “Thanks for the adequacy.” I looked and looked, but nothing really got the feel that I was going for, which was ”I appreciate that you didn’t hit me, and also that I didn’t starve.”