That’s right. The first NAWACOTID went well, and today? Today I’m back to telling off assclowns. But only if they’re telling me, die, yuppie bitch scum.

People have no imagination nowadays. As of right now, 1:28 p.m., I am back to not arguing. Thank you for your support in my effort to better myself.

Anyway, back to NAWACOTID.

Jack Bog’s in.

MetBlogs are in. (Well, two of ’em, anyway. BETSY and that MetBlogger I sleep with.)

Vixen’s in.

Zip. My Zip is IN.

Qanzas is in, in, in.

Qtpies7? In.

J. Lynne? Has been in for a year and a half! Woot! I had no idea. I think she should get some credit for this idea.

Grand Poobah? IN.

Melissa Lion is in.

Kevin Allman? Yes.

TERRY OLSON IN THE HOUSE.

It is a DIVERSE crowd so far. You in? See you next Wednesday.

Why I Declared Wednesdays No Arguing With Assclowns on the Internet Day! Woot!

Thursday 13ers and Usual Suspects,

Do you hate to be wrong? I don’t mind it so much when I am, cuz what’s the point? Sometimes I’m wrong, sometimes I’m right. I’d like to think I usually am not an idiot, that I’m learning from my mistakes, but who knows? I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before! Sometimes I change my mind. Lose interest. Give up and go out for sushi, where the conversation is usually much more interesting than the one I’ve been engaging in on the Internet. That’s right. I “talk” with people on the Internet. (And in person — I do leave the house, have a life, run around, you know. Things that don’t involve the computer.)

Lately? Lately my husband and I have been doing a lot of political work. By “a lot” I mean, “a lot even for us.” Political work is enough to make your head implode. So along come the trolls:

“What do you know about it? You’re selfish and making things up! My preshus children go 2 a chartr skool and they luv it and are rilly rilly smart! Yer children would be smart, 2, if you wern’t such a selfish beoyotch!” Etc.

Then I feel compelled to say things like, hell no I don’t want my kids at your hippie-dippie little feel-good charter school, they’re fine at their neighborhood school. Yes, they unchain them from their desks sometimes. And it’s open to everyone, their school. It’s not hoity. No, actually, charter schools are exclusive and hoity. That’s why there aren’t any black kids/Mexican kids/poor kids, etc. at your school, see? (This is true of Portland charters, anyway. So please excuse me if your charter has the All-Asian Boys’ Juggling Troupe, and if it wasn’t for your special school, they never would have learned how to juggle! “None of the other skools they went 2 ever let them juggle, Witchie-Poo! You’re mean! What do you have against juggling?”)

But there I go again, see? Arguing. I give up, Internets. I will no longer argue! On Wednesdays! If you have occasionally had an “arguing” problem with “The Internets” and want to participate in this fine venture of mine, please send me an e-mail or leave a comment; I would be happy to give you a cheerful SHOUT-OUT!

My 13 reasons:

1) Why bother? No one wins.

2) Everyone thinks they’re a big expert, especially me, the Witchie-Poo of all-time. I will be an expert without typing out, “I am expert, not you,” and then will have a merry little laugh.

3) Head. Implodes. With too much conflict. Less conflict, more playtime.

4) What works for me might not work for someone else. Who cares?

5) I’m all, you know, zen. Cuz I went for acupuncture today.

6) I think, would my acupuncturist waste his time arguing? No, he would not. He’d throw some needles in them and tell them to quiet down their spleens. And then he’d say, Your chi is all out of whack. Let’s rechannel it. Then he’d light some moxa on their bellies, in their belly buttons, and say, Let’s draw some of that out. Then he’d do that, you know, five or six times, ’til they were goofy-relaxed, and ask, Better? They’d be all, What was I saying?

7) Why argue when you can make love? Go for sushi? Walk in the rain? Watch the Zamboni go ’round and ’round?

“There are three things in life that people like to stare at: a flowing stream, a crackling fire and a Zamboni clearing the ice.”
— Charlie Brown

8) I thought, if I can give up arguing on Wednesdays, eventually I’ll be able to branch out to Thursdays. Possibly Tuesdays. Perhaps (dare I hope for this?) seven days a week? Yes.

“Victory is mine/ Victory is mine/ Victory today is mine/ I told Satan/ Get thee behind/ Victory today is mine… (etc.) Love is mine… Joy is mine… Peace is mine…”

Om.

9) Sometimes when people really, really argue with you? And won’t give up? And are determined to make you change your mind? At any cost they just have to or it will kill them… It’s because they’re wrong. They know they’re wrong, and they’ve been wrong for a long time.

10) Nyah. (You can think nyah, but please do not say it out loud.) (The children are listening.)

11) If you argue, even if you’re right, it makes you look defensive. Don’t be defensive — be who you are and stand up for yourself and others, but don’t get defensive. You need to defend yourself if you absolutely have to, though. Like if someone tries to steal your chocolate bar.

12) The Internet gives bullies a safe place to hide and then (virtually) jump out at people. I’m not hiding — I’m right here, every day. Bullies, be gone. Go get your own blogs.

13) Love. Love and compassion and all that. It works.

Don’t be argumentative, friend. Don’t let the Internet assclowns get you down. Life is good.

Love,

WM

“Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don’t worry…I’m here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you.”
— Charlie Brown to Snoopy”

I’m creating a new blogging holiday. A weekly meme of sorts. I think I’ll make it happen… every Wednesday. It can be a new kind of blogging experience for all of us, and you can incorporate it right into Wordless Wednesday, recipe club, whatever other memes or habits you’ve acquired. I’m calling it… (ready?)… (steady?)… (GO!):

No Arguing with Assclowns on the Internet Day!!!!

You like it? Yeah, it’s a little bulky, I know.

I tried to get it going yesterday, but it didn’t go so well.

I would like to suggest the following ideas:

1) If someone tells you you should be ashamed of yourself, that you’ve brought all these troubles, this “bad cess,” on your own pretty little head, then you say:

You’re right! Why didn’t I see this all along?

2) If someone accuses you of whoring out your children for the Big Blogger Bucks, you say:

You’re right! Why didn’t I see this all along?

3) If someone calls you “self-absorbed,” “petty bitch,” “stupid, dirty hippie,” “liberal socialist whore,” yadda-yadda-blip, you say:

You’re right! Why didn’t I see this all along?

You in?

WM

Hockey God is blogging over at MetBlogs now, in case you were wondering what he has going on. Stop by and tell him hey.

How will this affect his hockey game, is my question.

Chuck’s new calendar is ready!!!!!!

I got picked as a Sweet Treat by Natalie of State of Confusion. This made my day.

Hey Natalie — thank you!

You are a big liar, junk mail folder, with your one thousand e-mails in my junk mail trap every day of my life.

I do not believe there are four girls waiting to meet me.

I do not believe you will make my penis stronger. I do not have a penis.

I do not believe that your watches are “all that” or that Viagra is the answer to my problems (see above: no penis), or that you are “freaking cheap,” although I do believe you are a “freak.” I would not do ritalin and drink, although according to you I can and buy some lexapro for good measure and call it a day.

(Customer service girl at Fred Meyer store, after telling an out-of-state caller, No we don’t sell hard liquor here: “He just needs to get himself a hard lemonade and call it a night.”)

I do not want your meds program, your depression seroquel or your protonix side effects. I do not care about Zoloft, synthroid or ativan side effects.

I know the synthroid side effects, having been on it since I was a child of 14. Its side effect is: I’m alive and not going into cardiac arrest.

I do not want 100 milligrams of this or that or something COD or something for free or all the help I need right here right now.

I am tired of telling my children, “Don’t look, junk mail!” even though I have selected text only no pix so I no longer have to see the big dix. My daughter reads now, and my son is learning. I do not want them to meet you.

You go away now, junk mail, before I slap ya.

ps — All the testosterone I need? No thanks. It’s estrogen here and I’ve got plenty.

Is it the cussing? Am I dull as a butter knife and no one has known how to tell me? Pick me! (Jumping up and down, waving her arms around.)

Just for you:

* Last Friday (Oct. 12, 2007) there was another shooting outside of Jefferson High School. Two, in fact. No one was killed. Thanks, Jeebus. We appreciate your attention. (Please send good thoughts to the kids in my neighborhood, would you?)

* In spite of the violence, the tough schools, the white parents bringing their white privilege to the table (“We are here to save the neighborhood! To save you from yourselves! Do what we say!” etc.), the pitbulls, the jerks who look like an angry white mob, with red faces and bulging muscles in their necks at neighborhood meetings re: name change from Intercourse Ave. to Chavez Blvd. (my favorite line in the string of comments on that link was “Wacky Mommy, you ARE wacky.” Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know), in spite of the traffic, in spite of the meth labs and the police with their SWAT vehicles and all of that?

* In spite of all of that, when our (new & improved) realtor told us, “When people think of Interstate Ave. and North Mississippi, they have preconceived notions about prostitutes, drug use, gangs, and whatnot,” (she may not have said “whatnot,” it is just my favorite word lately) all I could think was, “What the fuck do you know, bitch?” and I really wanted to go all North Portland on her ass. Especially when she suggested that perhaps my neighborhood isn’t “all that” and perhaps we should wait until spring to put it on the market? After we remodel the kitchen?

* (I’m fucking not remodeling the kitchen. The kitchen is functional and the lighting is good. Go look here here and here to find out why pigs will need to zoom across the sky before I tackle another big project here. Edited to say: We have since found an awesome incredible painter and no, I won’t give out his number.)

* You know, when my realtor (who is a west sider, by the by) went off about hookers and guns I wanted to say something tactful at that point. Like, “Why don’t you stick it in my eye and then I’ll be able to see that you’re fucking me?”

* I do not feel that she was being positive enough.

* This is a great neighborhood, shootings and SWAT teams aside. Ten minutes from downtown Portland, 15 minutes from Vancouver, Wash. Several schools nearby that, while my husband and I may not always be so keen on them, are loved by a lot of parents, kids and teachers. These are schools, some private, some public, with waiting lists. We have the Mississippi and Alberta “arts districts,” with fancy restaurants, galleries and bars, right up the street. We have fancy-shmancy restaurants and coffee houses right in my neighborhood, up the street. A farmers market within walking distance. Several community centers. A fancy grocery store and a regular grocery store. Yadda yadda blip. And we have a nice house. I am sorry to be a jerk and brag, but it’s pretty, my house. And good-sized. It’s vintage, for pete’s sake — its celebrating its 100th birthday this year. We’ve babied it and it shows.

* It is “Old Portland,” whatever the hell that means. Some people are impressed by it, they’re all “oooooooooh, Old Portland.” But not our realtor.

* Anyway.

* We decided to fix her up even a little bit more, This Old House. Because we haven’t spent enough money here yet. New carpet, maybe some new landscaping, touch-up paint here and there, yadda yadda blip blip, and wait a couple of months “until the market isn’t so smooshy” to list it. My mellow was pretty harshed after we made this decision, especially since we’d already found a really decent house across town and of course in my mind I was there, in my new kitchen, drinking coffee, so I took myself out for coffee to get my mind off things.

* I was reading Andrew Merton’s bio/autobio of Princess Diana — so good, but so heartbreaking, of course — and drinking my boring little decaf. (It may have been caf. You will never know, will you?) These two idiots sit by me and one starts bragging loudly of how he screwed someone on this real estate deal. He wanted this house in my old neighborhood (Rose City/Madison South) and they offered them thousands under what they wanted, and the owner countered with how about this much, instead? and yadda yadda blip and, smugly, “We just out-waited ’em. They finally had to drop the price and ha ha ha! I want them to pay closing costs and ha ha ha!!! I am not fixing the whoozit, they need to pay for that, too…”

* At which point his friend, who may I say to his credit was not being all gleeful and smug, said, “Who much would it cost to fix the whoozit?”

* “Just two thousand, but fuck that! Ha ha ha.”

* At which point of course I rolled my eyes at him and was tempted to crack a chair across his head because next he started bragging about how huge the house was (3,200 square feet). And hello? You just ripped these people off, don’t gloat. Instant karma’s gonna get you, buddy. That’s a sweet deal you got in my old neighborhood. I don’t want my mom to have you as a neighbor, you jerk.

* Then he starts bragging about the East coast, and “Back there it would cost you…” And I’m thinking, dude, pay for the whoozit yourself, you scam artist.

* But I’m glad I ran into him because it made me realize that while I do like getting a killer deal (who doesn’t?) I do not enjoy the gleeful pride of knowing that I screwed someone over.

* So I do want to get a fair shake for our (beloved, beloved awesome pretty) house, and I don’t want to pay tens of thousands more than I should for our new house. But. I do not want anyone coming away from the deal feeling all, nyah, nyah.

*Because that is wrong.

* Really, really, really wrong.

* So now I feel more okay about the whole thing. We’re still selling, just not this weekend. Because that smug guy? The thief? He’s that way, but you and I are not that way, savvy? Are you with me on this, Internet? I know my readers, I know you’re decent people. The housing market is in a little slump here, and there are way too many “PayDay Loan”-type home foreclosures going on because some loaners are opportunists and jerks. People’s lives are getting ruined because of it. Which is messed up and not fair to anyone. Is that instant karma? No, not usually. It’s usually someone who desperately wants to own their own place, and housing prices here can be pretty intimidating, and even though they can’t afford it, the loaners are all, “Suuuuuuure you can, sign your life away right here and I’ll go ahead and keep two of your kids.”

* I have karma on the brain today. Then when I got home, my favorite guy next to Hockey God stopped by: the UPS Guy! He brought me Sharon Stiteler’s book, “Disapproving Rabbits.” It’s all pictures of rabbits! With funny captions! Man, oh man, did I need this book today. And he also brought…

* Richard Avedon’s “The Kennedys: Portrait of a Family,” with seventy-five images from the Smithsonian Collections. I just glanced through it — it’s spectacular.

* So more later on those three books.

* Let’s not crack open any heads out there, okay people?

Love,

WM

* Planet Nomad is BACK and enjoying her new house.

* We’re next.

* I am getting excited about moving, but not so excited about weeding the yard and cleaning.

* When people say, “You need to put a little elbow grease into it,” do you think, “Perdon?” I do.

* I mean, “elbow grease”? What the heck?

* I’m taking the kids to my mom’s for the day, they are ecstatic. So is she. Move across town means longer drive to Grandma’s. My mom lives 20 minutes away right now, we’re pretty spoiled. She and my sister came over for dinner last night — we had Thai take-out so we could keep packing and working on projects. It will be a big change living across town from them — we’ve always lived nearby each other, with a few short exceptions here and there. My sister, “We’ll drive over, don’t worry.” (Yeah, cuz I’ll be holding her niece and nephew hostage, heh heh.)

* Webkins is fun for hours and hours and hours if you are a 5 or 8 year old.

I do read other people’s blogs occasionally. When I’m not freaking out because we’re selling the house and moving. Now. Not next spring, not next year, not when the kids are in middle school — now. While it’s freshly painted and the fall colors in the yard are spectacular and before we change our minds again.

Now.

Ready, steady, go.

Here are a handful of blogs I’ve been visiting lately, or for awhile:

Breed ’em and Weep (Don’t I know it, sister.)

Busy Mom Reviews (I love her regular blog, too, but I like seeing what’s new with products, books and movies)

Frederick Foodie (I love foodtalk.)

J’s Thoughts and Musings (Kitten pictures! And because she seems like the kind of girl I’d like to invite over for coffee. If we didn’t live across the country from each other.)

Mimi Smartypants (because she is)

The Pioneer Woman Cooks! (Girl likes to cook!)

Rose DesRochers — World Outside My Window (I like Rose. And I knew nothing about Hello Kitty vibrators before I met her)

Vixen’s Den (Because she helps everyone through the rough spots. And posts great pix.)

Go say hi!