WHAT Problem?

I think you know how I feel about this



and that’s just the past couple days.

Oh, you say, but guns don’t kill people, people do.

Here’s a thought: since it isn’t possible, sad to say, in some cases, to get rid of people, what about getting rid of the guns, then? 

sure, there’s still knives, clubs, rocks, poison, you name it, but I betcha that pregnant mom might have at least had a fighting chance against a knife-wielding 11-year old.



Alledgedly, Freecycle is awesome. You can get free stuff and you can give away all the crap nice things you don’t want cluttering up your house anymore.

Personally, I haven’t had a lot of luck with Freecycle.  I’ve offloaded given away some crap nice things, but for the most part either a) no one responds, or b) they respond but never come get it.

I have had someone write to say they would like it but can’t pick it up…*pregnant pause*, thereby insinuating that not only should I bestow my crap bounty on them, I should also give them door-to-door delivery service as well.

I have even had people take the time to write and tell me thanks, but they don’t need that right now.


And then, the subjects that are in the Re box are often hilarious on their own.  Quite often they involve the word “desperate”.

Now I equate desperate with needing an emergency kidney transplant or having recently suffered from a house fire or going-to-be-evicted-tomorrow-if-XXX-doesn’t-happen.

But today’s winner was:

“Desperately seeking queen mattress and box springs”

Someone is DESPERATE for a mattress and box springs. What?  The world will grind to a screeching halt if they have to sleep on the sofa tonight?  They will be forced to rob a bank to get money to support their harrowing Queen Mattress and Box Springs need?  Kittens will slaughtered by the masses unless a queen mattress and box springs are taken possession of immediately?

Call me crazy, but needing a mattress does not rank right up there as a desperate situation.

Ah, Freecycle; the Land of the Free and Home of the Desperate.

Salma Hyack Gains a New Fan

I don’t really know much about Salma Hyack except that she is in the movie industry but I’ll tell you straight out that all those people raising their eyebrows and tut-tutting about her breastfeeding another woman’s starving child need to readjust their priorities.

La Leche League does not make recommendations about cross-nursing because of the potential risk of infection, decrease of supply for the donor’s child and the differing compositions of milk as the donor’s child ages.


A starving infant?  You have a ready food source and not only a ready one, one perfectly tailored to the needs of a young homo sapien?  What would YOU do?

Frankly, it’s a no-brainer and Mrs Fussy Crankypants recommends that all the critics just shut up already.

Or go out and look into the eyes of a malnourished child.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants salutes Salma.

Sunday Edition, Konglish Style

tiney seeds by you.

My Celestyal Dayrliyng.

The Fussy Crankypants Consider the Next Move

The Fussy Crankypants, like certain stones, cannot really be said to be gathering moss.

e_WADay4_20 by you.

This is moss. A lot of it.

The Fussys have been married, oh, a number of years now, and in those years they have moved 6 times, which does not include changing houses. Two of those moves were overseas and involved moves within the move, so to speak, themselves.

The longest the Fussys have stayed in any one place is exactly 3.5 years, which is how long they have been, fussily funnily enough, in their current fair city.

The Fussys enjoy their city. They like the hills. They like their little town and the places they walk. They like their little house, which is delightful in its own small way, such as the unevenly heating rooms or the steep stairs their Tiny Tyrant is just yearning to explore freely and with freedom or the emergency vehicles that frequently whiz by, no holds barred.  Mrs FC particularly likes her garden. And she likes the people she has met and hung out with here.

But the Fussys, sad to say it, have no friends.  At the very best, the Fussys could be said to be reserved. They could also said to be lacking the energy it takes to go out and make new friends (see: Tiny Tyrant, one; prodigious pwers of not sleeping, many).

The Fussys have many friends from their undergrad years who live not 2 hours north of them.

The Fussys are tempted.

The Fussys are contemplating.

The Fussys are contemplating giving up a steady job with good benefits, a nice house w/ garden in a quiet, safe community from which they can walk many, many places in order to pack up all their BOOKS and other things (and by things, Mrs Fussy means all the tonnage of items she has collected here and there and CANNOT POSSIBLY BEAR to part with), paint and polish and clean, and care for the Tiny Tyrant all the while and move perhaps not once but twice before settling in a place that they don’t really know much about assuming Mr FC can actually get employment and all because

they have friends up there.

Really nice ones who hang out with them because they feel sorry for the Fussys and their social ineptness.  

Mrs Fussy Crankypants is up and down about this but if there is one thing that Mrs FC has learned in all her years of being a relative vagabond it is that there is nothing certain in life and you can pretty much choose your own destiny (w/in certain parameters, that is) and if you don’t try, you’ll never know how it could have been.

And also? 


Packing is one royal pain in the patootey.

For T

Dear T,

I have just finished my work for the evening..  You are upstairs with the Tyrant getting him ready to get his bath after entertaining/cajoling him to eat ever since you got home.  

It seems to happen every day.  You come home from work and…I hand you the baby.  Sometimes we eat together, sometimes not. I miss hanging out with you, eating dinner, maybe watching a DVD. Now it is the constant and non-stop give, give, give of life with a toddler.

You never complain. While I never mean for you to have to take completely over, you often do and without a complaint. You never complain about the upheaved state of the house or my constant worrying about this, that or the other irrelevancy or the way you are the babysitter from the time you come home until the Tyrant’s bedtime. I’m sure you are tired. I’m sure there are lots of other things you would rather do sometimes.

You come home and cajole the Tyrant to eat and play with him after dinner and  take him upstairs and get his jammies ready and sit with him while he plays endlessly in his bath until he is a light shade of bluey-purple and icicles hang from his ears. You get him dried and lathered in lotion (no easy task with a squirmy-wormy like him) and endure his cacophanous din of protestion regarding all things diaper and/or cloth-putting-on-ing.

You do so much without complaining about it. You put up with us both and I know that, like the song says, it’s sometimes

“more out of duty than pleasure, but out of pleasure nonetheless”

I appreciate how much and how often you go the extra mile with your meticulous record and financial skillz, your attention to detail that keeps us all out of the wrack and ruin that would ensue if I were left to my own devices, your extraordinary patience with your dear little son, the one who drives you nuts and wrings your heart out with his enormous smile, your aggravating (as it puts me to shame) yet very-appreciated mantra of cleanliness being next to godliness as you wield mop, sponge and vacuum without fail each weekend whether or not it is needed not to mention the willingness to forego a sound night’s sleep night after night as you walk, pat, shush and sometimes get up and play with the Tiny Tyrant who, lo, sleepeth not so well.  Putting gas in my car, de-icing it that one day after the ice storm, babysitting while I run to get coffee errands, babysitting while I get out for a little while, cleaning the cat boxes when I haven’t gotten to them yet, suffering my long list of “things I haven’t gotten to yet”…

The list goes on and on but you get the idea and everyone else reading this has gone away already.

So since they are gone and it’s just  you and me, I want to say that, despite us hardly getting a chance to connect and being sleep deprived and communicating in short simple sentences and sometimes in sign language, you are still my soulmate, the one I emotionally curl my heart around, my teammate in the game of living, my strong support and my good friend.

Thank you for all you do.

I love you.


Moving Violation

Sighted this afternoon:




 middle-aged, Caucasian, beefy, wearing t-shirt of the indescriminant color ascribable to mixing whites and colors when washing, shirt sleeves removed presumably by a pair of extremely dull scissors or paring knife




 grey, rust-encrusted panel van, driver’s side window open




greenish-ink tattooed outline of:




a very large, very poorly-done teddy bear.



And remember, folks:

Friends don’t let friends get very large, very-poorly done teddy bear tattoos.

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