I’m exhausted having been Super Mommy all weekend, and thus I’m cranky. So my perspective is thus colored by the utter bleakness of my sleepless head, and I’m a lot more negative than I am normally.

But I have to say, I’m so fucking sick of all this “green” shit. First, “green” is not a verb. Stop greening your home, your house, your office, your building. It’s a nice color coded way to say, “i’m trying to be conscious of what an environmental douchebag I am, and maybe mitigate some of the incredible guilt I may feel for living in the USA, which, in terms of world energy consumption, is like glutton at the all-you-can-eat buffet.” Seriously, all this moral superiority wrapped up in the word “green” makes ME turn green, and not from envy, either. The cumulative effect of all this bullshit “Greening” is circling around to bite us in the ass, and yet we’re all bellying up to BUY MORE SHIT that COSTS ENERGY to PRODUCE because it’s been labeled ‘GREEN.’ At the energy buffet, the US and all its denizens need to be told, “YOU BEEN HERE FOUR HOURS. YOU GO HOME NOW.”

1. Corn based fuels? Bad idea jeans. Because once again the production of food for fuel as opposed to feeding people elsewhere who don’t have any fucking food will trump any logical humanitarian concerns. We must drive! All of us! Everywhere we want!

2. All these reusable grocery bags in the stores, with pretty flowers and whatnot? MADE IN CHINA. PROBABLY BY AN EIGHT YEAR OLD. MAKING EIGHT CENTS an HOUR for fuck’s sake. And then flown over here en masse so that we can feel superior for using them over and over until they fall apart and we buy another and throw the first one into a landfill - but it was mass produced so who cares about quality? Then I’m given the dirty look for grabbing extra plastic bags from the store, when I reuse them consciously as many times as I can, for wet clothes, cat litter, dog poop (oh! Look at me! I’m a good person! I pick up my dog’s poop, unlike some other green-loving tree-humping assmonkeys out there who let their dogs take mammoth craps all over the place and DON’T PICK IT THE FUCK UP), storage, etc. But no, my conscious reuse of plastic bags is nowhere near as special and important and self-congratulatorily smug as a shitful, also plastic, allegedly reusable not-for-profit-foundation backed bag.

3. Organic cotton clothing? Great! Made in sweatshops by four year olds earning less than a liveable wage? Oh, don’t look at that part. Look at the pretty organic part of the label, not the “Made in Taipan” part that allows people to skirt the whole “Made in the USA” thing while not paying for US-based union labor to make that there garment.

So, you wondering who stabbed me with the tazer of crankass?

Here in Jersey, we’re having a bit of a budget crisis, and the Gov. wants to raise tolls, but says he won’t raise the state gas tax. Bull fucking shit, sir. Raise the tolls. Raise ‘em hard. Go for it. Spank their asses till they yell for more toll raising. And while you’re at it, grow a goddam pair and raise the gas tax. If greening is so goddam fucking important, then decrease the number of drivers by forcing people to consider their consumption of fuels and their use of the roads which creates more pollution. Mass transit might actually fucking improve if it becomes the only viable option for people who are faced with the requirement that they think before they drive, and before they consume.

But no, “green” is a trendy concern, and people want to choose what green items they spend their green cash on. To be told to spend more green cash on things like gasoline or over traveled toll roads, which, while ameliorating the budget crisis would also go a long way toward LOWERING the POLLUTION LEVEL FOR GOD’S FUCKING SAKE, that makes people grab green pitchforks and light fire to things with green eco-friendly lighter fluid because goddamn it, this is about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of driving aimlessly wherever the fuck we want, which is probably over to Whole Foods so we can pat ourselves on the back for buying an organic papaya that was flown in from Uruguay.

Yet Another entry Where agaiN I’m tired.

1. Stayed up until the memoriam part of the Oscars. God that was stupid. Heath Ledger is still dead, as are some other people I didn’t realize had died, and Baba O’Riley woke up at 3am for a brief cooing party that lasted until I changed his diaper, permitted him some time to chew on his bare feet before I put his jammies back on, and then rocked him to sleep while stroking his cheek. If it weren’t for the part where I was so exhausted it was painful to be awake, I would have enjoyed it A Lot.

2. Pass the coffee. Pass more. Thanks.

3. I hadn’t seen a single one of the movies nominated. There were some I hadn’t heard of. It was like watching the Grammies, except I knew who most of the people were, even if the movies themselves were a mystery to me.

4. Javier Bardem is from Canarias, aka the Canary Islands, and as such speaks Castillian Spanish, complete with lisp. I hate to sound like a language snob, but I was so excited and relieved to find that I understood 90% of what he was saying in Spanish to his mother (he dedicated his award to her, his grandparents, her grandparents, and all the people of Spain) because when I speak in Spanish nowadays, it’s usually to folks from South America or Central America. The accent and even the lexicon are so different, I have a very hard time understanding folks speaking at full speed when they are from Ecuador, Colombia, or Brazil. The folks I have the easiest time understanding are Cuban, not that I meet many of them. But to hear Javier (not “Xavier,” Regis, you putz) Bardem bust out with the Castellano made me a very happy Morag indeed. I haven’t forgotten as much as I thought I had.

5. Alert! I shall now break one of Morag’s Laws and speak of The Family. Enjoy.

6. Hubby’s aunt said something so stunning to me, there’s a part of my brain that’s still reeling that the words hit the air and were therefore spoken aloud. To me. While discussing that is is sometimes a challenge to parent a toddler, she said, “Oh, but this age is so much fun. But I had it better than you because I was home with my children full time and could enjoy them more.”

7. My immediate reaction: Laugh. So outrageous I can’t believe those words hit air for public enjoyment. Now? My inner child is busy consoling my inner mommy, who is very upset.

8. Reminds me of that song from 1997: “Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.”

9. It wasn’t so much advice as it was thoughtless heartlessness, but still, I’m sure there were moments of parenting in the past that might have made her want to tear her hair out. But 30+ years later, you remember the good parts.

10. Here’s a good part: we do Friday sabbath dinners together as a family (Jewish sabbath starts Friday at sundown) and this week we all huddled around the coffee table in the living room, since the kitchen is demolished and the dining room is now the kitchen. After saying the blessing over the candles, which signals the start of Shabbat (the sabbath), Hubby and I usually kiss both boys and wish them “Shabbat shalom” (Peaceful sabbath). This week, after I said the blessing, Freebird stood up and yelled, “Shabbat shalom!” and gave both of us kisses, then blew a kiss to Baba O’Riley. This is a very long story to say, “Freebird gave us both a kiss!” but the fact that he enjoys our Friday night dinners and likes to do the steps of making that dinner special meant a lot to me.

11. I’m tired. Have I mentioned?

I watched the Democratic debate last night and gosh, darn, was it gross. Hubby loved it - but he loves political contention. I hate the nasty part and the slow thundercloud of trickery that’s on the horizon, as camp Hillary prepares to panty raid camp Obama and run his knickers up the flagpole, all in the name of getting elected. Hate hate hate this part.

But her comment about Obama’s use of other speaker’s language in his speeches (use with permission, I might add) just made me NUTS. “Change by Xerox” is what she said.

So this morning I took some quarters to the copy machine, made this handy-dandy PDF, and mailed it to Clinton Headquarters. Heh heh. Quarters.

Now I’m looking for an email address to which I can attach the PDF. You wanna Xerox some change and send it or download mine and use it? Feel free. Here’s the address:

Hillary Clinton for President
4420 North Fairfax Drive
Arlington, VA 22203

I’m not a big fan of politics, but I absolutely abhor the stupid, nasty, dirty politics. Clinton’s remark turned me off to the point that, had our elections not already passed, she would have lost my vote. 

Last night I completely lost my shit at Wolf Blitzer; it’s a pity he didn’t hear me. I’m still trying to figure out if I should even bother saying anything, since I’m sure on the whole CNN gives fuckall what I think.

In the middle of the election returns - a program, I might add, that featured a touch-screen demonstration of how to surf and read CNN’s website because they had nothing of actual meaning to say otherwise - came the news that there was a huge fucking tornado on the ground in Arkansas. A weatherman, justifiably hyperventilating, was put on screen while election return info scrolled the bottom of the screen. Mr. Weatherman, still having a conniption, tried to communicate that the storms were huge, bad, dangerous, and holy shit get in the basement NOW. Multiple tornadoes, many on the ground for more than 30 minutes, and some of them heading for major cities.

There was some footage of damage, and a large headline that said “CONFIRMED FATALITIES.” People had died from those storms within the last hour.

So the camera cuts back to Wolf and he starts wanking on about polling places in Tennessee and Arkansas. He starts asking the weather dude, “Were the polling places moved? Did people get to vote? Were they relocated?”

I of course took that opportunity to start using language I don’t use in front of my children (both were asleep). Holy fucking goddam mother of shit. Are you fucking kidding me? People are DEAD and Wolf is blathering about whether they got to vote? NO WOLF, THEY DIDN’T! KNOW WHY? If they’re not DEAD, their car is in a tree and their home has been destroyed.

What a fucking moron. At that point I lost my temper, could not have cared less about who won the primary in a state that hadn’t closed its polls yet, and went to bed.

And this morning I’m still really fucking pissed off. The top stories on CNN: the election results. NOT the fact that FORTY FOUR PEOPLE FUCKING DIED in a RATHER LARGE natural disaster. No, poll results. That don’t actually prove anything except that McCain is the likely nominee (we knew that!) and that Clinton and Obama are still in a dead heat (we knew that, too!).

I am so sick to fucking death of having CNN and other news outlets trying to decide what’s really important so they can force nonessential information down my throat. I can’t be the only one who thinks live announcements of an imminent deadly storm is a good bit MORE important than election results and predictions from polls that have either just closed or are still open. And I can’t be the only one disgusted that whether polling places were moved was more of a concern than whether students in a dorm that was decimated by a tornado were still alive at that moment.

Maybe I am the only one turned off by the news, but it doesn’t really change anything for me. I’ve always been revolted by the tunnel vision of the American television news media and the saturation coverage of events that reduces them to lukewarm meaningless blather. I’m still turned off, and thus I’m doing what I always did: turning off the channel and not watching it again.

Fuck you Wolf. And fuck you too, CNN. You suck. 

Freebird woke up at 2:30 am. He whined off and on until 5:30 am. Which is when I got up. Which means, in effect, I’ve been up since 2:30.

I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes focused. So it’s a good thing I double checked the screen layout when I cast my vote this morning at 6:20am, half-awake and completely uncaffeinated. I wonder if that’s a question on the exit polls: Were you awake, or at least able to see and read the screen? Y/N Let the record show, the sleep-deprived and completely exhausted constituency has cast her vote.

Holy shit. When is bedtime?

I am having a craptastic day. It’s a million little annoyances piled up one on top of another and I’m blaming Bush for the whole of my altogether foul fucking mood.

Yeah. Him. I watched part of the State of the Union last night, and even with the mute on 60% of the time, it was infuriating and made me want to throw things. Hard. I was much happier using my bonafide-effective ostrich-strategy by pretending he didn’t exist, and our country was being steered by figments of my imagination made entirely of air. That’s preferable to reality.

Yesterday I had my blood pressure taken, and it was a balmy 86/53. I’ve got hypotension, aka low blood pressure, which I knew, but man, about ten minutes ago I was probably past normal into 121/82. Which is raging temper for me. I imagine I was a sloth in a former life. Or a koala - all sleepy and cuddly with HUGE fucking claws. Me and my stealth temper.

So now I have to figure out a way to recover my mood and make it a bit better. Perhaps chocolate. Or a valium the size of a Volkswagen to mellow me back down to normal.

I got up around 6:15 am because Baba wanted to eat. That’s pretty standard chowtime for him, so he and I went downstairs so I could give him his breakfast in a semi-comatose fashion. Well, he was awake. I was Not.

You know what was on SOAPnet? 90210. I watched 1.5 episodes - the graduation and the one where they hang the “Bev HS 93” sign over the Hollywood sign. I was never a fan of the show, really, though I watched a lot of the first season, and part of the second. But watching a show from 15 years ago is a big heaping teaspoon of cotton candy nostalgia that I can’t pass up. Not at 630 am anyway. My reactions:

1. I can’t believe they graduated the same year I did.

2. I am so freaking old.

3. Why was Luke Perry supposed to be hot? I don’t think he acted so much as moved his chin around.

4. How in the world did Jason Priestley’s hair stay that way for years, and not move? He’s like the teen 90’s version of Jimmy Johnson.

5. Would Shannen Doherty ever trim her freaking bangs?! Jeez. I’m amazed she doesn’t have microscopic cuts on her corneas.

6. Wasn’t Ahhhhhndrea, like, 45 years old in real life? Did she ever stop being miserable and neurotic (the character, not the actress)?

7. How come everyone else looked about 28 years old, while Brian Austin Green looked 12? Does he still look 12?

I feel so ancient having watched it. I need to go watch Hannah Montana - that’ll send me right into the geriatric home.