I'm uncertain about MTV's The Hills. On it's glossy surface, it appears to be a steaming mound of monkey poo. Delving deeper into it, I've discovered that it is indeed 100% Pungent Primate Poo with a gooey center of Satan Sauce. By delving deeper, I mean that I watched a promo for it. I fear what lurks beneath the surface. I truly do. Except there is no surface, merely static.

"Watching" The Hills and expecting to be entertained in some small way is an exercise in futility, and I am afraid of the Stairmaster. I AM THE MASTER OF THE STAIRS! That's nice. I am like totally going to leave now. Thanks. I AM THE MASTER OF THE STAIRS! Yeah, well... whatever. Here's a cupcake.

Can something so inspidly vapid steal my soul? Well... I have the facts and I'm voting "Yes".

I shall avert mine eyes to horrible acting disguised as "Reality TV".

I'd rather borrow a pair of Lindsay Lohan's knickers... Wait... she doesn't own any that don't come in legging form. Nevermind. Methinks Lilo likes the American Apparel Crackwhore Collection a bit too much. Crackwhorism would pretty much entail all of American Apparel's wares (or is that wears?). Made in America? Yeah? They make crack in America, my good Sirs and Madams. Modeled by underaged anorexic heroin users? It's a free country, one would suppose. Crack. Whores. Yay!

Speaking of crack whores, The Hills of DOOM, is responsible for one of MTV's greatest crimes against humanity other than Pauly Shore. Yes, this all has to do with my quantum crack whore theory.

The Hills of DOOM are responsible for an aberration called...

Heidi Montag.

I don't know who Heidi Montag "the person" is. She may be a decent representative of Heidies. Heidi Montag the reality TV character? She is a Heidi Killer. She besmirches the Holy Heidi name, and she must be stopped! The Heidi ManHag is She Who Shall Not Be Named Heidi.

I would be remiss if I didn't say that just a momentary glimpse at her silicon addled visage makes me wish that she would choke on a dick-shaped bag of dicks. Yeah... I said it. You were thinking the same thing, only with 50% fewer penises.

Yes... I dislike her so much that my Inner Sailor Who Enjoys Colorful Phrasery and Language of Compulsory Cursery finds new and interesting ways to insult her. I almost just made a typo. Is "inslut" a word? Is that too joyously Freudian? It's terrible. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, but... I'm not entirely sure that Heidi ManHag even has one. Does it take much brain power to hoist up ones jugs and put on a pair of booty shorts? I'm not sure. My booty doesn't partake in those sorts of shorts. My ass is so smart that it has it's own MENSA membership card.

She makes the rest of us Heidies look bad. It's never pleased me that we've had to deal with Heidi Fleiss. Heidi Klum and I can only do so much to make up for it.

The ManHag has called her new clothing line of Crackwhore Sports Wear... Heidiwood.

That is blasphemy, as far as I'm concerned. I hope she knows, this means WHORE! I mean... War! I mean...

Fucksticks. I don't know what I mean. I've run out of words, and dick-shaped bags.

Umm... So vote for me. I'm awesome. Yay!

BOOBS!!!

It's always fun to make sure that you're listening to me. This entry isn't about BOOBS(!!!). Not at all. In fact, it's actually about social darwininsm in neo-puritanical post-modern America.

Except that I am totally lying.

It's definitely about BOOBS(!!!). Of course, I've complained about the fact that in my case, The Lord Giveth, and he kept on Giving Indefinitely. I don't mind being a recipient of my Ample Rack of Destiny, although I've certainly complained about the Burdens of Boobful Bounty in the past. In fact, I consider it to be one of my Once Per Year Rants. Is it okay to do a ranty-pantsy dance about one of your hot-button (pun? intentional? mois?) issues once per year or so? Well... yes! Of course! In the words of the immortal Brett Michaels, one of the world's most renowned afficionado's of Bountiful Boobage, "As You Know, I like To Rock...". It's okay to rant. Rock. On.

So I shall!

I've shrunken a bit over the last 10 months, gladly ridding myself of damn near 50lbs that I didn't really need. Hooray for me! It wasn't really that much work because I was in the right mental space to do it. It's quite good, and now it's all about maintenence. I'm never going to be a size zero, and I'm pragmatic enough to be content with that. My BOOBS(!!!) have not fluctuated in size at all over the loss of this fat baggage. Nope. They have stayed the same size. It's not bad it's just confusing. I suppose I'd rather be thick, with the boobage to balance out the prodigious assage, than have Bountiful Buttage with no boobage at all. That would just look weird. I may have too much of a good thing, but too much might be better than not enough.

My friend J-Fab, another who knows the Burdens of Boobful Bounty, were just talking about this the other day. Some of us are just going to have BOUNTY(!!!) no matter what size we are. I could shrink the rest of me down even more (I'm really burnt out on it though), but if my current and past experiences are any evidence, the BOUNTY(!!!) will most likely remain quite plentiful. Both J-Fab and I have had friends, collegues, or classmates who were curvier in stature, but who were not blessed by the Boob Fairy. I'm sure that if any of them went on the path of Righteous Shrinkage, they probably wouldn't change much in BOUNTY(!!!) either. If anything, the boobage helps to balance things out if one is curvier. This is one of the ways we make light of our aching backs and bra shopping frustrations. 

We'd both recently seen a documentary on women much like ourselves, who were frustrated over their Blessings of BOUNTY(!!!), and were seeking means of reducing the burden. Both of us really identified with what the women were going through. J-Fab is smaller than I am, but much more ferrociously Blessed. She has to buy bigger sizes of almost everything and have them taken in, just to accomodate the girls. I am just on the cusp of that, therefore I have no choice but to avoid shirts with buttons or make an appointment with a tailor. For those with BOUNTY(!!!), shirts with buttons are THE DEVIL in a Blue Dress that fits you insanely perfect in every area but the bust. Neither one of us would get a breast reduction, but it is intriguing to see how other women in a similar predicament handle it.

For J-Fab, it's the prospect of the reduction not really helping out in the longterm. She's known some women who have had one, only to have them keep growing. The issue of it being a major surgery is not a comfortable idea for her, and I am pretty much in agreement with that. For me, if they were any bigger, I would look into it. I am more or less happy with where they are, and can tolerate the annoyances. It's more of an annoyance than a quality of life issue. I'm afraid to have kids... I mean... I have a tough enough time getting shirts to fit right now! I'd probably have to go to the sporting goods store and buy a set of tents to accommodate my post-sprog boobage! Quel horror!

Of course being the Booberati, we get to laugh at tiny framed girls who get boob jobs and opt for the massive silicon behemoth style. I'm sorry, but when you naturally have the Burdens of Boobful Bounty, your frame is generally adaptive to that. There are plenty of tiny women born with them, but the muscles and tissues surrounding therein naturally adapt if they have to. Your body does what it can to support what you've got. When it's not natural, as opposed to natural-looking when in the perspective of your natural frame, it's pretty damn obvious. Another friend of mine, Dubs, is quite tall in height, and is fairly atheletic in her build. When she chose to have breast implants, she opted for a large C cup. You would never have any idea that she had anything done. They look like they naturally should on someone of her build, and it's given her a lot of confidence. I have no issue with implants, but I feel that there is something to be said for being realistic. For the size zero girl who opts for a DD? Well... I reserve the right to laugh. To each his own, but she may never join the Booberati. Access denied. They want the power that the  Burdens of Boobful Bounty offer with none of the responsibility.

Let any celebrity "dating" show on VH1 be a prime example of this tragedy.

It is what it is. I might be totally unable to buy a properly fitting bra at Vicky's Secret, but I'm not changing anything. We commiserate on our cleavage, but understand the responsibility bestowed on us.

That responsibility? Tis one of the many secrets of the Booberati. I could tell you, but then I'll have to strangle you with a sports bra. Tis' the Booberati way.

I am going out on a limb here, and share something with you that I'm fairly sure I haven't discussed in the five years that I've been blogging. Nothing earth shattering, of course. Some of you might have already figured it out. I know that I won't be judged too harshly by most of you. I hope. I almost deleted this entry three times. I don't know why. Maybe I don't like hinting at any vulnerability that I might possess. It's just not my scene man...

I've always said that I was an agnostic who was a little bit of a pagan. And really, this has been more or less true. What does it mean to be "a little bit of a pagan"? I don't even know exactly what I meant by that. You're either pagan or you're not. I've spent a lot of years, more than I care to count, trying to come to terms with where I fit into that world. It's not always a simple path. I've always felt at odds with it, because I knew what I didn't want. When you can't get past what you don't want, that is all you're going to see. How can you know what you do want, when you're so blinded by your own judgments of things?

I don't believe in God, gods, goddesses, as deities or entities. These things are created by humans. Some of us have a need for a spiritual outlet, and these entities and the philosophies that we base on them enrich our lives and give us meaning. If we need them to. There are plenty of people in the world who do not. I've always been one of them. I just don't buy into the concept in the manner that theists and polytheists do. Good on them, isn't good for me. How can I be a pagan when I wholeheartedly connect with so many parts, but not that part? I always thought that the polytheist part was the important part. Or so I thought.

What most people know about paganism has a lot to do with Wicca. I'm not Wiccan, and I cannot say at this point that it would really be something that I could embrace. It's not me, although I do respect those who practice it. We have some similar views. I'm just not interested in it. It doesn't talk to me. I've also met far too many professed Wiccans who knew less about the history of their religion than I did. Yeah, you don't know that Margaret Murray was full of crap? You don't know who Gerald Gardner is? What? Once I knew that Christianity wasn't for me, I read as much as I could on many different spiritual philosophies. Wicca was just one of many. If it talked to me, I'd read a little bit more. Back in the days when the internets were young, there was a little bit of information. Not much, but a little bit. I couldn't afford to buy books, so I looked where I could. The pagan paths resonated with me in ways that others didn't. I did my best to figure it out for me on my own. With no one to talk about it with, I was pretty much on my own. I only knew Wiccans, and as I said, I just wasn't interested in it.

It left me in an odd position. I always felt like a fraud or a phony. A traitor in the midst of other pagans. I've always felt like an outsider looking in. I could never really be a part of any of it, no matter how much I wanted to, because I just couldn't make the connection. The vital something was missing. It was easier just to be an agnostic, with a love of all things pagan, than to be a pagan. I do some pagan things, and there are some pagan things that I don't do. I've accepted for a long time that while I don't know everything, that what is intuitive seems to be fine for me.

It's hard to be in a weird place where you can't really be anything. I'd essentially given up trying to understand. I hadn't done any pagan type stuff for quite a few years. My heart just wasn't in it anymore.

I've recently figured it out. Intuition gave me a rather large thump on the head. Intuition said... "You're probably a pantheist, stupid!".

I've come to believe over the last few years that there is something to all of this. It may not be true, but part of me likes the idea. I want to believe, but it's always been hard for me. There is such great beauty and such ugliness in Nature and in people. We take concepts such as duality from what we observe in the world around us. We are reflections of that. It's a kind of divinity that we don't always acknowledge. I don't believe in "God" or gods. I do believe in energy. Energy is everything, and is in everything. You can call it God, you can call it a life force, you can call it Nature. Pantheists believe in the concept of "god" as an abstract  force equivalent to Nature. In everything and part of everything. I get this. It works well for me. In a world of energy that we see and feel, wouldn't it make sense to personify it in some way? Making it accessible to us? Making it more real and tangible? Giving us a way in which to focus on it? You could do this with a number of things, this is how I see god(s). We do these things to make our connection to these energies real and meaningful for us. At least I think so. The agnostic in me says the verdict is still out, but the pagan in me says... EUREKA!

The pagan in me also says that even though this is right for my spiritual needs, it's not right for everyone. Do what you've got to do. Wiccans say "Do What Thou Wilt, an it harm none". I say "Do what you've got to do, and try not to be an asshole about it." After my little thwack on the head... I started to see the patterns and the connections spiral out in front of me. Weird things began to happen. I realized that I'd known what was true for me all along, I was just too busy buying shoes to listen. Let's just say I've definitely made up for the great gaping whole in my spiritual life through shopping. A little balance is in order. Scary, huh?

I'm a Pagan who is a little bit of an agnostic.

It's taken 12 years. That's certainly long enough. I'm not really interested in joining a circle or hoping on the Asatru, Druid, or Feri bandwagons. Still, I'm trying to figure stuff out. I'm just trying to reach out more. I'm trying to be open minded. I'm trying to actually see how this all works for me, but with a sincerity and confidence that I couldn't have mustered before. I've been so firmly rooted in an outsider looking in, or more of a field researcher kind of a role. Now is the time for a more active role. I keep getting weird little coincidences and occurrences. It must be right.

Okay. I've just got to get over feeling weird about talking about it. There's no need to. I am still fabulous, and I still abhor all things hippie.

I'm not going to bore you with a lot of details, and I hope that you won't think less of me. This is my biggest fear. People have such a negative connotation about it, and I've had too many hurtful things said to me in the past. I needed to be able to talk about it. Thanks for putting up with me.

Sometimes I forget that there are people out there who don't get my sense of humor. Seriously. I'm not as cuhh-razy in person, but definitely quick on my witty little feet. Tra-la-la-la-la-la! The Sarcasm Fairy has landed! Tra-la-la-la-la-la!

Don't you feel like an asshole when no one gets the joke?

No offense against Christians intended here... Those of you who are have been nothing but respectful towards me what you know about my own spiritual leanings (like I'm gonna tell you everything! well... actually... i sort of do). That's not who I'm talking about. I'm going to be referring to the Evangelicals and the Fundies, since they are sort of the very vocal, absolutist and batshit crazy part of the Jesus & Friends family. Same record label, different band.

The Fundelicals are fond of saying "PEOPLE AREN'T BORN GAY! IT'S A LIFESTYLE CHOICE!". It's utter shite, of course, but it seems to make them more secure in their own sexual preferences. I'm not going to get into that here. There is no point. You know how I feel about it. I am a big supporter of fierce tranny hot messes. Of course I think that you're born with a preference for ween or meatflaps, no matter which you've got a set of. Yes, I graduated from Salty The Scurvy Sea Sailor's School of Etiquette for Ladies. How eloquent, yes?

I heard a Fundelical on a certain question/answer site that shall remain anonymous say "ALL PEOPLE ARE BORN CHRISTIAN". It got my Vicky's Secret drawers in a twist.  I shall not name the question answer site in question. I don't want anyone else to get addicted to it. The religion/spirituality section is like crack. I go to ask if  there are any modern pagans who use a Basque pantheon (not joking. I actually did ask), and... I am sucked into a world of snarky elitist Atheists who are purported to eat babies, and pushy, humorless, closed-minded Fundelicals who lament the devilish deeds of the infidel masses.

I'm not a snarky, elitist Atheist, but they make it look like fun.

I responded... ""PEOPLE AREN'T BORN CHRISTIAN! IT'S A LIFESTYLE CHOICE!", with snarky little arguments that mimicked the line of bullshit the Fundelicals always like to use against gay people. Sarcasm and satire are certainly lost arts in that crowd. It was a face palm against the ass of  humanity (I'm not sure how that works, but it sounded good at the time).

Ummm... when no one gets something that you find rather clever, are you the asshole, or are they?

I've given it up. I'm going cold turkey. Yes, I did find a few people who asked intentionally funny questions. Any time you can suggest that someone find work-out DVDs like "Rock Hard Wiccan Abs" and "Sweatin' To The Crowleys", it's a small triumph.  Any time that people don't get the irony in Zombie Jesus, you really just need to pack it in. It's addictive, but the rampant stupidity is more than I can stand.

Therefore... I blog. I need intelligent conversation and cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

My favorite though? Of all of it? I'd referred to Jebus as Geebus, just out of amusement, and said that it was the Orthodox Atheist spelling for the word.

A response? "JESUS IS HOW WE SPELL IT IN AMERICA!"

Oh... Fundelicals... if I wasn't possessed by a non-existent demon right now, I'd totally share my cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles. Priceless.

I'm wreaking havoc on my path to enlightenment by being an asshole, but... well... I... I got nothing. I'm going through some crazy crap right now, and levity is much needed.

This got me to thinking.
My brother got bullied a lot in school, but he brought a good portion of it on himself. In grade school, he was rather small for his age and made up for it with his rather large and obnoxious mouth. We O'Bannions are masters of creative insultery, and Slim was a prodigy... A Mozart of smart-ass comments practically begging for a kick in the cojones or a fist in the face. It wasn't quite as a bad as the whole Billy Wolfe thing, but it wasn't really all that different from any ADD kid who has experienced more than their fair share of toughening up. My mom was never pleased when it happened, after all, what parent would be if their child had a black eye? However... to find out that your son provoked said black eye by making a fat joke about his mother. Repeatedly. Taunting the Bully. "Your mama... your mama... your mama..."

My brother has never been very good at shutting his mouth when he needs to, and suffice it to say, it happened all the time. His Freshman year of highschool, he went from being 5'1 to 6'2 and he discovered weed and weight lifting. A weird combination to be sure, but it made my obnoxious little brother become a lot more mellow and a lot less likely to be targeted. His mouth? Well... some things never change.

We all knew those kids in school whose parents were a little bit too involved, or who made Mount Everest out of every insignificant molehill, whether there was really a mole in there or not. The sad thing is, this only provokes Bullies, and leads to more opportunities to have your child ostracized. I don't make the rules, the playground makes the rules, and quite frankly, I don't think it's changed much. A majority of us were bullied in some way by someone. Boys turn to fists, but black eyes heal. Girls are far more cruel in their bullying. Girls are evil, and we go for the jugular. Emotional bullying, the manipulative sort, sticks with you for years if you're the victim of it, long after the scars from physical bullying have faded.

I would have died if my parents had any involvement in my own personal Bully Trials! I was the quiet and contemplative sort (what the fuck happened?), and I also had the misfortune of being smart, creative, and more than a little weird (awwww-yeaaah!). I might as well have had a bullseye on my forehead. I only got in one actual fight (totally not my fault), but I think we all know how terrible little girls can be. Having my parents involved would have accomplished nothing. It would have ostracized me even further. It's not the same as being punched in the mouth I realize, but the experience for each one of us as kids still hurts us just the same. I'm a better person for it, and much more assertive than I would have been if I hadn't been knocked around a little bit.

Yeah... I was voted to be removed from the lunch table a couple of times. I won my way back in through sheer cleverness. Our school cafeteria had a loose definition of what dessert was. One day, we were served a white cake with frosting that bore an uncanny resemblance to paste. We joked a bit about it, and to test the theory, I grabbed my whole piece of cake, and with a bit of a flourish, decided to see if it would stick to the wall. Ta-Da!!!! It did. I was back in! I got clean-up duty and a detention, but it was totally worth it. This kind of Heidistuff was how I overcame a lot of my bullies. By a little bit of daring and cleverness, you can do a lot of things. In high school, I overcame the Mean Girls through fashion. They may not of liked me, but... they did think my outfit was cute. Art nerds don't like fashion. Confusion abounded! I was more or less embraced or left alone by the Mean Girls as my wardrobe evolved. You've just got to work with what you have. I had a small allowance, and a gift for prowling the clearance rack.

I suppose we all have bully tales, and mine or my brothers are certainly not unique. We all get around it in our own ways, although for some it's harder than others. I feel bad for a lot of kids who do get bullied unmercilessly, but most of us have been at some point. It's not unique, and on a not terribly damaging scale, it just might be part of growing up.

Most of you that have been around The Land O' Heidies for a spell know how dear my pets are to me. I've always had a connection with animals, and I always considered my pets to be cherished friends, and important members of the family. The only exception to the rule is female cats, and it's only because female cats don't like me very much. I'm cool with this. Maybe I have an Anti-Lady-Cat aura or something, whatevs. Still, I may not have ever gotten along with the small succession of female cats that my family had growing up, but they were still family pets and family members just the same. I have always believed in being a responsible pet owner. Spaying and neutering is a must, with the only exception being if one intends to breed the animal. Even then, the pet owner needs to be responsible about it. Backyard breeders? Puppy mills? No. God, no! My mom has a beautiful Golden Retriever that she intends to breed, but only so that she can have a few more puppies to add to the family. Her Golden, Ellie, is quite lonely and really does need another dog to bond with. Still, my mom is very careful about things since Ellie is not spayed. Ellie is in a large fenced yard, and when she goes out, it's always on a leash. They live in a neighborhood where she could easily be allowed to roam, but it's not a very good idea.

I'm not a cat person, as I've said before. I don't hate cats, but I don't care for them. It takes a really unique sort of feline beastie to soften my Anti-Cat heart. My Mojo fits the bill most splendidly (Big Mama Cat, in all her bitchiness, didn't). It's rare to see a cat with so much personality, and not a day goes by without him doing something cute or weird that makes us laugh. He's a member of the family, and we love him. He's our little buddy.

I'm having a problem though, which leads me to the whole point of this entry. I am so mad at my sister that I can hardly see straight. She doesn't really bond with animals, so I don't understand why she even bothers to have any pets.

She has a sweet little cat named May. She never bothered to have May spayed, which was her first mistake. She's complained about not having the money, but I've called bullshit on that one several times. Our county animal shelter actually gives out vouchers to people so that they can have their pets spayed or neutered without having to pay. It's merely a matter of going to the animal shelter and filling out a form. Done! I like May a lot, for a female cat. She's a petite little calico with beautiful green eyes, and a very sweet disposition. Mojo is literally three times her size in stature alone. She is surprisingly calm for a cat who is constantly chased around by a three year old.

May had a litter of two kittens in October. About two weeks ago, my sister finally found a home for them.

May had a second litter of 10 kittens on Monday.

Would you like to know what my oh-so-responsible sister is going to do with May and her 10 newborn baby kittens who don't even have their eyes open yet?

She's planning on putting them in a box and leaving them at the Animal Shelter. All of them. Mama and babies.

I am livid about this. If you're not going to spay or neuter your pets, you must take responsibility for your actions, bottom line. I could see finding homes for them when they are bigger, but they are so little. And to just get rid of May along with the kittens? That's just mean as far as I'm concerned. She's a family pet, and she hasn't been treated with even an inkling of love or kindness. Bratt's rationale is that May will have more kittens, and that she doesn't want to have to deal with it.

Ummmmm... it's really not a difficult thing to overcome. As I said... fill out some paperwork, and a voucher is yours! Bam! Easy!

Sometimes I feel like she just has no heart. There is a disconnect there that I don't understand. My pets are friends, and I'd never treat a friend as badly as she's treating May. Maybe she shouldn't have any pets. I'd take May, but Mojo isn't a huge fan of other cats. He tends to be a little bit of a bully and a show-off, but he's also a bit of a coward. He's the type of cat to stir things up, only to get his ass royally kicked. The mean tomcats in our neighborhood would have a field day with him. After our adventures with Big Mama Cat, I'd prefer to keep Mojo away from other cats, mostly for his sake rather than theirs. May is small, but scrappy. Mojo gets along perfectly with dogs though, so that's the kind of buddy he'd do best with.

It's sad, and I just don't understand. Why don't people show their animals the love and respect they deserve? When you choose to have a pet, it is your responsibility to care for them. There are far worse things that people do to their pets, and even though this is small in comparison, it still upsets me.

I hope that all of May's kittens end up being male torties! May is a calico, and male torties are so very rare. Maybe they'll get decent homes that way. Grrrrrrr...

Enough ranting for now. These pants are ranted out.