BTude w t f ?

BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah on the beaches of
Kaneohe, Hawaii, United States ... a 30 sumthin' attitudinally impaired brat, just returning to college. Is that a disability? Overworked, underpaid and in the midst of a major career change. Dare you ask for more about b'tude...

+ You are Cordially Invited...
+ i'm so outta' here!
+ back to school: week 10
+ domestic bender
+ shameless plugz: 03.12.2005
+ back to school: week 9
+ fresh off the jet: the flying penguini's arrive on...
+ back to school: week 8
+ shameless plugz: 03.01.2005
+ research: b.c./a.d. vs. c.e./b.c.e.

old baggage

28 January 2005


back to school: week 3

Welcome to number three in the series, "Get My Ass Outta This Class!"

Week 3 and my part-time status escalated to the full-blown 12-credit semester! I have but one thing to say, I’m tired! Did I recall that returning to college, as an aging adult with a mission to change careers was something I wanted to do voluntarily, Ahhh, yes. Yes it was! I came home both days and passed out quite literally for the night!


For comparison purposes, I can work a sixty-hour week, run my errands, be a mother, and take time to pee more often than when it mandates it’s own priority, without blinking an eye mind you, and get everything I need to accomplish, done. I realized that this mere 16 hours of school, travel time and lunch breaks included, kicked my ass this week! Maybe it’s the 366,113 pounds of tree I am hauling over my shoulder… (those would be called books in this day and age, but when shoved into the close proximity of a messenger bag, they revert back to trees when placed on or over any part of the human body). I don’t know wtf caused it, but I was a tired (read: exhausted) girl!

There’s just something special about being my age and being in college – here’s a couple of old/new class blow-bys…

Il Professore #1 – he’s all right – I like him. He knows his stuff. It’s an enjoyable class. I’ve accepted my place as his techno-pet and we’ve got it all worked out. Much to his surprise, I can write, too. So, he shared my narrative with his wife and made me share it with the entire class, aloud. So what if I have a flat spot in the middle re: monologue, I conquered the thesis issue (at least for that paper!). A simple edit will fix that for a smooth ace on the grade.

Now, if that wasn’t worthy of unabashed gloat, I have to share this next mastery of bitchitude… I succinctly stated my reaction as directed to a specific story. Somehow I slipped into mental editor mode, letting him know that the typographical and mechanical errors really blew it for me. Oops! After hearing the other’s lengthy diatribes coming back – I thought I blew it! Noooo, My editorial commentary will forever rest in the hands of his students – in this class and in the future…damn, and I’m cute, too!

… As my mind flowed with the author through the event, I was frustrated to take that brief moment out of time and thought to reorganize the word and/or sentence alleviating the typographical error, mentally.

Fade to black… Psych teacher – I don’t think she likes me, no really! I’ve determined that I don’t like her. Even though she seems nice enough, she has a bit of a control freak rep… let me explain… I’m not sure what’s up her craw, but it’s definitely something evil! Is it my age? Is it my attitude? Nope, I don’t look my age last I checked, and I’ve given her no shit, whatsoever! Is it the fact I sit in the back of the room…? Maybe, but all the ‘bad seed’ have been forced to sit in the middle since they show up too late to get the good seats! Perhaps, it is the fact I have answered more than 2 questions with answers she didn’t expect, and correctly? She did mention she likes working with clean slates – perhaps she assumes too much of me -- I don’t know –- but she’s definitely the devil incarnate in my book right now. I’m going to have a meeting with her if it doesn’t stop to see if I can get her to lighten up.

I’m extremely dismayed with her behavior towards me – this is THE class I need to enjoy and to really learn, as it’s the core of everything I am seeking to achieve in the future, and this broad is blowing it for me! I need to worry about my work, not her nasty attitude! I am really hoping she is just trying to lay her mindfuck on the straight and forward with the young‘uns this first week, and adjusts her attitude next week. It’s very problematic for me and I can’t transfer to another class. Yeah, yeah, I’m just going to do my work like a good girl and get through it, but after 2 classes already, she hasn’t changed… yeah, yeah, woe is me –- have mercy! Given the situation, any other ideas on how to deal with the control freak shrink? ;)

While revisiting the age issue, I have to offer a lot of respect for the few retirees in a couple of my classes. You have to admit that returning to college at my age, let alone their age takes a lot more moxy and spirit! It certainly reminds me how important education is in this day and age, especially if there are sixty-something folk out there doing it just because they ‘couldn’t’ earlier in life.

All in all it’s been an interesting week. I’m not sure why my perspective on that is summed up as “interesting” – I won’t be able to crawl out of my books until at least Monday! But it’s been good!

Aloha!

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Friday, January 28, 2005
12 bitches

27 January 2005


shameless plugz: 01.27.2005

Let’s all flush our toilets at 12pm today in honor of Thomas Crapper. No, really! Marjo Moore takes a walk on the crappy side… yeah, seriously!

Take heed: Marjo also has a special link – if you have enemies or dire dorks you’d like to pay back – take a moment to locate the hidden ‘don’t click’ link – I swear they will regret it! Disclaimer: I am not responsible for the mental scarring – send all complaints directly to Marjo and only to Marjo. I have to confess, I am still reeling from the experience.

Find yourself nodding into the telephone?
Circle This! with D. Brooks for some on the spot insight.

Don’t forget to stop by Andy's for some
fresh tale. Andy fans can also contribute their 1000 words in a picture for freebies and special accolades from Andy.

Disclaimer: shameless plugz de jour may not necessarily meet the finer tastes, today, but it’s damn funny ;)

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Thursday, January 27, 2005
6 bitches

24 January 2005


lessened limbs and lessons learned

In light of my recent bender, I thought I would share a more PC story with the public at large (I'm just polite that way!) Public - meet diagnostic narrative number two in the series "Get My Ass Outta This Class!"

Aside from the fact I have to offer up some incredibly reflective life events, you will find yourself surfing away with a better knowledge of what it means to have a physical disability, even if just for a little while. You will also discover that sometimes, there is more to life than the material aspects...

My most horrifying life event is conveyable in simple terms, “lessened limbs and lessons learned.” Several years ago, I walked out my front door healthy and fit, while returning later, as the embodiment of a late night horror show. Life changed dramatically that summer day in 2000, further commanding my respect for those burdened with physical disabilities.

My husband and I were building our dream home. With the heat already generating sweat on the brow, we were not prepared to haul lumber or pound nails. We opted for a couple days off to catch up on other neglected household errands.

Our son recently scribed “wash me” in the road dust on the car with his bare finger, so we detoured to a nearby relative’s home to catch up on news and wash the car.

I intended to go outside after a cold drink to mix suds and begin washing the car. I stopped just long enough to catch the bite of the noon sun on my face. After all, it had been a miserably snowy winter with a wet spring, and it felt good.

I recall a moment of being upright, the next, on my face. I heard a snap, or was it two… but I felt fine, ridiculous, but fine. I attempted to stand unsuccessfully. I nervously laughed as the old television commercial about medical monitors for the elderly came flashing to mind; a reenactment of an elderly woman falling, clutching her medical alert necklace and announcing, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” while it dispatched emergency assistance.

I confess confusion; I’d never had a major injury. I called for help; secretly hoping nobody would see my predicament. I had always been the embodiment of grace.

The shock was settling in on my fluttering nerves. I’ll never forget the expression on my husband’s face as he realized I was severely injured; it was serious.


I left the hospital in a wheelchair, sporting a broken arm and leg, and a skinned knee! I spent months with casts entombing half my body and in a painkiller induced fog.


I was pathetic and no longer independent. I dare remind myself of the horrors of not being able to dress or groom myself, not to mention personal things that slighted my dignity.

As I healed and grew restless, my husband built a ramp so I could travel; somewhere, anywhere; my cabin fever was high. I’m confident this is my first coherent moment of how it feels to be disabled, and an appreciation of handicapped parking stalls.

Months later, my arm was functional. One year later, I walked without a noticeable limp. Family and friends noted how I absentmindedly missed the last low step, while doing absolutely nothing and managed to elude with no less than two broken limbs. They further suggested a more creative bend about my injuries to include “skiing in Aspen,” or “bungee jumping.” I do find it ironic how nobody believes it was just one step when I reveal the truth, even if told with a sly wink of an eye.

Consider the trauma of living through your most horrifying moment twice in one lifetime and no great story to tell… I happened to break the same arm several years later during a laughable battle of fate with a car lever on another fine June afternoon.

My respect for those with burdensome limits to accomplish even the simplest task has blossomed into an empathy most would find unaffordable, without firsthand experience. I was relieved to have only endured my horrifying moments for a short time, rather than a lifetime.

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Monday, January 24, 2005
10 bitches

22 January 2005


non-politico bender

My political frame of mind is one in its own, I admit. When I see shit like THIS I have no qualms about stepping up to the plate and speaking my piece.

I am truly embarrassed and ashamed to say I ever lived in the State of Washington. I am horrified at the rampant ignorance these spoiled pukes displayed in their blatant presentation of said ignorance.

I can only equate this to the graphic pictorial of crapping in your own bed, pissing on your own pillow, or in your own Cheerios, while shitting in MY backyard and every other AMERICAN’s in the process. My god, what is wrong with you people.

Isn’t it time you packed up your whining asses and deported yourselves to a destination unknown – perhaps one where they would appreciate your ritualistic abomination of the US Military? I do believe they call it treason – too bad those laws aren’t more enforceable and just a wee bit stronger in that regard. Be thankful I’m not the judge and the bloody jury! But for this few minutes of your time, I AM.

What do you think would have happened if that was a simple police department recruiter you decided to target? Your pansy asses would be minimally spending the night in a 10x8 cell right now – shame, shame, shame on you!

What hypocrites you are – demanding peace, but then to turn around and do something like this to YOUR OWN – how atrocious – go away you emotionally fucked up twits, find another country to play your childish and treason-like games in. You don’t deserve to live here or to be any American’s neighbor.

Before you decide to go off on your own political bender in response, you ignorant dimwits should consider WHO is going to mop up your bloody arses, and piece YOUR blown apart limbs back together just so your family can put a placard over a pile of dirt covering the equivalent of a shoebox in acreage.

Consider for this split second; exactly whom is preventing some other pathetic piece of trash from crawling right up your ass and making it YOUR turn to take a spin through a rocket-fuel induced blast of paradise. Consider how you would feel for just a moment as you think of the men and women who are protecting your sorry thug butts right now – they offer their own lives to save yours and this is how you treat them – for shame, for bloody fucking shame.

For the record, I don’t necessarily agree with this war nor the state of the union, myself. But I’ll be damned if I will sit back and watch the equivalent of treason in this country go by without a word.


My family has watched over your ass and so have most other American families. You would not have the luxury of living in the United States if it were not for the wars of our entire civilization – it is merely the cycle of life, death, and the only way that ensures your FREEDOM to do stupid crap like this.

Now, get your sorry asses out of MY country and take the ignorant pukes following your pathetic lead with you!

Back to our regularly scheduled programming…

Many thanks to Dizzy Girl for stepping this up to the blogging public’s attention!

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Saturday, January 22, 2005
19 bitches

21 January 2005


bitch and bull: 01.21.2005

On questioning the blogosphere: I’ve been questioning a particularly female aspect of the Internet since my immersion in the blogosphere. I have to say, that while surfing other blogs, I noticed a distinct trend in women’s blogs that clearly reflects, well, to put it bluntly, something they (that woman) is not. Specifically, I’m referring to the blogstops with the pinup toons, albeit, I won’t reference any one blog directly; I’m just polite that way. I must admit that some are fantastic reads, some being way too cute, while some are truly annoying, and others being completely obnoxious. Having been in cyberspace on the user, executive, and development level for over a decade, I have to add that I come from the old school techno-stock; an online presence should always reflect what the site (or in this reference) the blog has to offer. If it is business, there is a certain acumen that must be reflected, if it’s personal, it’s typically and identifiably clear who the owner is and of course, what they are about, or what they have to share with the public at large.

Continuing with those thoughts in mind, as a reader, I expect the title, the pictures, and visual flow to tell me who that writer is on a basic level without having to delve twenty posts deep to find out what the nature of this particular writer is. I like humour, sarcastically wry, raw, honest humour – ok, I can handle some tasteless humour at times, too, but it too, must have a minimal amount of tact!

When I stumble upon a pinup toon, my first thought is that either this is a teeny-bopper with huge aspirations, or some woman with a seriously ‘bad porn’ addiction (there IS a difference, ya’ know!), or some broad with simple exhibitionist tendencies. (Sorry, girls!). I don’t usually even bother to scroll down past the picture once it hits my screen. I can assume there is nothing there I want to, or need to read about. When I do happen across one that has some interesting text peeking through the five-minute image load, I might scroll down, but again – it’s doubtful. But I’m like, well, horrified to see what I thought would resemble somewhere in nature or appearance to be like this pinup toon! Instead I’m bombarded with boring drivel, no true content, no opinion to consider, and worse yet, nothing fucking funny to laugh out loud to myself with and freak out anyone in the room with me over! What the fuck?

So I run across a cross-post of a guy who was a bit more uhhh, well, hrmmm, ahhh… “brash” about the issue (in the vein of sexy toons and “wide loads”) and while it was quite crude, it was a realistic male perspective. If I was a guy and I came across that, again, I would expect any chick publishing such imagery to resemble the toon, at least somehow! I’m not going to link his entry, either, because I for one am just that way (polite, that is).

While I was brought to GutRumbles through
Dizzy Girl’s blog, I had to appreciate her response to the “ornery crackerass,” and her perspective, that sometimes it was a reflection of mood. I interpreted that as perhaps an indicator of the blogger’s mood or state of mind, as one not perhaps of what you think you are, or even what you want to be. I can respect that reasoning.

Speaking of Dizzy Girl… that brings me to the reason I was there to begin with. You can now consider this to be the most recent edition of Shameless Plugz (or read as “confessions of the lamb…”)

I swore I’d leave this generic template up, that I would absolutely not afford any time to re-learning CSS, or designing a B-Tude identity, refusing to submit to anything resembling development/design work -- but I couldn’t take looking at it anymore. Knowing that umpteen hundreds or even thousands of others were perhaps using the very same thing. I appreciate the unique, a lot and have zero tolerance for anything sheep-like. She had something I wanted, only the cheap biatch I am couldn’t really foresee actually like paying someone to do a site for another designer… (if even a retiring one!)

So anyways (put your best girly-girl tone of gossip voice on, muted through the telephone of course, to experience the full effect of my next statement…) She (Dizzy Girl) got an IPod, and was pimping for
Riika to get an Ipod, and then if you signed up under Riika, Riika would design a skin for you or give you other assorted blog-related freebies. So I just had to have an IPod, too! And I’d get a brand new blogskin out of the deal…and, and, and… you get the idea! (Now, breathe!)

Ok, I have my sanity back, but it just didn’t sound right any other way! Forgive me people, I know I have sinned, but you’ll get over it ;)

Ipods – go figure, now of course, I must have one, too! So click damnit, and complete one of these offers – then I promise I will never go to the teen girl on the telephone gossip thing again! [
Support My Tune Issue! ].

I must admit; I got a way cute new blogskin on the development table out of the deal, and when you add the imitation Botox crap to get rid of this one wrinkle in my forehead that has haunted me from childhood, I think I scored. Ok, I don’t know if I scored or if it will poof up that one friggin’ wrinkle, and maybe it was the turning 39 thing on Sunday, but I have this sudden need to erase the squint damage, the beach sun forged into my head as a child. No, I’m just not being vain! Can’t I claim mid-life crisis or something, yet? No, it’s just vanity and the depths of my shallow soul! Brutal honesty is the equivalent of true suckage at times like this!

Moving forward, Riika has done a fantastic job of sloughing through an ol’ vet’s orders and demands. Look for the new layout sometime this weekend! And to give Riika her due, she has an excellent eye for concept and on the spot customer service! If you’re looking for a new skin and you want something unique to you, she’s your girl!

Bitchitude’sGirlytudes: Those who know me well, know I am not a girly-girl all a-frock in pinks and flowery froo-froo. I pretty well loathe the color pink, unless of course you count Mopar E-Body, Muscle Cars in Plum Crazy or Panther Pink, then you can drop all the froo-froo pinks you like right in my driveway! I amused the nearest and dearest and dearest friend A with the one hour of time I expended playing with an online doll-maker, which was unsettling at best for both of them… [
Get Your own VooDoo Baby! ].

On that disturbing reminder, Aloha and have a great weekend!

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Friday, January 21, 2005
23 bitches

back to school: week 2

I can proudly announce (or can I?) that I have in fact been dubbed il Professore’s techno-pet on Day 1 of Week 2. Pay no mind to the fact, that I don’t know jack about Macs and am not a hardware guru; I am apparently the only one with enough knowledge to walk him through the technical aspects of his own curriculum software applications. Pay no mind to the whiplash turns of the head from every little thug punk in the class or even my own (do you know how hard it was not to LOL at that moment and immediately compose myself from Ms. PayNoNevermindToMeStudent, sits in the back of the room (yes, at age 39 - some of us, never grow up!) to Ms. WeMustBeACompetentProfessionalNow or to do that in all of a split second, sheesh, let's talk pressure?!?!!)

Pay no mind to the fact, that for the life of me I could not remember what the definition of a bloody predicate was – note, on the projection screen in front of all in full glory of my remiss brain cells. We’ll ignore the quandary of just how I managed to become an editor in my pet-project life… I can only assume I’m much better at critiquing, than at actual writing ;) God forbid, any of my talented writers should read this ;)

Somehow I am doubtful I will ever leave the techno-execu-bitch stigma that follows me around in my daily life, but I think I’ve learned to live with it and I guess I’ll get over it!

In grading news, may you all cringe in fear that I will forever have a thesis issue! I truly expected my on the fly essay to come back with horrid marks and editorial commentary about my long-windedness and ability to make two sentences read like one – go figure! The good part about it was that I only have thesis issues – I’m alas, more of a creative implied thesis writer, rather than a matter of fact thesis writer – my professor cringed when I stated succinctly that concise thesis’ were boring, lol. I did tally up an overall “excellent essay,” followed by ‘intriguing lead-in, convincing support, good clincher’ and so on out of the deal – I guess I should go work on my thesis issues now, so that my ability to expand into research is in fact, concise.

(With a big sigh, you can rest assured that was the end of my childish gloat and glory-hounding)

On another note, don’t you think it is horrific that teachers and professors, never mind every other soul on earth, are subject to frivolous lawsuit litigation for merely doing their job? I was a taken aback after a conference earlier this week (re: noted essay) when the Professor asked me on my way out to kick the garbage pail into the door and leave it cracked, since there was one gal left in the room with him and he really didn’t need any potential issues to arise, or rather any potential suggestion of it.

Ordinarily, my first thought would have been “what a perv – he’s gotten popped before,” but he’s been quite clear about his affirmative action stances and zero tolerance on any discriminatory issues. Do recall, this is Hawai`i, and while it’s a beautiful, relaxed domicile, and more so, nowhere else in the world I would rather call home; there is a dominant, passive-aggressive atmosphere and sometimes an unobvious and blatant share of discrimination – especially if you happen to be a ‘haole’ or worse yet, from the mainland, period; I for one, happen to be both. Personally, I don’t let it bother me. I grew up in S. East L.A. as a private school attending white girl in a very mixed area, while speaking more Spanish than my mixed array of Cuban, Mexican, and other Latin-bred friends, but I still have to bother to remain aware of it.

Ironic isn’t it? That is, how some things change, and sadly how some never do…

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Friday, January 21, 2005
2 bitches

15 January 2005


back to school: week 1

I have to admit, class was the easy part; I managed to make it through week one of my Spring 2005 semester unscathed… mostly! One-point-two-five hours of unadulterated peace and calm. I had little more to do than refresh my aging brain cells in the proper mechanics of grammar and a spur of the moment, five hundred handwritten word essay in a mere 35 minutes. The “getting there” part was the bitch of it all!

Allow me to take you back a few weeks and introduce you to the law of “bitchitude,” how it sometimes flashes to life, and how it can be synonymous with the familiar ol’ Murphy’s version…

One week before Christmas, the head gasket blew on the car. Incidentally, I had just paid two-thirds of my tuition, with the balance to be remitted through oodles of loan paperwork from the local educational loan opportunists on the first day of the new semester. I figure I am ok, I live just a few minutes from campus and I can taxi it for less than the price of pusholine for a few weeks. No big deal, right? Right… I feel like a high-school girl who just got her wheels taken away for staying out too late the weekend before. But I’m an easy going kinda’ girl and figure I’ll get through this, if this is the last hurdle to conquer, it could be worse.

Moving forward to day one, everything is flowing well – I figure Murphy has jetted on out of my life for a while. I’m there on time and I have my near and dear to me as an escort and makeshift pack-mule. He’s also taking some classes this semester and it’s nice to have someone to carry my books! I’m feeling giddy and excited when I realize I’m not the only 30 sumthin’ on campus, and that there are forty and fifty sumthin’s drumming about, too. Whew!

I know you’re thinking that this doesn’t sound too hectic, yet… so far, so good, yeah? Wrong! I’m gleefully (yes, I said gleefully) approaching the business office window to collect my loan proceeds, when what the fuck do you think happens? Power ceases to exist, eerily similar to what you would imagine if the sun had just fallen out of the sky.

My only selfish thought at the moment was that they were not going to be able to cut my loan check because there was no computer. The next nightmarish thought was the fact that the balance of my unpaid tuition would prevent me from starting classes that day, simply because my funds were tied up in an electronic bitch that wasn’t about to power up on my behalf anytime soon.

I had books to buy, a car to repair, and 40 minutes to get to a class across campus after meandering in a line that rivaled the big blue box store’s mega-sale day! Fortunately, they opted to do a manual release (you know, the kind that requires paper only) nix the computer system and were able to release one of my two loan checks with a minimum of delay. I had a check, books, and at least some of my panicking sanity left by the time I reached the building offering my first class.

Don’t you think that was enough of a rough start for day one? I thought so too – I was wrong! I proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes wandering through a building that was readily marked with room numbers and arrows pointing the correct direction to said rooms. Room 124 is on the list; we see Room 119, 120, 121, 122… Where the hell is 124?!?! It was a dead-end. Turn around or go upstairs? Hmm…

Well my friends, you do the math; Room 124 is most likely on floor number one! Against my better judgment, I went ahead up the stairs just to make sure they hadn’t stuffed it in a nook, cranny or janitor’s closet. No luck! At this point, I’m ready to bail in a fit of frustration with a ticking clock about to crawl up my ass and ring a bell. I went outside to chill out for a moment, when I notice a small mass of wandering souls milling about with that same confused look on their faces. Right on, I’m not the only directionally impaired twit with a first day of school issue! I suddenly felt much better!

Room 124? No such animal exists. I sent my near and dear to me off to his class and told him if I wasn’t around, I’d see him at home and he could pretty well assume I’d told the college what they could do with this fucked up building and exactly how to do it. I’m willing hell to the architects at this point. Just as we all turn around for one more magical look about before giving up the hunt, we notice one lone door on the outside of the building… you got it, the elusive Room 124; the only room with an entrance on the exterior!

As the story goes, only half of us ever found it, and at least two of those MIA’s are now skiing in Aspen until the short semester starts later in the month – and I thought I was a bitch at times!

Is there a moral to this story? The short answer is “no.” I figure if I have to go through all of this to make a timely entrance to a one-point-two-five hour class, after six months of reframing my entire life, someone is damn sure going to hear about it! If I must end on a philosophical note, the moral is simply “patience, bloody patience.”

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Saturday, January 15, 2005
17 bitches

14 January 2005


research: thoughtless v-day gifts

Valentine's Edition Submissions: Love Notes, Dedications, Poetry, Short stories, fiction, non-fiction and most thoughtless VDay gifts received! Submit now!I’m currently compiling data for an article highlighting the best and worst Valentine Day gifts and I need willing victims, research rats, and verbose readers to share the tale of how thoughtless a prior or current gift-giver was!

If you have been the unlucky or pissed off recipient of a thoughtless, cheap, gaudy, tacky, or unwanted gift from your Valentine or anyone else, enter it and a quick blow by of the current status of that relationship in a comment here.
Please use an alias, post anonymously, or simply use a first name and/or location.

Has someone honored you with an awesome show of affection on Valentine’s Day? If so, feel free to share a quick synopsis of the gift and the current status of your relationship.
Please use an alias, post anonymously, or simply use a first name and/or location.

The best and the worst gifts will be composed into an article and published in an online article in MBC’s “Go Ahead, Fuck With Me,” Valentine’s edition on Feb. 1, 2005, as well as archived here for non-subscriber amusement.

Please note there is no compensation, no perks, no glamour involved. Your only gratituity is the simple satisfaction that some poor fool reading the article will know what to buy, give or share in the future, and a clear message of what NEVER to give your Valentine to display affection!

Mahalo!

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Friday, January 14, 2005
10 bitches

12 January 2005


shameless plugz: 01.12.2005

Calling all traffic whores who have yet to sign up for this mind-sucking, time-wasting, new surf for traffic gig...

Ok, I know most of the traffic whores have already done this, but if you're a little slow this week, get to clicking!

Update: BlogClicker informs me that in the near future (I'm sworn to secrecy as to sharing the exact date), they will be offering:

Comments option (but not rating, that winds up being a slam fest)
Bookmark Option....(but choice to save to your account settings OR your browser bookmarks)
Blog Rotator (show more than one blog using one URL, optomizes the use of credits for those with multiple blogs).


Were you born in the 40's,50's,60's,70's? Yeah? The be sure to check out
Contemblogging for a trip down memory lane.

D. Brooks and his dubious insight about
'Baby Killers.'

Marjo Moore on
Journalism and Blogging -"when will journalism stop acting as a minefield for new political ideas?"

And last, but not least, if religion (or lack thereof) is at the top of your surfing menu today, be sure to check out
Andy Martello pimping for obscene phone calls on this entry! (NOT for the faint of heart, mind, or soul!)

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Wednesday, January 12, 2005
6 bitches

10 January 2005


sanctimonious rot

Ask and you shall receive. (Will I go to hell for saying that out loud?) You’ve all decided you either love me or hate me, with the latter being the lesser, this virginal blogger is moving in and calling blogspot home. My reasons for existence in blogdom are multi-fold; I didn’t necessarily want to journal my way through life, but I’m getting comfortable in this outlet for various oddities of print and mind and a place where I don’t have to mind my p’s, q’s, or even my bitches.

You can rest assured that much like any mechanic whose car is in shambles while his customer’s cars purr like kittens, this generic template probably won’t get too much more exciting (ok, there’s always Spring Break for hope that it will). If you tire of it, I’m officially a starving student with a family to feed, house and clothe, as of Tuesday, so feel free to donate a kickass design my way in lieu of laziness and lack of time. ;)

You’ll discover that I’m not too whiny or cranky. I am outspoken to injustices, loathe whining, and am much too generous in nature to be a true bitch all of the time. Family comes first, everything else after. I have no respect for those who bitch, moan, whine, and complain about an issue without taking steps to come to a resolution. As friends or family, we cannot help those who refuse to help themselves.

Bitchitude: A perfect example is that girlfriend or guy-friend who consistently picks the ‘wrong’ loser type again and again knowing full well it isn’t going to happen. They whine and cry, but yet continue to keep their lil’ black book o’losers on tap at any given time. How many times can you offer advice, lend a shoulder or slap the snot out of them before your ears bleed!

Bitchitude is more about standing up to the world and saying I’ve had enough, I’m not your doormat. It’s a healthy attitude and mastery of an emotional art without becoming a downright c-word. The word ‘bitch’ is abused and overused, carrying little validity in today’s society. Though people find it amusing or obnoxious, we have to be quite careful to note what context it is being used in. It’s more oft than naught a negative, with an occasional glimpse into the strength of women (and men) who carry it off with eloquence. Most of society sees the other side of bitch… the truly negative one. Personally, I find it most demeaning. If they stopped for even a moment to read how they come across to people, they would stop wondering why their dogs and boy-toys keep running off (insert any country song with a theme of woe is me of your choice here). Simply stated, it’s all in the execution and there is a distinct difference in ‘bitch’ when it comes to class and tact.

For the record: My favorite expletive is not the ‘b-word,’ but rather the ‘f-word’ – a succinct four letter noun that also serves as an adjective and a verb, sliding seamlessly into the ‘one shoe fits all’ objective of making a point. Sometimes, we just have to call it like it is.

The basics: I was born a poor white girl in small town in Texas with one stoplight and a Dairy Queen. Daddy saw fit to move us to the big city, you know, the one with Angels and turned us all into little beach bums. I kicked the accent, but it still tends to creep in on occasion when around other southerners or watching flicks with bad southern accents on the tube. I lived over half of my life in L.A. and the other part tramping around the Pacific Northwest. I now call Hawai`i home and am apt to refresh my Ph.D. in ‘beachbum’ at some point in the very near future.

The career: Now you see it, now you don’t. I’ve worked in IT as you know by now, for a decade. I enjoy it, but I never wanted to grow up to be a ‘puter dweeb, programmer, marketing whiz, handholding, clientele woo-er, execu-bitch type and except for a few pet projects, I am kicking it to the curb. I have to say that I’ve had the honor of working with some fantastic people over the years, and the dubious distinction of donating massive time to projects for various nonprofits across the nation. I am a strong proponent of volunteerism. I hope to include an article in the near future on those ins and outs, keeping it an enjoyable experience for all involved and how to avoid the nightmare events we all hear so much about.

Doubtful inclusions: Family-related stuff. I tell ya’, there will be little to none. Although some blogs are chock-full of daily antics, there is only so much you can say that someone else hasn’t already lived identically. Aside from that, my significant other and my kids are near perfect. Ok, not so perfect; he actually puts the toilet seat down when he’s done. My ten-year-old took a tumble out of golf cart last summer incidentally being driven by a twelve-year old girl, thus sacrificing a fair chunk of his knee to the asphalt gods of “your momma told you so.” I thought it was the greatest excuse to not work that day and several after! He has a battle wound to be proud of for the rest of his life. Do you really wanna hear the daily woes of kids from a dysfunctional-ly divorced family, where said children happen to be seasoned travelers and know their way around most major airports better than most frequent flyers that can’t fight their way out of a baggage carousel? The other one is 18 now. I claim no fault to his imperfection, as of that date. He’s mastered his own version as a young adult and yes son, insurance really does cost that much – your momma told you so!

Other doubtful inclusions: References to or about political drivel. Politics are just not in my area of expertise. Unless you count civil rights and issues where folks are just downright getting screwed over, or the minimal right we should all be entitled to and sometimes aren’t. I’ve worked in commercial art, and when you stop to consider politics, both are an extreme mindfuck. Rather, politics are propaganda better left to the armchair commentary we see all over the media. We are for the most part, intelligent creatures and have choices, and we already know that; or should. I’ve come upon a few blogs that pose some interesting perspectives. However, I’m a better reader than I am at imposing my opinions on politics and will likely continue to remain that way.

More information than you need: I have never been an active voter until this year, and the only reason I voted was to keep Kerry out of office; a matter of choosing between the lesser of two evils, or two idiots, however you prefer to interpret that. Call me Anti-Idiotarian, my vote counted. I would have voted in the local elections a couple of years ago in Post Falls, Idaho for Wally (I don’t recall his last name). I had to give Wally props for standing out in the freezing weather on the corner every damn day waving to his supporters and chugging around town in his campaign rig (an overhauled ice-cream truck). Unfortunately Wally didn’t get the vote, but I have to wonder what he did with the ice-cream truck/campaign wagon. Wally had character, a quality that is sorely non-existent in modern politics.

On that note, I’ll take a bow, and exit stage left with a wiggle, a wink, and a sly lil’ smile, as I jet back to the mediocrity of my life.

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Monday, January 10, 2005
10 bitches

06 January 2005


remember what momma said?

Momma said, “look both ways before you cross the street.” Yes, indeed. When I received the news that dearest friend ‘A’ had been hit by a car moments after stepping off public transportation, the first words out of my own mouth were “I know your momma taught you better than that!”

Sometime during her upbringing, I was certain her Momma also instilled the age-old adage about leaving the house in holey intimate apparel. My next statement was along the lines of “…and I suppose today was the day you had on holey drawers, too?” Dearest friend A blushes (I could just hear it in her voice!) and confesses to her morning fashion mishap; due to winter tights and slacks not being comfortable while worn at the same time – she removed them (the tights), and inadvertently wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Adding insult to injury, literally; dearest friend A had not enough time to shave her legs in recent days, so she was mindless, panty-less, and hairy! All the while, subject to EMT’s, policemen, co-workers, and the ambulance EMT taking note of her condition. Furthermore, she had to endure the same and then some, after her arrival at the local emergency room, being subjected to the same physical scrutiny by that team of medical professionals. Oh my!

Dearest friend A has learned that 1. Momma was right. 2. Momma was really right.

Dearest friend A has vowed to abide by modern axioms in the future. She for one knows ‘it’ can happen anywhere, anytime. Listen to Momma next time; Mommas just know.

This isn’t fiction baby; the names have been changed to protect the guilty, a sin now carved in asphalt and flesh; your karma can truly run over your dogma.

bitchitude: Shit happens. The poor sap who lost control of his car on an ice-slicked driveway, which now my dearest friend A has greedily evolved into unethical friend A happened to be crossing, wasn’t out to commit vehicular manslaughter.

As you well know, we live in a society that frivolously pursues litigation for each and every wrongly directed sneeze that comes our way. Unethical friend A has now opted to jump on that bandwagon for a fast buck and is trying to justify it to herself with the fact she’s not suing ‘him’ but rather his insurance company. WTF is that about? I do not contend she should not be compensated for her losses, but this is excessive and wanton greed gone mad.

‘A’ refuses to acknowledge that although she may never be face to face with this fella again, that he isn’t going to pay the price, regardless? Let’s try a cancelled insurance policy or a new premium that exceeds his mortgage payment or the guilt of having potentially almost driven someone to her death, simply by way of an act of Mother Nature and bad timing.

Unethical friend A admits she was not paying attention while crossing the slick driveway on her way to work. Both of their stories corroborated to the police that neither was at fault; it was merely a finely timed series of unfortunate events.


I have a hard time choking down the fact she is intent on destroying a man’s life over injuries that required 2 days off of work and an insurance company who is already preparing a suffering, lost wage, and medical settlement to present. At this moment, I am ashamed to call A, “friend.” Momma knows.


"guest feature" - date of publication: 01.07.2005 - bfp media publication archive

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Thursday, January 06, 2005
9 bitches

01 January 2005


reflections and resolutions

Isn’t it ironic how quickly time flies, times change, and is in a continuous flux of uncertainty at any given moment? I spent this day last year freezing my self-righteous ass off in Seattle, preparing for my move to the islands. I spent the next six months working some very long days, as I have for the past decade in the IT industry – a career bestowed upon me by a mere fluke of dumb luck, a diverse set of skills, and being in the right place at the right time. The latter part of 2004 was busy preparing for a return to college.

I’ve had to spend an inordinate amount of time recently rearranging my frame of mind; much the equivalent of taking it out and playing with it at times to suit what is to become my new life for the next five years, and most likely more to achieve the ultimate goal.

It took me half of a lifetime to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. Forever, I vowed to remain a Toys R Us kid – stay young, have fun, be happy, and the rest of the lovey-dovey hoopla everyone spews this time of year. No time for college – my philosophy has always been to work hard and play harder.

This past summer, the light bulb finally clicked! Ok, so it took twenty-one years to click, but now I have dedicated myself to a change of career, sold my soul to the devil to pay for it, and committed another half decade of my life to the University of Hawai`i at the spunky ol’ age of 38.

bitchitude: 38? No, it’s 2005 now, 39 in two weeks! Ungrateful thing that I am hates having a birthday 3 weeks after Christmas when everyone is wallowing over their credit card bills rolling in. Personally, I think they should remember MY birthday while they are out shopping during the holiday so I can get something a little more thoughtful after the fact. I mean, c’mon people, I know some of my past birthday gifts have been something you got for Christmas and didn’t like – why the hell would I want it? I have no empathy for the crowd with birthdays in December, either. The most you have to worry about is getting a gift wrapped in jingle bells and pine needles!

I’ve always known deep down that time is a cherished luxury and have somehow managed to progress quickly through one professional career as well as fit my philosophy into it, work hard, play harder. I treasure flexibility in time, more than I do time and my new schedule cuts into it! Of course, I can always study at the beach… do they make waterproof book covers? Did I mention I have kids? A family?

Returning to college has been long overdue and very important to me. I am geared up for it, schedules synced, and life reprioritized to accomplish this (a feat in itself). Having x number of withdrawals due to other priorities, I have learned my lessons well in the past. I am however, most curious as to how other returning adults manage studies, time, work, families, and a life of their own in the midst of it all.

bitchitude: 2004 is befitting of the moment. I don’t really believe in resolutions, at least not at this time of year. I believe that people should resolve to make improvements, set and achieve goals, make betterments and resolutions as the need arises, or resolve to resolve them at a moment that isn’t driven simply because “it’s when you’re supposed to.” WTF is that all about? Your ass was wide six months ago, didn’t you notice? We did! You don’t have a nest egg and you have a brand new SUV that sits in the driveway next to the other new car you drive on weekends only?


Bitch, please. Spare me the whining line of bullshit. It’s a commission of self-blasphemy or rather, a mindfuck. If you didn’t resolve the issue when you should have, why the hell are going to take care of it now, just because the calendar says so? The calendar isn’t going to shrink your widening hiney or blossoming plumbers crack, never mind a guarantee you won’t be living in poverty after retirement or working until you fall into your grave. Living in the moment and reaping the rewards of life is one matter, but 2004 goes out with a “get real” to these types from me!

As for myself, I make the same resolution year after year. I resolve to make my next year better than the last. As I ponder my successes and failures, I assure myself I will continue to be who I am; flaws included, while notating the “room for improvement parts,” and doing something about them!


A Toast and a Wish to All For a Very Prosperous New Year!

§

scrawled by BTude a.k.a. GlassHoppah @ Saturday, January 01, 2005
16 bitches