It’s taken me a couple of days to feel like I have my arms around the situation enough to actually say anything about it. More than anything, it’s made me feel unbelievably sad because I’ve devoted seven years to raising money and awareness for the Susan G Komen and it hurts to walk away from something I’ve given so much – physically, mentally and financially – to over most of my adult life. But unless things take a drastic change, I’m washing my hands of the organization as a whole and will find another way to help fight for a cure for cancer.

I know you’re going to ask why, so here you go:

1. SGK pulled their grants from Planned Parenthood stating the reason they’re doing it is because Planned Parenthood is under federal investigation. I understand that and wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. And then I read today that they’re funding a cancer research center at Penn State to the tune of $7.5 million. Penn State is currently under federal investigation. See how that doesn’t match up?

2. They pulled funding for stem cell research, another move that screams pro-life, pro-political and forgets everything about it being a non-profit aimed at helping find a cure for cancer.

3. The new Vice President of Public Policy, Karen Handel, tried to run for Governor for Georgia on a gigantic platform of taking all of the funding away from Planned Parenthood. She’s never made her agenda a secret and, while a lot of the things posted about her may seem libelous, they also hold true to exactly what’s going on. And then I have to see stuff like this:

It all boils down to money. We know that. My money and my time and my heart will no longer go towards Komen. There are plenty of other organizations out there that can help us find a cure. Until they manage to straighten out this political nonsense, I don’t want to be involve. My favorite thing that The 3 Day brought to me was passion. I’ve been so passionate about finding a cure, knowing that surely it’s right around the corner. And now, the organization as a whole just doesn’t seem to have that passion anymore.

If things change, and I sure hope they do, you’ll find me right back on The 3 Day train, but until then, I’m taking a step or two back. It’s not me, Komen folks, it’s definitely you.

Mitt Romney was in Minnesota today and what happens? He gets glitter bombed. We made that prediction this morning before he even got to town.

I’m so over throwing glitter at politicians. Okay, it hilarious when the glitter came out of a cheez it box at Newt Gingrich. We all got our chuckle when anyone with the name Bachmann gets a pile of glitter thrown at them. Although, wouldn’t a bag of wrenches be even more hilarious?

Gay, listen. Can we try something else? The glitter bombing is tired. Do something really annoying. But one stupid piece of glitter on someone’s cheek, so they spend the whole day with it on there and don’t notice it until the end of the day. That right there is embarassing.

I mean, if we’re going to make a stand or prove a point, can we try doing it with something really crazy, like words? Or even signs? I mean, YAY, you dumped your kid’s art project leftovers on Republican candidates for president. But who does that prove a point to? If you’re trying to win over the supporters of those candidates, you’re failing. It’s not funny to them and it just makes gays look like a bunch of immature brats. That’s not going to get us what we want, you know?

Think about it. I’d like a raise at work. I’m not going to bust into my boss’s office throwing confetti in her general direction while there are hundreds of people standing around. That’s not how things get done. Can we try harder, please?

I can’t even explain to you how many times I’ve sat down in front of my computer, opened up WordPress and then just stared at it because I don’t know how to title my post. It’s like I’m trying to title a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, except harder because I’ve already done that (in my head) at least five dozen times.

Things have been busy around this neck of the urban woods. We have 27 days until we go to Vegas and 33 days until we can move into our new house. We’ve already made one trip to Goodwill and have plans for at least one more before we move, because as much as I love my stuff I’ve had for years and have never taken out of a box, I like not having to carry as much boxes even better.

I found a box of various greeting cards that possibly date back until the 1980s. Thanks to a suggestion from Dez (courtesy of Mrs. Dez), I’m totally scanning them and putting them into a hard cover book, so I can just throw the box away. I think it comes from growing up with two grandmas that had the most fantastic photo albums ever, but I just love being able to go back and look at those kinds of things. And, yes, that’s including the note from my fourth grade teacher, who thanked me for taking care of our classroom guinea pig (Chipper) over Christmas break. I also passed several years of swimming lessons with flying colors, in the event that you’re curious. And my letters to Santa? Very well thought out for a six year old.

And the Beanie Babies. Damn those things. I don’t even care about them, but I spent way too much time on Ebay trying to find certain ones to just throw them out… possibly over 15 years ago. Sigh. Who wants some Beanie Babies? Most have the tags!

I think I said this when we moved into this house, but I really mean it moving into this next one. I seriously don’t want to move again for at least two years. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

My favorite 15 year old in Missouri is a huge Drake fan. Or at least was. I can’t keep track of what kids are into these days. It wasn’t until I heard the song Headlines, that I realized I kind of like this Drake kid, too.

I might be too strung out on compliments, overdosed on confidence
Started not to give a fuck and stopped fearing the consequence
Drinking every night because we drink to my accomplishments
Faded way too long, I’m floatin’ in and out of consciousness
And they saying I’m back, I agree with that
I just take my time with all this shit, I still believe in that
I had someone tell me I fell off, ooh I needed that
And they want to see me pick back up, well, where’d I leave it at?
I know I exaggerated things, now I got it like that
Tuck my napkin in my shirt cause I’m just mobbin’ like that
You know good and well that you don’t want a problem like that
You gonna make someone around me catch a body like that
No, don’t do it, please don’t do it
Cause one of us goes in, and we all go through it
And Drizzy got the money, so Drizzy gonna pay it
Those my brothers, I ain’t even gotta say it
That’s just something they know

Here’s the best part. If you go to this link, you can click on the lyrics and find out what they actually mean. I could keep myself entertained all day on a site called RapGenius.

I even found you this video if you’re so inclined to hear the whole song:

Successfully co-parenting a 14 year old boy has helped me learn many, many things, most of which will never grace this blog with its presence, because I don’t want people knowing that much information about my kid. It’s too bad, because I could really use some advice on some of that information, you know? One thing I’ve learned hard and fast? Boys stink. The Kid is REALLY good about applying deodorant and, yes, some AXE body spray, but at least I know I’ll never have the stinky kid in class.

He’s a facts-based kid, though, so if I ever run into needing scientific evidence, this not-his-mom has found this little graphic to share:

Via: Bye Bye Excessive Armpit Sweat

You know, because we needed a new shower curtain and all. Apparently I was in some sort of whimsical mood when picking it out? All I know is that it’s too “loud”, in the words of my grandma (RIP), and I can’t look at it first thing in the morning.

The three of us went out to dinner Saturday night. Our original plan was dinner at Matt’s Bar and catching a 7pm showing of Moneyball at the Riverview Theater. Apparently everyone else in Minneapolis was in the mood for burgers with molten lava cheese squirting down their throats, because Matt’s had a line out the door. We drive down to 5-8 Club and only had to stand in line a few minutes before we got seated. We put the kibosh on the movie plans and decided to hit a Redbox instead. Dinner was lovely. Burgers were consumed. Football was watched. Then we decided to pick up some candy and ice cream to have our own movie night at home.

We walked into the front porch and it instantly smelled like burning plastic. It smelled RANCID. We headed straight into the kitchen and this is what we found.

We have no idea what happened. We hadn’t used the stove since Thursday evening, so I’m sure we would have noticed had we left the burner on that long. The General pulled a knob off from the non-charred side to try to turn off the stove, but there was no way that was happening. The Kid and I took the animals outside to get them some fresh hair, since they’d been inhaling burning plastic smoke for God only knows how long. While we were outside, she pulled it away from the wall and unplugged it. And then we all took a breathe, because everyone was okay and nothing was damaged past the stove.

Riley was kenneled. Marshall can’t even jump onto the bed without using the bedside stand as a step. No idea how it started. No idea how it stopped. And absolutely no idea how the stove was the only thing that was damaged.

We’re considering ourselves so, so, so, so lucky. I maintain my theory of last week that we have a couple of grandmas and three grandpas in heaven making sure the three of us are safe. Between the five of them, I think they probably have some degree of pull up there.

I called the landlord to give her the heads up and we’re working on getting that taken care of. The General is busy figuring out how to get the smell of charred stovetop out of our clothes, and we’ve been living with the windows open for the past 24 hours and ignoring the fact that it’s a might bit cold for the first time this winter.

I’ve always been a sucker for kids. Kind of always felt the need to be a protector of some sort, because someone had to stand up for them, you know? Having one that came with The General and planning on having another one with the next couple of years has made me even more aware of how just downright mean some parents are.

I was never a victim of child abuse in any kind. Unless you count riding around in the back of a truck in the 80s as child abuse, which I think people might now. And I can’t imagine ever inflicting any kind of abuse. The Kid, however, might argue that saying taking out the trash, cleaning out the litter box, and picking up after dinner could be borderline child abuse.

This graphic kind of blew my mind and I can’t get some of the statistics out of my head. It’s not just babies or teenagers or boys or girls dealing with abuse and it’s not just moms or just dads dishing it out. The numbers below kind of make me sick to my stomach.

Via: MSW Programs