The Bad Month Cometh

February.

Damn February.

It was always the hardest month to spell. But then, I always (and still do) have a problem spelling girl.

And it's cold. Damn cold. Especially here in central Pennsylvania. Some folks think that spring is coming when February rolls around. We know better in these parts. It's a good month for snow. And ice. And, I'm just guessing here, domestic violence.

Every February I start to hate the dog. HATE. And speaking of dogs, I really HATE those forever piles of yellow and black snow.

The sun doesn't shine here in February.

Roadkill sticks on the pavement longer in February than any other month.

I know February is supposed to be full of romance because of Valentine's day. Bullshit. Nothing is romantic about someone trying to stick their cold hands down my sweater on the 14th just because they think that is the day to do it. Try it again in May, dude.

And, yes, my daughter's birthday is in February. She is thrilled. She loves the planning. What should the theme be? What games should we play at the party? Party favors? Will there be a party activity? Are we going to make the invitations? ic9w9 dieub8esn 988shtww. That's just me beating my head on the keyboard. I love my little bug, but I start to have panic attacks two weeks before the birthday party.

And this is the month that I am forced to look at catalogs of swimsuits and summer clothes. If I don't order all of our spring/summer clothes NOW, the catalog companies will sell out and that will be it. Unless one of us is a 2T or XXXXXL.

Tomorrow morning, over breakfast, I will make my February 1st speech and it goes like this:

Do not touch me with anything cold this month. Don't make any plans that make me leave the house. Somebody better shovel that damn sidewalk. Do not leave any belongings unattended-- they will be thrown away. February is go to bed early month -- get used to it. Somebody needs to buy me books.

Happy February.

My Little World

My favorite periodical came the other day:

Uppercase Magazine -- the coolest design magazine out there. Chock full of graphic design, illustration and art.

The most recent issue has a map theme. Shown in the issue were stunning, intricate maps. I was inspired to make a map of my own surroundings. Not stunning. Not intricate. But I wanted to get my map down in less than 10 minutes. My own scribbly, not to scale impressions.

State College, PA, on one page in less than 10 minutes.

To me, the world of State College is quite the limited place. Oh sure, I no doubt forgot to put on a couple of "important" locations. But you get the idea.

I spend a great deal of time thinking about space. Not outer space, but the space we inhabit in our daily lives. Our homes and towns. I'm thinking that I need to widen my world just a bit. Or move to where the world is a bit wider.

Damn that Rick

Another debate. Fewer debaters. And Rick Santorum still stands among them.

I've always heard that if there were world-wide nuclear war, the only living thing left on earth would be cockroaches.

I disagree.

It would be Rick Santorum. Rick Santorum, leader of the cockroaches. And damn, wouldn't there be a lot of cockroaches, cuz' ol' Santorum would be telling them how to breed.

Even More Rick

Or perhaps I should say, even less Rick.

I went a full 24 hours earlier in the week without hearing a soundbite or seeing a photo of Rick Santorum. What a joyous day that was.

A day without Rick Santorum is like a day full of:

Sunshine

Pristine snowflakes

Frosted Cupcakes

Chocolatey goodness

Superfast internet connections

Fresh art supplies

Children Laughing

Babbling brooks

Money falling from the sky

Joyful sex

Choice

Love

Freedom

Did I leave anything out?

More Rick

My newspaper has been full of photos of Rick Santorum, in his damn sweater vests, with a microphone in front of his mouth. His pompous face spewing forth Rick-speak. His values, his beliefs, his Jesus. He has advice for all of us, doesn't he?

A few days ago, Planned Parenthood sent a missive regarding the future of women's health and a request for some money. They advised me that my financial help would be a positive thing for the health of America's women.

Guess who's advice I heeded.

Not Rick's.

And that check to Planned Parenthood was the first of the year, correctly dated.

If Mr. Santorum wants to keep talking, I'm gonna keep giving.

Isn't it too early in the year to rant? Hell no!

I haven't written here in a while, what with all of those holidays. And then along came Rick Santorum. I can't write when I think about him. I can do very little with Santorum on my mind.

Yesterday, I found it extremely difficult to pee when I was thinking of him. I had to turn my thoughts to puppies and llamas in order to clear my bladder. I'm NOT making this up.

And today I read that Santorum is calling Romney's religion a dangerous cult. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black. And we know how Santorum likes to use the word "black."

I've got to purge this Republican primary from my mind or else go completely crazy.

In my thinking, government should be there to avoid chaos, collect taxes for infrastructure and generally do what is best for the majority of the people. Why the hell are those vying for the Republican nomination doing everything in their power to create and maintain chaos, avoid taxation and do what is best for themselves, everyone else be damned? What a ridiculous side show!

I'm just seething at the thought that this beady-eyed man thinks he or others like him have any right to get within 50 yards of my vagina or the vaginas of the millions and millions of women and girls in this country and dictate what they do or don't do. I truly wish aliens would abduct Santorum, probe him thoroughly against his will, impregnate him and force him to produce the product of Santorum and alien DNA even if it would likely kill him.

Forget the economy, forget foreign affairs, forget war, forget poverty, forget disease, forget education, let's concentrate completely on homosexuality and everyone's sister's reproductive organs. This is the way to make progress, right?