Fuzzy thinking

Many fuzzy bunnies have been hopping around my head. I'm wiped tired, and unable to string a decent sentence together.

There are a dozen things I want to blog about and comment about, but none of them make any damn sense, because I want to blog about them, but I don't want anyone to KNOW I'm blogging about them. Kind of difficult on the internet, no?

Like some crazy Jesus freaks I found on the net, who believe in dominating their wives and hurting them and the wives think it's OKAY because they deserve it. (And no, this isn't consensual sex play, this has no safe words, it's just creepy.) Stockholm Syndrome personified. The ultimate trainwreck of all time. I swear if I could find these women in real life, I'd call 911 in a heartbeat. Blech, I have to stop thinking about this.

And then there is the infamous journalist wannabe mommyblogger who now has a kid going to school. She blogs under her own name, and unlike with us pseudononymous bloggers, I think she has a certain responsibility to shut up when she blogs about someone she knows, because she and her blog target could be recognized by others. I take great care to not identify anyone by name unless they are a public figure and a fair target. IMO, any logical person would try to be nice to the other parents, and say nothing about the teachers and school on her blog that wasn't perfectly lovely.

But not her....instead my dear friend got blogged about and denigrated for asking this woman to be the parent class rep. and possibly volunteer for various school trips, skating, etc. Now, lots of parents don't volunteer at the school, and lots of people don't want to be involved, but what's the harm in politely asking? They asked everybody else. Like SHE'S so special?

I guess to a woman who truly never wanted to be pregnant or have a child and has written about her disgust and dislike for the entire process in the newspapers for years, it makes sense that she wouldn't actually want to be involved with her kid's school. And no---she didn't write the stuff we write, like wow, I love my kids, but geez this part is hard/frustrating/boring, yadda, yadda. Instead she has used her kid for column and book fodder like so much trash. Like? She hired a nanny full-time right away so wouldn't have to actually change a diaper or make a bottle, and wrote about it. She refused to even attempt breastfeeding because she didn't want saggy breasts. (She has them anyway...she'd fail the pencil test by a mile.) She asked for a medically unnecessary c-section because she didn't want to her vagina to stretch out. (Who cares about the whole dead baby risk of medically unneeded c-sections, having a dead kid is no big whoop, right my friends? *eyeroll*) Once, as a bet, a bunch of us scanned through all her columns and books, and did not read one complimentary, kind, loving word about her daughter until the kid was nine months old!

This woman truly makes motherhood sound worse than the Bataan Death March.

Anyway, some of you will know who I'm talking about, if you want confirmation, leave your email in the comments, or email me and ask. Don't write her name in the comments. I'm not linking to her---because someday her daughter will learn how to use Google, and discover Mommy Dearest never actually gave a shit about her except to make a quick buck. Well, it won't be from this blog.

And yes, in case you are wondering, my daughter Mira would be the same age as her daughter is now, except that she died. The irony.....