Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Friday, December 08, 2006
T’is the season—no. Really. I mean it.

Have I bitched yet about my new neighbors? They took over my landlords’ old crib, and so far, they’ve been quiet. But they have a big honkin’ van and an SUV, however, and they think they’re allowed to park both behemoths out front, thereby taking up precious cul-de-sac space. I’m sorry, but there’s no reason that both those tanks need to be out front when the neighbor downstairs and I have only one vehicle apiece. “But we use both of them!” they said to the landlords when she and I complained. No, screw you. Seniority rules, and she and I have been here for eight years. Jerks.

So, the other day I was working on stories for the paper’s annual Empty Stocking Needy people fund, and it happened that one of the families I interviewed was a single mom with eight kids who’re homeless and have to be out of the shelter they’re currently staying in by Monday, while the mom (who’s 34, btw; oldest kid is 14) is in her third year of nursing school and is trying to study for finals next week. Oh, and the water pump on her van is shot, so she and the brood have been having to walk everywhere in the butt-ass cold. Ok, so I write the story, and for as many people who called in wanting to help out, there was at least one ready to literally jump my shit for daring to publicize a welfare mother who doesn’t understand the concept of birth control?

Of course there was.

Had my one editor allowed this woman to contact me—after some of my past skirmishes with sources, they don’t allow that to happen anymore—I would’ve liked to have told her about the stuff that I DIDN’T put in the story, like how she tells her oldest daughters every day that she doesn’t want them to be like her and how humiliating it is to have to defend the fact that she has so many children at all. Yeah, she knew about birth control. Yeah, one of the baby daddies kind of helps sort of, but you try getting child support from someone who doesn’t want to pay (though I’m surprised by the latest round of stats on this very subject). Yeah, she gets TANF—a whopping $373 a month because you get cut off after the fifth kid, at least in Indiana. Yeah, she’s been trying to get a job. But her oldest kid is 14. Would YOU leave seven kids between the ages of 12 and 2 with a 14 year-old? Yeah, she has friends and relatives who help out from time to time, but who wants to take on eight more mouths on a regular basis?

Here you go, fundie conservative nutjobs who believe no sperm should go to waste. Figure this one out.

Mostly, though, I’d have told the woman that no one was telling her to help them out if she was so morally outraged by their situation and oh, go suck a dick while she was at it.

I’ve implored several of my pals to see what they have in the way of stuff for the family, and this weekend when I go Christmas shopping with the sibs, we’re hitting the resale shops. If any of y’all would like to chip in a li’l something to the effort, Paypal button’s on the right.

Posted by Broad6:26 PM
It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.

100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.

Give it to me, baby.

Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...

The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:

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Broad said: Like I said, my feelings are complicated on the matter, so ... I’m interested, however, in Her Highness’ thoughts on… ...[go].

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Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving?  The frigging church.  My church and my mom’s… ...[go].

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This explains that large bit of type at the top.

Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.


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