June 22, 2006

Pissed off on Thursday

I’m a little pissed off today. Pissed off because of a situation that has happened in my town. And it hit close to home– it happened to my family member, Jesse.

Jesse, 22, had an account with MySpace.com. He happened to meet a girl on the popular college/teen website meeting place. This girl stated she was 19 years old. Jesse attended UWSP and met this girl and had sex with her. He later found out she was 14 years old. To make a long story short, he is now facing sexual assault charges. While I understand that Wisconsin law states that a person younger than 18 cannot legally consent to sex, I’m baffled that this girl will go unpunished for her actions. She lied about her age on a website. Her parents were not aware of her “extra-curricular activities.” Yes, Jesse was wrong to become intimate with this girl. But he admitted his actions. He didn’t lie about it. He confessed that he later found out she was 14. He did not force her to have sex. The girl has denied the allegations of lying about her age.

Now we see all over the news that a mother in Texas is suing MySpace.com for not protecting minors. I understand the mother’s point of view, because the website does nothing to verify the age of it’s members. It does state that no one younger than 16 can sign up. So how do these 14 year old girls get accounts? By lying. And where are their parents to monitor their internet usage?

Yes, I know parents cannot monitor their children 24/7. And I understand that children will use the internet at friend’s homes and at school or the public library. So, these children have found the means to be deceiful. So why should they go unpunished? If you’re going to put yourself in the position to flirt and have sex with older boys, shouldn’t you also suffer the consequences?

My blogging pal, J.P. at Faint Expectations says it best.

…I’ll be honest and say that it’s my opinion that 90 percent of MySpace users are the perfect example of what’s wrong in America. Is that the fault of MySpace? No. These people would have been obsessed with acting stupid, promoting their favorite cheap beer, dressing like whores and rap stars, and driving pimped-out Mitsubishis regardless of whether or not MySpace ever existed. MySpace simply provided the outlet to promote the stupidity on a larger scale; the people would have existed anyway.
…As for “protecting” their children, I cringe just knowing that there are parents who would sooner have a bunch of Website administrators look out for their kids as opposed to them. What exactly do they consider as being in the job description of parents?
…In this case, if the 14-year-old girl was willing to lie to get an account, was willing to go out for the evening with a guy five years older than her, and that the mom had absolutely no idea that her daughter was e-mailing and calling a 19-year-old, then there are things in this family that need to be dealt with more than a lawsuit against a Website. 

I can’t even tell you how pissed I am. But, I’m going to do my part to make sure that Jesse isn’t the only one to suffer for this situation. Afterall, the Liberals in this world make it so easy for kids to have sex. Distributing condoms in elementary and junior & senior high schools. So, really why should my cousin be punished?

GBJW

My fantastic husband doesn’t really understand why I blog. He doesn’t even call it “blogging” he thinks I’m logging when I’m on the computer rapidly typing away. At first I laughed at him because I pictured a lumberjack in flannel and I thought, “He thinks I’m logging? Good Lord, he’s not so bright!” Then I was later informed that it was logging as in “logging in” to various internet sites and posting my comments in a forum. He’s not that far off. Blog walking is what comes to mind when I think of the whole log in and comment thing.

The other day, he was on the computer skimming my other blog. He had heard me talking about the Queen of Spain’s blog and all her garden pictures. That day he decided to read her blog. To my surprise he found this entry. Go on read it. You have to if you want to understand the rest of my story. And make sure you read my comment to the Queen. It’s rather funny.

Did you read it? Are we ready to continue? Yes? Okay!

It has now become GBJW in my house. The ‘W’ referring to week. Suddenly, this is all he wants to talk about. He absolutely adores the Queen of Spain now — and insists on reading her blog every day. I’m not sure I can handle this. My fear is that my dear Queen will give him other ideas for activities that I will have to participate in. But she wouldn’t do that, would she? Oh yes. She would. The girl is a rockin’ momma and has plenty of courage to speak her mind. Even if it’s an elicit topic like blow jobs. If my mother is reading this, you can bet I will be receiving a telephone call saying Catholic girls don’t talk about blow jobs — let alone WRITE about them. I think I’m in trouble. I guess I’ll just have to find away to keep my mouth shut.

Oh. My. God. I’m. So. Bad.

Update on Ann vs. Jersey Girls

The Philadelphia Enquirer ran a lovely article on Ann Coulter and the flack she’s been getting from the Liberal cry babies demanding her book NOT be sold. You can read the article here.

My favorite part is below:

I grant you Coulter takes no prisoners when she writes.
“Mostly the witches of East Brunswick wanted George Bush to apologize for not being Bill Clinton,” was her take on the Jersey Girls, but “the rest of the nation was more interested in knowing why the FBI was prevented from being given intelligence about 9/11 terrorists here in the United States more than a year before the attack…”

The answer - well-known by now - is that Clinton’s deputy attorney general, Jamie Gorelick, “had specifically prohibited intelligence agents from telling law enforcement agents about suspected terrorists in the country.”

And whom did the Democrats put on the 9/11 Commission? Jamie Gorelick.
So what we are seeing in the denunciations by members of the U.S. Senate and now the New Jersey Assembly represents more than a fair amount of partisanship.
Coulter has done a very good job of documenting her case. If some Jersey Girls get a public spanking in the process, so be it.

Another great article is here in macleans.ca. Even Canadians see the idiocy of the left.

The best excerpt is here:

Senator Clinton jumped in to denounce the incendiary blond commentatrix as (dread word) “mean-spirited.” Maybe so. But in 2004, the Jersey Girls publicly endorsed John Kerry’s campaign for president: they inserted themselves into the political arena and chose sides. That being so, to demand that they be insulated from the normal rough ‘n’ tumble of partisan politics merely because of their biography seems absurd. There are any number of 9/11 widows. A few are big George W. Bush supporters, many are apolitical. I was honoured to receive an email the other day from Deena Gilbey, a British subject whose late husband worked on the 84th floor of the World Trade Center and remained in the building to help evacuate his colleagues. A few days later, U.S. Immigration sent Mrs. Gilbey a letter informing her that, as she was now a widow, her residence status had changed and they were enclosing a deportation order. Having legally admitted to the country the men who killed her husband, the U.S. government’s first act after having enabled his murder is to further traumatize the bereaved.

The heartless brain-dead bonehead penpusher who sent out that letter is far more “mean-spirited” than Miss Coulter at full throttle. Yet Mrs. Gilbey isn’t courted by the TV bookers the way the Jersey Girls are. Hundreds of soldiers’ moms believe their sons died in a noble and just cause in Iraq, but it’s Cindy Sheehan, who calls Bush “the biggest terrorist in the world,” who gets speaking engagements across America, Canada, Britain, Europe and Australia. When Abu Musab al-Zarqawi winds up pushing up daisy cutters, the media don’t go to Paul Bigley, who rejoiced that the man who decapitated his brother would now “rot in hell,” nor the splendid Aussie Douglas Wood, who called his kidnappers “arseholes,” nor his fellow hostage Ulf Hjertstrom, a Swede who’s invested 50,000 bucks or so in trying to track down the men who kidnapped him and visit a little reciprocal justice on them. No, instead, the media rush to get the reaction of Michael Berg, who thinks Bush is “the real terrorist” rather than the man who beheaded his son.

But it wasn’t until Ann Coulter pointed it out that you realize how heavily the Democratic party is invested in irreproachable biography. For example, John Kerry’s pretzel-twist of a war straddle in the 2004 campaign relied mainly on former senator Max Cleland, a triple amputee from a Vietnam grenade accident whom the campaign dispatched to stake out Bush’s Crawford ranch that summer. Maybe he’s still down there. It’s gotten kinda crowded on the perimeter since then, what with Cindy Sheehan et al. But the idea is that you can’t attack what Max Cleland says about war because, after all, you’ve got most of your arms and legs and he hasn’t. This would normally be regarded as the unworthy tactic of snake-oil-peddling shyster evangelists and, indeed, the Dems eventually scored their perfect Elmer Gantry moment. In 2004, in the gym of Newton High School in Iowa, Senator John Edwards skipped the dreary Kerry-as-foreign-policy-genius pitch and cut straight to the Second Coming. “We will stop juvenile diabetes, Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and other debilitating diseases . . . When John Kerry is president, people like Christopher Reeve are going to get up out of that wheelchair and walk again.”

Mr. Reeve had died the previous weekend, but he wouldn’t have had Kerry and Edwards been in the White House. Read his lips: no new crutches. The healing balm of the Massachusetts Messiah will bring the crippled and stricken to their feet, which is more than Kerry’s speeches ever do for the able-bodied. As the author remarks, “If one wanted to cure the lame, one could reasonably start with John Edwards.”

Chalk one up for Ann for not hiding behind her shadow when the going gets rough like most Democrats I know. Teddy Kennedy and Chappaquidick always comes to mind.

June 21, 2006

Conversations Between Spouses

My husband and I have some very funny conversations. If you were a fly on our walls you’d hear the following:

I had to call Doug at work (he works in a grocery store) to ask him to bring home milk for the Doodlebug. It went something like this:

Store Clerk: Good evening, Copps South, this is Amber!

Me: Hi, Doug please.

Store Clerk: Just a moment.

Me: Thank you.

<bad on hold music>

Doug: This is Doug.

Me: Hey,we need milk. Bring some home, okay?

Doug: Who is this?

Me: Umm..the girl who wore a white dress and said “I do” to you, five years ago. Ring any bells?

Doug: Hey! How the hell are ya?

We didn’t have any groceries in the house and I was contemplating what to make for dinner:

Me: So, what should we make for dinner tonight?

Doug: I dunno. What do you have a taste for?

Me: I dunno. Whatever.

Doug: Well, should we go to the store?

Me: I’ll go if you stay here with Dawson. He’s terrible in the store.

Doug: No, I’ll go. I don’t mind.

Me: You don’t wanna stay with him, because he’s crabby…that’s it, isn’t it?

Doug: You don’t wanna stay either!!! Let’s all go together.

Me: Umm..no seriously. It won’t take that long.

Doug: Let’s just order pizza and we’ll both stay with him.

Me: I’ll diddle ya for who gets to go to the store. I don’t want pizza.

Doug: Diddle? On the dart board? We don’t have a dart board.

Me: Damn. Paper, rock, scissors then?

In the car on our way to have our pictures taken at church for the directory:

Doug: I hate having pictures taken. I hope this doesn’t take long.

<Dawson whining in his car seat>

Me: Umm…..I think you and Dawson should go have your pics taken. I’m going to Jeepers Gin Mill. (a bar nearby)

Doug: Feck that! I’m going to the bar. You wanted to take these pictures, not me!

Me: But honey, I barely drink and I think I deserve a break. You won’t even miss me. Tell the photographer to come to Jeeper’s he can take my pic there and edit me in.

Doug: Yes, then I’ll tell him to leave the bottle of Budweiser in your hand so Father Trempe can see how you really are!

Me: Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!