Category Everything is Terrible

“Well, if we’re looking for a shark we’re not gonna find him on the land. “

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My most aggravating gift by far this year was an AirSwimmer Remote Control Shark. In concept, it’s awesome, and once you get it assembled, it’s fun to play with, but getting it to that point is an exercise in frustration. Special shark tape that didn’t want to remove from the sheet, poorly written instructions, and an infuriating counterbalance system that has you putting tiny pieces of putty into a receptacle on the shark and then digging it out again when you find it’s now too heavy except your finger is too big for the hole and then putting some back in when you find it’s now too light and then digging it out again and putting another tiny piece back in until you’re overwhelmed with the urge to punch a shark in the face…and then you discover it’s finally balanced at perfect punching height.

It was fun to fly around, though.

It’s scared the hell out of me twice now. Jason thought it was an awesome idea to store it in the bedroom unbeknownst to me, and air currents made it pop out of the bedroom right as I was walking down the hallway, eliciting a primo scream and an Olympic quality high-jump. For some reason (laziness, probably), we kept it in the bedroom in the corner, and at one point during the night I woke up and it was floating low directly over our heads on the bed. I smirked and decided that a good morning scare would be fine retribution for Jason…except the heat clicked on and it began swimming by itself through the room. Apparently the sight of a million year old predator gliding by itself in the dark overhead while I’m glassesless and vulnerable triggers some sort of primal fear mechanic and I clawed at the light on the table next to the bed, waking Jason up and shrieking “THIS FUCKING THING HAS GOT TO GO”…so that happened. Probably the day will come when I end up stabbing the shark in the middle of the night because I can’t take it anymore.

The most aggravating gift I gave Jason was the touchable bubbles…which are totally fun until you realize they stain absolutely freaking everything in the house. I threw a shirt that was a bubble casualty into the wash (after a vigorous pre-washing) with some sheets and now the sheets are stained, too. Christmas is definitely more fun when you don’t have to clean up the messes you make.

Someone else gets added to the naughty list, last minute.

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Last year at Christmas I spent a week with my fiance’s family. It was, to put it lightly, a trying time. Not because his family is horrible, but because they were anxious to get to know me and spend time with me, and I come with my own cocktail of neuroses and personal space issues which makes that difficult for everyone involved. Today I discovered that someone at another blog copied my writing about that week and changed a few details to make it sound like they’d spent a week with Johnny Depp’s family. Not an excerpt, no credit given to me, just blatantly lifted and claimed as their own.

I find it challenging to convey how disgusted I am. I’m absolutely sick over this. I make no money whatsoever from this blog. I accept no ads, I run no sponsored posts, I take no free products in exchange for glowing reviews, I have no affiliate links, and I don’t have a wishlist or a donate button. My good friend Greg is kind enough to host the site for me, so my only costs are the domain name and the time and effort I choose to invest…but I make nothing from it. Why do I invest my time, effort, and money? For several reasons: to improve my writing skills, to entertain, and, most importantly, to remember the things I’ve done.

I love to entertain through stories, silly pictures, and videos. I’ve been doing so online since 2004. I love it when someone takes the time to comment and tell me that I’ve made them laugh, or smile, or retch a little. I won’t cure cancer or put a rocket on the moon, but I do have my voice. In its own way, it’s a compliment that someone enjoyed my work so much that they wished they had written it…but it’s another thing entirely to take it and put their name on it, to steal my voice.

What makes this theft particularly vulgar to me is that it’s not just a joke they took, but my lived experience. It’s not just a funny story to me; it’s a difficult experience that I turned into a funny story and is thus a much deeper part of me than just a simple joke. To have someone else claim credit for the story without having lived through it makes me feel deeply ill.

In the past, I’ve thought it was a little ridiculous and self-involved to post a copyright notice on my blog, as if there was anything here that was worthy of being copied…but I included one nonetheless in the footer. I’m obviously not writing here for money, but I do want the credit for the things I’ve said, and I will not stand for someone else taking it. Not when I lived it. Not when I wrote it. My work, though published online for free, is not a free-for-all, and is not free of copyright. Before today, I wouldn’t have thought it would ever be necessary to state that outright.

*Update: Since this was published, the referenced post has been removed.

Oh, yeah–a dog like this, you’d have to feed every day.

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I recently had to have a second root canal in the same tooth because I’m just a lucky, lucky person, and after the numbness wore off, the pain settled in and I took the opportunity to lay in bed and moan about it. It didn’t take long before I realized how different Napoleon is from other dogs, though…

I don’t understand why I’ve never gotten a second dog.