Friday, March 16, 2018

Someone Gotta Bring This One Home to Mama!

Ladies, all mah ladies, louder now, help me out. This is your lucky day, because I'm off the market and therefore Lester Allen Holt is ALL YOURS. 

If you can find him, that is. 

Not to be confused with TV personality Lester Holt of NBC Nightly News and Dateline NBC, THIS Lester Holt (or is it Hunt? The caption says Holt and the headline says Hunt) was charged with burglary in 2010 and is now wanted for skipping probation where else but here in end-of-the-road Juneau.

And we better find him quick, because this is a dude someone needs to bring home to mama STAT.

Now, I can't interpret ALL of the tattoos on his face, but the Swastika on his bald head makes me think a lot of them are a little bit Aryan-Nation-y, maybe? 

My own Jewish mom would perhaps be slightly put off by that, but I think the other ink makes up for it, like the random letters and numbers and stuff which I am confident roughly translate to Heil Hitler?

Anyhoo, some Lucky Young Woman better find Lester fast so she can bring him home to meet the parents. The convo would go something like this:

LYM: Hi Mom, I want you to meet the Man of My Dreams™
Mom: Oh that's nice dear! Why don't we have him to dinner tomorrow?
LYM: Sounds good, he likes steak. One tiny thing though . . . he's not really free tomorrow.
Mom: Oh no? Why's that?
LYM: Um, he jumped probation on a burglary charge and is a fugitive at the moment.
Mom: That's lovely dear!
LYM: But he should be easy to track down. He's very distinctive looking.
Mom: How so?
LYM: Well he has a giant Swastika on his head.
Mom: Is that right?
LYM: Yes, also a lot of other tattoos on his face.
Mom: Interesting! How inventive!
LYM: Also giant blue earplugs which are slightly unconventional perhaps but by no means disqualifying.
Mom: Not at all.
LYM: Can't wait for you to meet him.
Mom: Me too dear! I'll start calling the relatives and planning the wedding now.

If this isn't impetus for Lester to turn himself in, welp, I don't know what is.

Update: A friend of mine in the legal field with knowledge of Lester said that my chances of him murdering/Holocausting me for trying to set him up on a date was only a 3 on a 1-10 scale. This is a risk I’ll take for Yenta-facilitated love. Yenta is Yiddish for match-maker!

Update #2: I just learned Lester is taken! Noooooooooo sorry ladeez!

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Fucking Paw Patrol vs. the NRA? Girl, BYE.

Snowflake. It’s probably one of the top three words of 2018, rolling in somewhere between woke and bananas. 

According to Urban Dictionary (the Merriam Webster of Real Life) a snowflake is a “very sensitive person” who is “easily hurt or offended by the statements or actions of others.”

Now I want you to close your eyes for a minute—wait no, scratch that; keep them open so you can read—and imagine the biggest, fluffiest snowflake you can conjure up. 

This snowflake fluttered down somewhere above Santa’s workshop in the North Pole. It’s bigger than the paper snowflakes your kids make at Christmas, but it’s real, crystalline, icy white snow that melts into a tiny little invisible puddle the second it hits Santa’s bushy white mustache or the tongue of Cindy Lou Who in the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

That’s the level of snowflake I present to you in the form of Twitter user “Raven Patriot,” whose handle “cheechablunt” at first made me think this is a troll account, because it suggests its owner is a snowflake who gets baked and so maybe is actually just trying to get libtards like me all riled up.

But then I dove into Raven Patriot Stoner's TL, and regardless of whether she rips tubes while listening to the Bob Marley box set, she appears to be your standard-issue, deep-state-conspiracy theory-peddling tinfoil hat-wearing stay at home mom. 

And today, she is RIPSHIT over Nickelodeon’s apparent endorsement of gun control via a 17 minute break in Paw Patrol and its impact on her three baby snowflakes, who were apparently WEEPING over this.

Fucking PAW PATROL, y’alllllllllllllll!

As a clever reader from Canada named Sarah Frey commented on the O.H.M. Facebook page, “then they came for paw patrol, and there was no one left.” I promised Sarah I would work with this, and so I shall:

First they came for Doc McStuffins, and I did
Not speak out—
Because I’m scared of amibtious Black girls.

Then they came for Sponge Bob, and I did
Not speak out—
Because the jokes went over my head.

Then they came for Clarissa Explains it All, and I did
Not speak out
Because Clarissa is a white blonde girl who Gets Me.

Then they came for Paw Patrol, and I tweeted 

My outrage
And the internet dragged me harder than Dora drags Swiper for swiping.

Because why don't I have OnDemand
And then they said to me BYE, FELICIA.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Do Not Let Them Tell You ...

Do not let them tell you your voice doesn’t count.
It does.

Do not let them tell you to be quiet.
Be loud.

Do not let them tell you you’re stupid.
You’re smart. 

Do not let them tell you you’re wrong.
You’re right.

Do not let them tell you you’re too young.
They’re wrong.

Do not let them tell you you’re wasting your time.
You’re not.

Do not let them tell you you can’t make a difference.
You can.

Do not let them tell you you won’t change the world.
You will.

Additional photo credits: Aaron Brakel & Karla Hart

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

I Have All the Questions for this Woman Who Wants to Trade Four Young Chickens for Erotic but NOT NUDE Photos

Once again, I'm digging deep into the "Juneau Gonna Juneau" files—files that I'm starting to think need their own separate label over here at O.H.M.

I seriously don’t even know where to begin with this Juneau Craigslist ad from three years ago, which I had the good fortune to stumble upon thanks to an alert reader and reliable supplier of grist for the O.H.M. blog-making mill.

When you don’t know where to begin, it’s best to start at the beginning or sometimes the end. In this case, the end is where a 28 year-old woman who wants to trade chickens for erotic photos (“NOT NUDES”) makes the dubious claim that she is “not an idiot.”

I’m not so sure she she’s right about that, as I will explain.

Because when you think about it, posting an ad seeking to trade chickens for erotic pics is extremely weird and niche, if not downright idiotic. 

(Side bar: every time I make fun of one of these ads, some self-righteous fucker slides into my DMs to call me out and lecture me about being mean and kink-shaming. Then I lose my shit and go off the grid for 48 hours, because if you can’t make fun of a "chicken-for-NOT NUDES” anonymous Craigslist ad from three years ago in Juneau, then Sean Hannity is right, and we really ARE living in some kinda libtarded snowflake PC dystopia. And I refuse to accept that, so I am doing this).

Because I don’t understand.

Even the title, “chickens for erotic photos” is pretty niche. I recognize she doesn’t have money so she is trying to trade goods for services. It’s just that the combination of these two things is bizarre. I mean, "chickens for erotic photos” is kind of like “a coffee table book about hippos for a blow job.” It’s a very odd form of currency to traffic in, though obviously preferable (in my opinion) to “the oldest profession.”

But to me, the best part of this ad is her disclosure that the chickens recently hatched, do not have names, and do not fly yet, as if these are somehow key pieces of information to tell the huge pool of expert fashion photographers in Juneau searching Cragislist who are poised to make a deal to help a woman “look like the model that she knows she is,” in exchange for chickens, BUT who, once they learn that the chickens are already named and can fly, have reached a deal-breaking impasse.

(Side bar #2: I’m not a chicken biologist or a farmer, but I’ve never seen a chicken “fly” more than two feet off the ground. Typing that sentence just now led me to Google “do chickens fly,” and the answer is actually a little more nuanced than you might expect, so she gets a pass for this).

Yet she keeps going on about the chickens: “I will provide the outfits, props, and chickens.” “Please email me any questions you may have about the chickens.” Also “your choice of 4 young chickens with a small amount of feed.”

And finally, no creepers. So let’s review:

An as yet-undiscovered, non-idiot model ISO a non-creeper “expert” fashion photographer on Juneau Craigslist who is willing to take erotic but NOT NUDE photos of her in exchange for four young, unnamed, flightless chickens and a small amount of feed.


Monday, March 12, 2018

Incompetent or Asshole: Pick a Lane

So here's something. If you're going to adult in this world, you can't be incompetent AND an asshole. You can't be both. You have to pick a lane. 

This is my general philosophy at work, in volunteerism, at parent-teacher functions, and in all adult settings. If you're going to be incompetent, you can't be a raging bitch. If you're going to be a raging bitch, then guess what? You'd better have the chops to back it up. Like you can't be a complete asshole AND ALSO totally incompetent.

These things are mutually exclusive, or they should be. Let's do a practice exercise:


Me: Can you do this thing?
Asshole: Ugh fine.
Me: Thanks.
Asshole: Here it is, I hate you.
Me: Wow this looks great.
Asshole: Fuck you.
Me: Thanks!


Me: Can you do this thing?
Incompetent Person: I don’t know how!
Me: Can you try?
Incompetent Person: I can try but it might suck.
Me: Wow you’re right this does suck.
Incompetent Person: So sorry!
Me: No worries.


Me: Can you do this thing?
Incompetent Asshole: No.
Me: Please?
Incompetent Asshole: Fine here it is.
Me: Wow this is really bad actually.
Incompetent Asshole: Fuck you!
Me: Let’s not do this again.

The pick-a-lane theory of adulting is the most important doctrine after the 1/3 theory of mattresses, which holds that you need a great mattress because you spend a third of your life asleep or trying to be.

Saturday, March 10, 2018

Parenting Fail Follies Episode #437: WTF Are You Watching?

Ah screen time. FUCKING screen time. Screen time and sugar are a form of contraband drugs that my kids jones for all day, every day. Hence the "no screens during the week" rule. 

I don't have that rule to be a self-righteous mommy blogger about it. I have it so that there are set expectations and a bright-line, and so that we don't spend every minute of every weeknight negotiating over screens.

Unfortunately, that means that the minute Friday afternoon rolls around, my kids come home from school like CANWEPLAYWITHTHEIPADCANWEHAVEASIMPSONSCANIPLAYONYOURPHONE, etc. And we say yes. And you know why? Because we're tired, too.

We've spent all week wrestling Gladiator-style in a kids versus grownups war for domination of the domestic sphere, and we're all exhausted. (This is the part where a random Baby Boomer writes a comment and tells me I'm under-disciplining my children. I'll save her the time: SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS, BARBARA!)

Anyway, I don't really pay that much attention to what my kids watch on YouTube. Like, I do a preliminary audit for curse words and porn, basically, and tell Paige (the responsible one) to immediately come get me if they click on anything "inappropriate."

I know what you're thinking. You should do this thing to your computer or put it in this setting or blah blah. Fuck that shit. Them bitches in MY world now. I'm not making accommodations. I expect them to work within my censorship rules and they basically comply.

But that doesn't mean I don't ask "what the eff are you watching?" under my breath as I wander over and see Isaac transfixed on two teenage boys making slime and cackling uproariously.

This is his genre of YouTube, apparently. I feel like an old lady saying that. But my kids are consuming media I'm not remotely clued into, but that they and all their friends all know about somehow.

It's like Oh Yeah, The Kalinksy Brothers! Oh yeah, the Eebee Family! And I'm just thinking to myself who ARE these people? I'm in the wrong fucking line of work because these kids are probably making bank. Apparently there's a market--a BIG one--for "Boys Watching Other Boys Do Stupid Shit."

That's Isaac's favorite genre of YouTubery. It's an amateur, G-rated version of Jack Ass, is what it is. 

They're young, pretty and have great hair with a lot of product in it, and they do stuff like put pancakes and Sriracha in a blender and eat it. Or--and this was my personal favorite--make a giant mound of slime, pour it into an inflatable backyard kiddie pool, put a mini-trampoline on TOP of the pool, and jump around on the mini-trampoline to see if it sinks.

These pranks are innocent enough. But they're planting a seed for a level of mischief that sort of puts me off my food. So when it's over, I usually sit Isaac down and deliver my standard "Alaska Boy" lecture, which typically goes like this:

Me: What are the two most dangerous things in Alaska besides the open water? More dangerous than bears, even?
Isaac: Guns and cars.
Me: That's right, guns and cars. And do you play with guns or cars?
Isaac: No.
Me: Do you EVER touch a gun or a car without an adult around?
Isaac: No.
Me: And what do you do if you see another kid touching a gun or a car without an adult?
Isaac: Come get an adult right away.
Me: And what about helmets? When do you wear a helmet?
Isaac: For snowboarding, skating, and anything with wheels.
Me: Okay and what about slime?
Isaac: I don't make it.
Me: You don't make what? 
Isaac: I don't make slime without an adult.
Me: What's that I couldn't hear you?
Me: You're goddamned right, you don't. You're excused.