Most Punchable Face Ever?

First let me say that I do not approve of face punching, no matter how evil or smirky the punchee might be. Violence is never right, no matter how you might think that it would be satisfying. Neither am I encouraging anyone to go out and punch the faces of anyone on this list. If I were to see anyone on this list being punched I'd be very upset, even while thinking they likely deserved it.

This topic came up this afternoon with another Patheos blogger. He posted on his Facebook that he thought Ted Cruz had the most punchable face ever. Which might be true. But not for me.

Ted looks like some Hispanic humped Star War's Yoda, right down to the sagging ears. It wouldn't matter if Ted was Don Draper handsome with the manners of Mr. Rogers and the sheer animal magnetism of Jason Momoa. As long as he keeps spewing hateful things like a Donald Trump Jr. Jr. and has that smirky expression on his dopey face someone will want to beat on him. He is not even top three with me.

In interchangable slots of awfulness slots two and three are filled with Mrs. Satan, who I have a significant history with even if I play nice. And a certain prominent female Patheos blogger who's husband sent my friend Heather a threat. Lesser weavels than my top pick. What they both have in common is while they've both tried to hurt me they've hurt those I care about. Maybe Lori Alexander would be on this list, naw, she's just too trifling to bother with.

So who is number one on my list if there was ever a day like semi-Purge day that allowed you to roam around bitchslapping the annoying? One name - Ayla Steward of Wife With a Purpose. and other housewife bloggers of the fundytown ilk.

It should be enough that Ayla was scheduled to speak at that disgusting rally in my beloved Charlottesville and that she's apparently the darlin' of the tiki torch toting whining man-boys.  But there are deeper reasons she's at the top of my list.

So this is my open letter to all the cray-cray awful and semi-evil stupidity that is Ayla Steward and her lowering of the tone for decent people while posing for all those silly selfies with a dopey expression on her face.

Ayla is part of the whole 'Looooooook at meeeeee' genre of housewife bloggers that think they have to elevate their life choices and mundane moments to a statement and political movement. Sorry chicky, but scrubbing your floor artistically, or homeschooling your kids is just not that fascinating. That's okay, what's not okey is that she thinks it is.

What do I mean? Well the day I got out of the hospital and we discovered in the middle of the night that the line between the wall feeding fresh water into the toilet tank had broken. The house was flooded, all except the maids room, the laundry room, the pantry and the master suite. The rest of the house was an inch of water. We immediately started cleaning it up.

One thing I can tell you from a childhood spent in South Louisiana is that water happens, flooding happens and you deal with it by immediately removing the water and starting mold prevention and remediation. We have done that. It does not happen quickly, you cannot get these things accomplished overnight. Toss in my stroke, and medication adjustment trials and it becomes even longer.

While we have a maid I was not about to put her under any more stress, she stops by a few times a week and does a handful of things for me. I kept her on as a favor to her and the wonderful people we bought our house from.

I told Jim that first night that because of the medication side effects he would have to take over the primary water removal, and then we'd both have to work on the mold prevention. We have, the house smells wonderful now, of cooking and fresh bread. But it didn't for the past week. As the place was drying out, we were running the dehumidifers, and praying we'd be able to save all the wonderul Guanacaste wood baseboards.It stunk, dirty water kept creeping out of various places, we kept bleaching and cleaning, both of us. No thoughts or talk of whose gender role it was to clean up the water mess.

We did it. We did it without posting long blog posts with photos explaining the steps. We didn't expect a medal, or even an atta boy. We are adults, and as adults will continue to scrub toilets, bake bread, mow the lawn, do the laundry, patch up rips, make whatever we need like laundry soap. We don't do long blog posts with photos and poorly written out graphics to explain what we're doing. We deal.  We deal like adults.

No such luck with Ayla. If she takes a creative shit she blogs about it with photos. And it's all pretty piss poor substandard, mixed with her racist rants about how proud she is to be a white person. Bully for her.

Look, I get it, housework is largely dull and repetitive, so I know she's a) trying to generate a little interest so she can make a little blogging money, and b) trying to make herself feel better, more important that just being a poorly-educated stay at home mom. Embrace who you are and stop trying to make it out that you're some sort of white Wonder Woman who worships white skin.

Here's the sad part in all of this. Ayle was an outspoken Wiccan at one time, and I'm pretty sure she'll be something else as time goes by. Hopefully this white supremacst housewife phase is a short one. But the internet is forever. This uninteresting shit she pumps out will be here forever, and one day she'll (hopefully) be mature enough and old enough to regret the things she's said and posted. Maybe even she'll have to explain what she's said to her children in an ugly immature moment.

People change greatly over the years. I know I have. The internet came along when I was enmeshed in the worse of my immature Christian self, and I used to blog at Diaryland. Thankfully I had sense enough not to try and make the mundane of every day into some holy crusade and nofollow code in the index. But it is still embarassing, the subject matter of faith and segretarian battles with other types of believers. I took it down long ago, and I'm happy it's no longer available to anyone.

I guess I don't want to punch Ayle. I just want her to grow the hell up.

I'm going to keep mopping my floors and washing my sheets without trying to drum up an applauding audience too. The thanks enough I need is when I lay down between clean sheets, knowing all is right with my world. And it's a splendid world!