Stop me if you’ve heard these before:

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

“Judge not lest ye be judged.”

“You shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

Really? I shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover? How am I supposed to anticipate what’s in it? What do you think this one is about?

And yet, every time we make a stupid decision, we’re told “You should have used better judgment.” It sounds contradictory, because it is. Judgment is a valuable tool that keeps us from making stupid decisions and alerts us to take advantage of opportunities that may not be readily apparent. Good judgment tells you that being 95% sure that the hot chick you’re talking up in that French Quarter bar is actually a chick just isn’t good enough for a guy like you. That is, a guy who doesn’t want to wake up with a pounding ether headache and a rubber hanging out of his ass.

Bad judgment tells you that it’s perfectly fine to let your hammered friend drive you home, because hey – if he gets into a wreck, HE gets the DUI, not you. Great plan, until it ends with the Fire Department hosing your ashes out of the flaming wreck of your buddy’s car while he walks away without a scratch.

But we’re not supposed to judge each other, right? That’s what it’s all about – and it’s usually coming from people who are super defensive about the shady choices they’ve made. Fuck all that. Some people are assholes. People like Amanda Marcotte, who if I were being judgmental, strikes me as a bitter, man-hating, fishlicking tuna boat captain who will only be mourned by her five cats. Until day three, when they’re finally hungry enough to eat her corpse. Here’s Amanda pissed that anyone would be happy to celebrate the birth of Kate Middleton and Prince William’s new baby boy:

‏ @ AmandaMarcotte 22 Jul I’ll give everyone a couple of hours to enjoy this arbitrarily selected baby to gush over before I start reminding you of infant mortality.

Really, bitch? Really? What are you mad about – that people feel happy to see a married heterosexual couple bring a new life into the world? That you’re not getting enough attention? Or are you mad that God didn’t love you enough to make you pretty?

You know what’s really got to chafe your undoubtedly unshaven hamhocks, dearie? That you can’t spell Amanda without “MAN.” See how the patriarchy keeps hammering you with its giant rapey Dick of Oppression?

But she can’t be all bad. After all, it was because of her that I stumbled across my new daily read: JUDGYBITCH.

“JB” is one of the best writers I’ve come across on the Intertubes. She seems to put out about a post a day, but they’re all fairly lengthy, well thought-out essays ranging from antifeminist ranting to more antifeminist ranting, and some surprisingly poignant observations on the nature of true, mature, everyday married love, which was buried in the middle of some quality antifeminist ranting. Plus, there’s lots of pictures for simpletons like me to stare at when the thoughtwords hurt my headbrain.

I am well and fully aware that there is a huge disparity between me and my husband when it comes to the idea of “romance”, but I have never, for one moment confused “romance” with love. Love is going to work every day. Love is paying all the bills. Love is being here even when I’m being unreasonable or I’m in a bad mood or I’ve had a rough day with the kids and I take it out on him. It happens. My love is providing all his meals, keeping our house (somewhat) neat and tidy, caring for our children with as much kindness and patience as I can muster, being here even when he’s boring me into a coma with the details of some stupid planning meeting or yelling at me because something at work pissed him off. For my husband, that’s enough. Devotion, commitment, tolerance, patience and the rock solid knowledge that I will never leave. For me, it’s not. I want all those little fairy tale gestures, too. Yes, I realize it’s not fair. If he is happy just knowing that I am here, I should be happy just knowing that he is here. Well, I’m not. Boo fucking hoo. Buy me some flowers. Life isn’t fair. When he falls off the “I must please my irrational wife” bandwagon, I don’t confuse that with “he doesn’t love me”. Pleasing me is not love. Sharing my interests is not love. Love is being here. Forever.

If you are amused by my puerile brain shittings, you’ll be thoroughly impressed with the thought and wit JUDGYBITCH puts into her posts. Add this one to your daily reads – everything I’ve seen so far has been top-notch. She’s on the blogroll now, so get to clickin’.