'Tis the Season to be Stupid

So if you were wondering if the stupid people are really attacking, get out amongst them this holiday season and watch your doubt evaporate like Star Jones’ career. The Generalissimos of Stupid have placed extra troops on the street—I’m sure of it.

I'll be the first to admit it. The holidays bring out the stupid in all of us. And today made me realize how grateful I am for my little home on a hill—with a FUCKING WALL AROUND IT!

But, given the season, I wanted to send out some special greetings a few days early.

Merry Christmas to the 90-pound soccer mom in the GIANT white Suburban. I, too, find it much easier to drive my behemoth at freeway speeds when I’m holding my cell phone in my right hand and gesturing excitedly with my left. And that toddler in the car seat—ADORABLE!

Now, I’ll cop to having driven with my knee on occasion, but sweetie, if you want a car that will drive itself, you might want to check out the new Lexus. Imagine—parallel parking without telling Bitsy from the club to “hold on a sec while I bump into a couple of cars!”

Happy Holidays also to the Barbie wanna-be (News Flash: NEVER gonna happen with those split ends, chica!) in the blue Subaru (again—NOT Barbie’s dream car) who prevented me from merging onto the freeway. Traffic was moving at a brisk 28 miles per hour. Backed up for miles. But she GLARED at me and inched her car forward so that I wouldn’t even THINK about pulling in front of her. Way to save those milliseconds!

Feliz Navidad to the nice gentleman working on the construction site down the street, who chose to park his car INCHES from my mailbox, (forcing my mail carrier to contort himself in ways usually not seen outside of certain districts in Bangkok) then flopping his seat back for a nap, flashing what surely was an almost full-term pregnancy for all passer by. Nice.

And speaking of mail carriers, a SPECIAL wish to the folks at the post office. Since it is the season to pick up packages, they have turned off the buzzer at the "will call" window. After standing there for five minutes with no response and watching the line for the postal windows grow longer and longer, a fine, upstanding postal worker opened the door and said to me, "You can't pick up your package here. You have to go to a window." When I pointed out to him that all the posted signs indicated the contrary, he shrugged and closed the door. I really, really hope Santa comes down your chimney HARD.

To the receptionist who had her back to the door when I walked in, but continued to PICK HER TOES for another 20 seconds or so, before acknowledging me--her customer—HO, HO, HOPE you get that DIY mani/pedi set you’ve had your eye on.

And to the student, exercising his pedestrian rights by using the crosswalk during the “Don’t Walk” cycle, thereby blocking traffic—Peace be with you. Or on you.

Joy to the world. And God I fear the cold winter ahead. They mate when it’s cold. And come next Autumn, we’ll have a fresh crop of tow-heads with creatively misspelled names.

And to all you smart people out there—have another eggnog. It helps if you’re stupid drunk.