Friday, December 26, 2008

Does the P in OPEC Stand For Pedophile?

So, a Saudi judge has upheld as legal the marriage of an EIGHT YEAR OLD girl, arranged by her father to settle his debts. The judge asked (ASKED?) that the “husband” not consummate the marriage until the girl had reached puberty.

Now, I know we are dealing with an archaic society and one deeply rooted in Islam. But where the fuck are the Christians and the moral outrage? You know, the ones who piss and moan about every little thing in the US that offends them? The ones who currently work at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

Where are the gay marriage opponents? Hey Mormons? Any comment from the cheap seats? Where are the folks who loooooove to trot out the word “pedophilia” as often as possible?

Speaking of which, does that word crop up in your conversations very often? Me neither. Yet somehow, the fundamentals seem to bring it up constantly. Maybe because they’re fighting off their own demons. Who knows?

Anyway, I’m sure there is plenty of moral outrage over this little girl’s “marriage.” But you’d have to get through the oil slick to find it.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like . . .

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or Bah Humbug, depending on which you celebrate. Having attended to all my holiday shopping early, allowing me more time to eat all those baked goods people are giving as gifts this year (okay, seriously, this is one aspect of the economic downturn I AM ALL ABOUT!!) If everybody gave me cookies every year for Christmas, I would be happier than Mary was the day Jesus left home for Carpentry School. (No offense to the D’Arimethea’s, but honestly, can you imagine what a difficult teenager He must have been?)

But I digress.

Thinking that I had outsmarted the hordes, I gloated over the fact that I didn’t have to “get out in it” as we said growing up in East Texas. I didn’t have to go to any stores or deal with last-minute shoppers. Of course, I was na├»ve.

And on one of these (DANG IT) trips, I noticed an interesting phenomenon: people wouldn’t STOP shopping. As I waited in the check-out line, writ longer by the lack of cashiers (must have been laid off) I watched person after person leave the register to “run back for just one thing.” Again and again.

Me? I had house keys. FIVE FREAKIN’ HOUSE KEYS. Copies I’d had made because I can’t ever keep track of who all I’ve given keys to my house. Safety first! Right?

So, there I stand with my five house keys. Waiting while Gumby and Pokey add to their pile, and my frustration, one . . . item . . . at . . . a . . . time. Lovely.

I chose to imbue myself with the spirit of the season, blessing one and all in my own special way. OH, and I found the coolest plastic dishwashing brush while I was waiting in line. See-through with chartreuse bristles. I almost left the register to go back and get matching Playtex gloves, but I couldn’t decide if a contrasting color would be more appropriate.

I love Christmas!!

Monday, December 8, 2008

What’s Older Than a Cougar?

So, I read today that a SEVENTY YEAR OLD woman in India has given birth to her first child. I’m assuming they don’t mean she’s planning more, but rather hadn’t managed, what with her busy schedule banging laundry on the rocks of the Ganges, to squeeze one out up until now. She is being heralded as the oldest birth mother ever. Uh . . . ya think?

Wow. I’m practically speechless. I guess my first question would be, “WHY?!?!?!” I mean, why would you want to have a child at that age. It’s not like there’s a population shortfall in the region. And surely to Pete you’d gotten used to that infernal ticking noise by now. Did she just get a wild hair late in life? Go bungee jumping. Eat meat. Peel the dot off your forehead.

Of course, maybe she had really sweet reasons. Maybe she just always wanted to leave something to live on after her. Or maybe she just needed somebody to fetch her Depends and denture cream. When you think about it, they’re probably going to be changing each other’s diapers. Another first!

And I don’t even want to think about breast-feeding. The only picture that comes to mind is that old lady cartoon from my dad’s Playboy magazines. Shudder.

On the other hand, having a little one around to care for might actually lengthen her life. And she probably won’t be alive to endure the dreaded teenage years. Hmmm. Maybe she’s on to something.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

The Industrial Tween/Whore Complex

That shrieking sound you hear? Thousands of tween-age girls mourning the loss of Club Libby Lu. Saks announced this week that they are closing all 98 outlets.

WTF is Club Libby Lu, you ask? Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. I had no clue either. Apparently, it is a Hannah Montana-inspired (but not branded) store, where pre-pubescent girls go to play dress up. In tight pants, glittery tube tops, boas, wigs and fake tattoos. It’s supposed to make them look like pop stars and models.

So why do I keep conjuring up an image of Brooke Shields in Pretty Baby?

And what’s with that name? Club Libby Lu? Where the fuck did that come from? Maybe it was the name of the Marketing Director at Saks' first hooker. And he wanted to share that joy with all the aspiring little hookers in the world. (I wonder if they had fake street corner sets? Little boys could drive up on big wheels . . .)

Now, sadly, the little hooker wannabes will have to find somewhere else to air their dreams. Anyone smell a niche? Maybe we should all get together, pool our money and open a new chain called Work It Girl!

Until then, be extra gentle with the grieving tweens in your life. “Now Joe Jonas will never look at my nubbins,” they’re probably thinking.

Keep your chin up, young one. It’s small consolation, I know, but glitter looks so pretty mixed with tears.

Monday, December 1, 2008

December is Dumb-Down Month

You know, it’s my own fault. I should never complain about radio “personalities” and their lack of basic knowledge and sense. I mean, there’s always NPR right? But it’s my own sickness, I guess. Listening to NPR makes me think of being driving in an old pickup truck on a winter’s day, with that nasty heater on full-blast, the air a stale mixture of tobacco smoke and what is probably a small leak in the fuel line. We’re driving through West Texas and that woman on the radio is DRONING. There’s no other word for how they talk on NPR. They drone. And for some reason, I immediately get a headache and fall asleep.

But that’s not my point. This morning I was listening to a radio show that apparently includes the dumbest young woman on the planet. They were talking about Rickrolling, and this lass was completely unaware of the concept, of Rick Astley, even of the song, “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Not such a huge loss, but the main talent began probing, asking about her musical knowledge. NADA. As they talked more, they began chiding her about never actually knowing anything they’re talking about on the show, and being blissfully happy in her ignorance.

“Do you know ANYTHING?” they asked.

“ I know how to say ‘hello’ in five languages,” she chirped. Three languages and a bunch of “Oh my God, I can’t believe I can’t remember” later, I officially declared her the dumbest person on the planet. The two languages she thought she knew were Portuguese and Hungarian. She managed English, Spanish and Korean. Although the English word for “hello” is apparently, “hi.” I know, same diff, but it cracked me up all the same. She claimed that the pressure was just too much when people asked her questions. “That’s why I didn’t do very good in school.”

No, honey, the reason you didn’t do very “good” in school is because you’re dumb as a pile of hair.

The icing? When she said that all the stuff they were talking about was “in the past” therefore making it irrelevant and not important to know. Apparently she couldn’t take Hungarian and History because they don’t allow you to repeat the alphabet.