This afternoon, The Beloved and The Offspring stopped by the neighborhood sub shop for a quick bite between Saturday errands. As they were finishing their $5 foot-longs (my baby loves a cheap foot long) a fortyish white guy emerged from the, um, facilities.
He addressed the young Hispanic man working behind the counter: “La Cabanyo no es working. It’s full.”
To which the young man replied, “I can’t understand what you’re saying. Could you speak English?”
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Craigslist Cleans Up
Rather than face criminal charges in several states, Craigslist has decided to remove it’s “Erotic Services” section postings altogether.
OMG! What on earth will people do now that they can’t access the “for pay” sex listings? Gee, I dunno, maybe move UP a link and search through all the FREE sex on display. But after a cursory search (research purposes, of course), I discovered that apparently all you get on there are “endless emails,” people who don’t look anything like their pictures, people who want YOU to provide the drugs, and an exponentially higher risk of catching an STD.
And speaking of “down under,” the Australian National Rugby League is embroiled in a sex-scandal involving an alleged rape in 2002, where a New Zealand woman had sex with at least 6 members of a rugby team, while at least 12 other team members or staff poked in and out to watch.
The info has only recently come to light, and while I always wonder what, exactly, a woman expects to happen when she returns to a hotel room with a rugby team, “no” should always mean “no.”
Although when it comes to rugby players, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to remember that word.
OMG! What on earth will people do now that they can’t access the “for pay” sex listings? Gee, I dunno, maybe move UP a link and search through all the FREE sex on display. But after a cursory search (research purposes, of course), I discovered that apparently all you get on there are “endless emails,” people who don’t look anything like their pictures, people who want YOU to provide the drugs, and an exponentially higher risk of catching an STD.
And speaking of “down under,” the Australian National Rugby League is embroiled in a sex-scandal involving an alleged rape in 2002, where a New Zealand woman had sex with at least 6 members of a rugby team, while at least 12 other team members or staff poked in and out to watch.
The info has only recently come to light, and while I always wonder what, exactly, a woman expects to happen when she returns to a hotel room with a rugby team, “no” should always mean “no.”
Although when it comes to rugby players, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to remember that word.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
TwoFace Book
There is this guy here in town who is a VERY good friend of a VERY good friend of mine. We have often been at the same small events and I’ve even been to his home a couple of times.
The problem is, whenever I run into him when our mutual friend isn’t present, he refuses to acknowledge my existence. At first, I would say “Hi, FriendofFriend!” He would look at me like, "Who the fuck are you?" Like he’d never laid eyes on me before. He would sort of haltingly say, “hello” with the most abject confusion in his voice.
And the truth is, I wasn't really interested in a relationship of any kind with him. I just was being social because of our mutual friend. So finally, I stopped even bothering to greet him, and settled for complaining about what a douche he was to our mutual friend.
Recently, I saw him at a small, political function. I was LITERALLY 18 inches from him. He looked directly into my eyes and there was absolutely no recognition. I was a stranger in a crowd. It didn’t really bother me. It was behavior I had come to expect.
So imagine how hard my dentures hit the floor when, last week, I got a friend request from said douche on Facebook.
You should know that when I first got on Facebook I was ecstatic. The competitive edge came out and I wanted to link to as many “friends” as possible. Soon, I realized that I had overindulged (how unlike me!) and had linked to a lot of folks that sort of fell into that “better off dead” category. You know, people you remember fondly, occasionally wondering, “Whatever happened to . . .” Well, now you know. And there was a reason your friendship lives in the past tense.
But this was new territory. How could I be friends with someone who refused to acknowledge my very presence in the same room. And why would I want to be friends with someone who exudes all the personality of a non-flowering shrub. Snarky lil ol’ me wanted to send a response. Something along the lines of “you’re fucking kidding, right?” or “did you mean to send this to someone else?” or even, “I’m sorry, have we met?”
But instead, I just gleefully, and perhaps with a hair too much might, punched the “ignore” button. After all, he’d been punching my ignore button for quite some time now. And I have to admit, I feel smugly superior all of a sudden.
The problem is, whenever I run into him when our mutual friend isn’t present, he refuses to acknowledge my existence. At first, I would say “Hi, FriendofFriend!” He would look at me like, "Who the fuck are you?" Like he’d never laid eyes on me before. He would sort of haltingly say, “hello” with the most abject confusion in his voice.
And the truth is, I wasn't really interested in a relationship of any kind with him. I just was being social because of our mutual friend. So finally, I stopped even bothering to greet him, and settled for complaining about what a douche he was to our mutual friend.
Recently, I saw him at a small, political function. I was LITERALLY 18 inches from him. He looked directly into my eyes and there was absolutely no recognition. I was a stranger in a crowd. It didn’t really bother me. It was behavior I had come to expect.
So imagine how hard my dentures hit the floor when, last week, I got a friend request from said douche on Facebook.
You should know that when I first got on Facebook I was ecstatic. The competitive edge came out and I wanted to link to as many “friends” as possible. Soon, I realized that I had overindulged (how unlike me!) and had linked to a lot of folks that sort of fell into that “better off dead” category. You know, people you remember fondly, occasionally wondering, “Whatever happened to . . .” Well, now you know. And there was a reason your friendship lives in the past tense.
But this was new territory. How could I be friends with someone who refused to acknowledge my very presence in the same room. And why would I want to be friends with someone who exudes all the personality of a non-flowering shrub. Snarky lil ol’ me wanted to send a response. Something along the lines of “you’re fucking kidding, right?” or “did you mean to send this to someone else?” or even, “I’m sorry, have we met?”
But instead, I just gleefully, and perhaps with a hair too much might, punched the “ignore” button. After all, he’d been punching my ignore button for quite some time now. And I have to admit, I feel smugly superior all of a sudden.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Ay! Mi Gente!
One of my all time favorite friend stories involves a girl, "Bea" and her friend, "Javier." One day at lunch, Javier observed some Hispanics behaving badly. "Fucking Mexicans!" he said. Shocked, Bea turned to him and said, "But Javi, YOU'RE Mexican." Javier sighed and slumped his shoulders, then dramatically declared, "Ay! Mi Gente!" Loosely translated that means, "Oy, My People!"
Having spent much of the last couple of weeks "on assignment" in Spain (part of my budding side-career as a travel writer), I had been blissfully spared the acts of stupidity so common in my daily life at home in Texas. Of course, maybe it was just because I don't speak Spanish very well, so I wasn't able to conveniently witness the verbal stupidities, but based on action, I'm pretty sure there are just fewer stupid people in Spain.
I was shocked back into reality upon arriving at the airport.
"YOU SHOULD NEVER LEAVE THE UNITED STATES!!!" cawed the oooooold woman in the wheelchair. As taken aback as I was by her random pronouncement to the room, I was even more gobsmacked by the three jingoistic jackasses who APPLAUDED her. WTF? Taxi! Back to El Centro, por favor. Queria vivir aqui ahora!"
Then there was the six-some of seniors, wrapping up their Odd Couples vacay. There was the vacuous one, sitting waiting with her blank expression. Upon discovering that we would be taking a bus out on the tarmac (not at all unusual), she became slightly agitated and said, in a whispery voice, "we have to take a bus!" Then, in a spooky sing-song voice, "Take the bus to the train, and the train to the plane." Hunh? Umm, lady . . . there ain't no train. although i would be significantly happier if you WERE taking a bus to a train. A train to somewhere other than where I'm going.
The hard charger of the six-some (for some reason the men all seemed to be entirely pussy-whipped. In fact this one kept hers on a leash via walkie-talkie) was freaking out because she had decided FIVE MINUTES BEFORE DEPARTURE that she wanted to change her euros back to dollars. "But the money changer is on the other side of security! Can you believe that?!?!!? I would have to go all the way back through security, just to change my money."
Or you you could take your bold-patterned-clad fat ass to the cambio in the New York airport. Dumbass.
And of course no trip to a foreign land would ever be complete without the wonderful American who thinks the language barrier can be breached by volume. As we're checking out of the snack bar line, she literally yells at the poor cashier (who for some odd reason DOESN'T speak English), "DO YOU WANT TO CHARGE IT? (pause) OR CASH? (pause) AMERICAN MONEY!"
Yep, good old fashioned "american money." A buck and a scream will cover you in just about any situation.
Ay! Mi Gente!
Having spent much of the last couple of weeks "on assignment" in Spain (part of my budding side-career as a travel writer), I had been blissfully spared the acts of stupidity so common in my daily life at home in Texas. Of course, maybe it was just because I don't speak Spanish very well, so I wasn't able to conveniently witness the verbal stupidities, but based on action, I'm pretty sure there are just fewer stupid people in Spain.
I was shocked back into reality upon arriving at the airport.
"YOU SHOULD NEVER LEAVE THE UNITED STATES!!!" cawed the oooooold woman in the wheelchair. As taken aback as I was by her random pronouncement to the room, I was even more gobsmacked by the three jingoistic jackasses who APPLAUDED her. WTF? Taxi! Back to El Centro, por favor. Queria vivir aqui ahora!"
Then there was the six-some of seniors, wrapping up their Odd Couples vacay. There was the vacuous one, sitting waiting with her blank expression. Upon discovering that we would be taking a bus out on the tarmac (not at all unusual), she became slightly agitated and said, in a whispery voice, "we have to take a bus!" Then, in a spooky sing-song voice, "Take the bus to the train, and the train to the plane." Hunh? Umm, lady . . . there ain't no train. although i would be significantly happier if you WERE taking a bus to a train. A train to somewhere other than where I'm going.
The hard charger of the six-some (for some reason the men all seemed to be entirely pussy-whipped. In fact this one kept hers on a leash via walkie-talkie) was freaking out because she had decided FIVE MINUTES BEFORE DEPARTURE that she wanted to change her euros back to dollars. "But the money changer is on the other side of security! Can you believe that?!?!!? I would have to go all the way back through security, just to change my money."
Or you you could take your bold-patterned-clad fat ass to the cambio in the New York airport. Dumbass.
And of course no trip to a foreign land would ever be complete without the wonderful American who thinks the language barrier can be breached by volume. As we're checking out of the snack bar line, she literally yells at the poor cashier (who for some odd reason DOESN'T speak English), "DO YOU WANT TO CHARGE IT? (pause) OR CASH? (pause) AMERICAN MONEY!"
Yep, good old fashioned "american money." A buck and a scream will cover you in just about any situation.
Ay! Mi Gente!
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