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.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Betty Brown Eye
WHY?!?!?! Why is it always Texas?
Maybe I should be grateful that I live in the land of blog-fodder, but really? I’m sure you’ve seen the reports of one of our very own, State Representative Betty Brown (R-Athens) and her efforts to push through Voter ID legislation. Her latest salvo was to recommend that Asian Americans (emphasis on AMERICANS) should change their names to make them easier to pronounce for white people.
“Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese — I understand it’s a rather difficult language — do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?” Brown said.
I am SPUTTERING. ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY SPUTTERING. You understand NOTHING, you ignorant ass.
“You and your citizens?” They’re AMERICAN, you fucking retard.
And “learn Chinese?” I guess it would just be way too much to expect Rep. Brown to understand the difference in Asian peoples. Fine if you’re some backwater housewife, who spends her days waiting for the latest Wal-Mart circular with bated breath. But you are an ELECTED OFFICIAL. Maybe it would “behoove” YOU, Mrs. Brown, to get the fuck out of our legislature and quit embarrassing the rest of us.
I mean seriously. How did this retard get elected? (I’m guessing because she represents Fucktard County, a heretofore unknown region of Texas.)
She’s making LAWS people. LAWS. This wigstand is making laws! Now she might be great at making cookies, lemonade, even pies for the church supper. But not laws. Leave that for people who actually have a clue.
Brown went on to tell an Organization of Chinese Americans representative, “Can’t you see that this is something that would make it a lot easier for you and the people who are poll workers if you could adopt a name just for identification purposes that’s easier for Americans to deal with?”
Not surprisingly, Brown refuses to apologize. The republican’s (shocker) mouthpiece said that Democrats “want this to just be about race.”
What the fuck else could it be about? Phonics?
The sad part is, how many people JUST LIKE HER are in elected office right now? People who somehow manage not to shove their sensible shoes into their gaping pie holes every time they speak. But I’m sure they’re there. That horrible woman in Oklahoma who has a personal crusade against homosexuals, Sally Kern? Reelected. And that’s just off the top of my head.
There ought to be a law.
Maybe I should be grateful that I live in the land of blog-fodder, but really? I’m sure you’ve seen the reports of one of our very own, State Representative Betty Brown (R-Athens) and her efforts to push through Voter ID legislation. Her latest salvo was to recommend that Asian Americans (emphasis on AMERICANS) should change their names to make them easier to pronounce for white people.
“Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese — I understand it’s a rather difficult language — do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?” Brown said.
I am SPUTTERING. ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY SPUTTERING. You understand NOTHING, you ignorant ass.
“You and your citizens?” They’re AMERICAN, you fucking retard.
And “learn Chinese?” I guess it would just be way too much to expect Rep. Brown to understand the difference in Asian peoples. Fine if you’re some backwater housewife, who spends her days waiting for the latest Wal-Mart circular with bated breath. But you are an ELECTED OFFICIAL. Maybe it would “behoove” YOU, Mrs. Brown, to get the fuck out of our legislature and quit embarrassing the rest of us.
I mean seriously. How did this retard get elected? (I’m guessing because she represents Fucktard County, a heretofore unknown region of Texas.)
She’s making LAWS people. LAWS. This wigstand is making laws! Now she might be great at making cookies, lemonade, even pies for the church supper. But not laws. Leave that for people who actually have a clue.
Brown went on to tell an Organization of Chinese Americans representative, “Can’t you see that this is something that would make it a lot easier for you and the people who are poll workers if you could adopt a name just for identification purposes that’s easier for Americans to deal with?”
Not surprisingly, Brown refuses to apologize. The republican’s (shocker) mouthpiece said that Democrats “want this to just be about race.”
What the fuck else could it be about? Phonics?
The sad part is, how many people JUST LIKE HER are in elected office right now? People who somehow manage not to shove their sensible shoes into their gaping pie holes every time they speak. But I’m sure they’re there. That horrible woman in Oklahoma who has a personal crusade against homosexuals, Sally Kern? Reelected. And that’s just off the top of my head.
There ought to be a law.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Yes, I Know I'm Going to Hell
Caveat One: If you are a slave to political correctness, you might want to navigate elsewhere.
Caveat Two: If the terms “retarded,” “retard,” or “midget” offend, you might want to navigate away.
Oh, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t be reading this if you were wired like that . . . So, last night, an organization that I’m deeply involved in had a little outing. We partnered with the local professional basketball farm team for a night at the game. Since my dad played pro ball once-upon-a-time (back when they still wore tiny, satin shorts), I thought it would be fun to get him, my beloved and the offspring and show our support.
Luckily, two other people decided to do the same thing. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Obviously, this was a professional bloggers night out, right? And since bloggers are notoriously averse to pants and getting off of couches, that would explain the poor attendance, right? Not exactly. This was actually a respectable professional organization, but basically nobody showed up but us.
As we walked into the arena, I was having mild palpitations about some announcer proclaiming it “our night” and expecting there to be mad cheers from our section. I knew there was no way the six of us could generate the kind of volume needed to even begin to save face.
I needn’t have worried. You see, it’s never “your” night at the game. They’re not that stupid. They invited MANY groups to the game. For instance, it was also “Pet Rescue Night.” Five local rescue groups actually had cages full of sad-eyed creatures, each doing their best to appear irresistible. Mostly, they pulled it off.
There was also another group of dogs looking to be rescued. It was apparently Hoochie Night at the ballgame, as well. Their clothes, what little they were, appeared to have been sprayed on. In fact, I’ve seen Mystic tans that didn’t cling so tight to the skin. I’m sure these girls are big basketball fans.
Apparently, it was also Special Needs Night, as an extremely large contingent of severely retarded individuals descended upon the arena and, just to make my night perfect, all sat in our section. Well, I thought, maybe I can get them all to cheer when they call our group’s name? Or maybe I could just pretend to be retarded and cheer when they call THEIR group’s name. Or maybe I just AM retarded and should have stayed home.
I must say, there were quite a few characters in the bunch. And it actually made the game much more enjoyable to see their enthusiasm and humor, especially through their particular lens. But the really odd thing that struck me was how many “normal” people look mildly retarded. Now, you have to understand, the official group were very apparently afflicted. They suffered from physical affects as well as mental. They were not subtle. But then, some average Joe would walk by and I’d be struck by his or her resemblance to my section-mates. Could it be? Are the stupid people of the world actually just mildly retarded?
And watching the typical straight male sports fans go apoplectic on the refs, etc., then comparing that to the model behavior of the special needs gang, I realized that there is a place in this world for the word “retarded,” but not for these special needs kids
By the way, there was only one quasi-midget in the bunch. And I think he was actually with OUR group.
Caveat Two: If the terms “retarded,” “retard,” or “midget” offend, you might want to navigate away.
Oh, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t be reading this if you were wired like that . . . So, last night, an organization that I’m deeply involved in had a little outing. We partnered with the local professional basketball farm team for a night at the game. Since my dad played pro ball once-upon-a-time (back when they still wore tiny, satin shorts), I thought it would be fun to get him, my beloved and the offspring and show our support.
Luckily, two other people decided to do the same thing. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Obviously, this was a professional bloggers night out, right? And since bloggers are notoriously averse to pants and getting off of couches, that would explain the poor attendance, right? Not exactly. This was actually a respectable professional organization, but basically nobody showed up but us.
As we walked into the arena, I was having mild palpitations about some announcer proclaiming it “our night” and expecting there to be mad cheers from our section. I knew there was no way the six of us could generate the kind of volume needed to even begin to save face.
I needn’t have worried. You see, it’s never “your” night at the game. They’re not that stupid. They invited MANY groups to the game. For instance, it was also “Pet Rescue Night.” Five local rescue groups actually had cages full of sad-eyed creatures, each doing their best to appear irresistible. Mostly, they pulled it off.
There was also another group of dogs looking to be rescued. It was apparently Hoochie Night at the ballgame, as well. Their clothes, what little they were, appeared to have been sprayed on. In fact, I’ve seen Mystic tans that didn’t cling so tight to the skin. I’m sure these girls are big basketball fans.
Apparently, it was also Special Needs Night, as an extremely large contingent of severely retarded individuals descended upon the arena and, just to make my night perfect, all sat in our section. Well, I thought, maybe I can get them all to cheer when they call our group’s name? Or maybe I could just pretend to be retarded and cheer when they call THEIR group’s name. Or maybe I just AM retarded and should have stayed home.
I must say, there were quite a few characters in the bunch. And it actually made the game much more enjoyable to see their enthusiasm and humor, especially through their particular lens. But the really odd thing that struck me was how many “normal” people look mildly retarded. Now, you have to understand, the official group were very apparently afflicted. They suffered from physical affects as well as mental. They were not subtle. But then, some average Joe would walk by and I’d be struck by his or her resemblance to my section-mates. Could it be? Are the stupid people of the world actually just mildly retarded?
And watching the typical straight male sports fans go apoplectic on the refs, etc., then comparing that to the model behavior of the special needs gang, I realized that there is a place in this world for the word “retarded,” but not for these special needs kids
By the way, there was only one quasi-midget in the bunch. And I think he was actually with OUR group.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Bush is Back
Laura Bush was on TV last night. Apparently they were giving her some sort of award and she was in Austin to receive it. I used to really like her. I always felt she was the balancing force of good in that relationship. But as those fourteen years wore on (yes, people, we Texans had to endure nearly twice as much as the rest of you.) I grew up a bit and my jade grew a darker green. Now, I really just see her as a chain-smoking librarian and enabler. The girl who married up and down at the same time. She said they really missed Austin. Safe to say, we don’t miss them.
She commented on how welcome they had felt upon returning to Dallas. That there were all of these “Welcome Home George and Laura” signs. (I personally saw some of these on my last trip to Dallas. Not only was I shocked at the sentiment, but at the familiarity.) Needless to say, there are NO SIGNS LIKE THAT in Austin.
Seeing her made me also reflect on the cool, new progressive vibe that is sweeping the nation (gay marriage in the Heartland? Who knew? Thanks Iowa!). It’s like the Chileans must have felt after Pinochet fell, or Spain after Franco. We can finally get back to the idea of free speech without being branded a traitor rather than a dissenter.
In Texas however, we are still in dire need of vermin control. The Republicans, and not the good kind, are still very much in control of things here. Nowhere is that more evident than the fact that a Republican is running for Mayor of Austin. There are two good progressive candidates running, but our former Mayor, the oft-married, Carole Keeton McLellan Rylander Strahorn, also known as “One Tough Grandma” . . . excuse me, I had to vomit a little . . . has thrown her hat back in the ring. “Carole” as her campaign signs identify her (c’mon, there’s only so much real estate on the sign) was elected to statewide office several times as a Republican. Many folks in these parts felt that it was not so much a philosophical shift as it was an opportunistic one. She is more ambitious than she is principled. No shocker there when it comes to politics.
However, the thought that sweet little liberal Austin, long a bastion of free-thinkers, might actually elect a Republican sends shudders down my spine. Hopefully, the progressives won’t split the vote so badly that it opens the door for Grandma.
FYI, I’m almost as appalled at having a Grandma at the helm as I am a Republican. Not to be ageist, but if that’s how you primarily identify yourself, then go play with your grandkids and leave the rest of us alone. (Don’t poke my eyes out knittergran!)
I have nothing against Grandmas. I loved mine dearly. But I just don’t think that should be the qualification you run for public office on.
Now I do have to note that one of Carole’s kids, Mark McClellan, was the first White House official to write a scathing insider view of Bush’s performance. So, there’s that. I’m not sure what Bush’s nickname for Mark was, but I’m guessing the book probably earned him a brand new one.
Heckuva job!
She commented on how welcome they had felt upon returning to Dallas. That there were all of these “Welcome Home George and Laura” signs. (I personally saw some of these on my last trip to Dallas. Not only was I shocked at the sentiment, but at the familiarity.) Needless to say, there are NO SIGNS LIKE THAT in Austin.
Seeing her made me also reflect on the cool, new progressive vibe that is sweeping the nation (gay marriage in the Heartland? Who knew? Thanks Iowa!). It’s like the Chileans must have felt after Pinochet fell, or Spain after Franco. We can finally get back to the idea of free speech without being branded a traitor rather than a dissenter.
In Texas however, we are still in dire need of vermin control. The Republicans, and not the good kind, are still very much in control of things here. Nowhere is that more evident than the fact that a Republican is running for Mayor of Austin. There are two good progressive candidates running, but our former Mayor, the oft-married, Carole Keeton McLellan Rylander Strahorn, also known as “One Tough Grandma” . . . excuse me, I had to vomit a little . . . has thrown her hat back in the ring. “Carole” as her campaign signs identify her (c’mon, there’s only so much real estate on the sign) was elected to statewide office several times as a Republican. Many folks in these parts felt that it was not so much a philosophical shift as it was an opportunistic one. She is more ambitious than she is principled. No shocker there when it comes to politics.
However, the thought that sweet little liberal Austin, long a bastion of free-thinkers, might actually elect a Republican sends shudders down my spine. Hopefully, the progressives won’t split the vote so badly that it opens the door for Grandma.
FYI, I’m almost as appalled at having a Grandma at the helm as I am a Republican. Not to be ageist, but if that’s how you primarily identify yourself, then go play with your grandkids and leave the rest of us alone. (Don’t poke my eyes out knittergran!)
I have nothing against Grandmas. I loved mine dearly. But I just don’t think that should be the qualification you run for public office on.
Now I do have to note that one of Carole’s kids, Mark McClellan, was the first White House official to write a scathing insider view of Bush’s performance. So, there’s that. I’m not sure what Bush’s nickname for Mark was, but I’m guessing the book probably earned him a brand new one.
Heckuva job!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Begging for Mercy
Okay, don’t really care whether Madonna gets to add to her brood or not. But can you imagine when little Mercy James grows up in Malawi, discovers a pop star called Madonna, and is informed that she could have been the woman’s fourth child? I’m guesing that she will pull some diva shit that will PROVE she should have been adopted by the Material Girl.
Now, just in case Madge is reading, there is a bitchy gay blogger who would be happy to ride around in your G5. I would even call Guy Ritchie "Daddy" if it helped the other kids with consistency. AND, I would even pluck Lola's eyebrow. Really. I would be happy to. Every little girl should know the joy of two eyebrows.
So, jet your ass into Austin. As they say, it's "like a whole nother country."
Now, just in case Madge is reading, there is a bitchy gay blogger who would be happy to ride around in your G5. I would even call Guy Ritchie "Daddy" if it helped the other kids with consistency. AND, I would even pluck Lola's eyebrow. Really. I would be happy to. Every little girl should know the joy of two eyebrows.
So, jet your ass into Austin. As they say, it's "like a whole nother country."
The Dog Ate My Blog
You know, I’ve been trying to find an excuse for not blogging more. Or, point in fact, not blogging at all. I’d like to blame the economy. Work has been slow, so I’ve been dancing as fast as I can trying to scare up work (thankfully, it has been sufficiently scared up). I could blame the Obamas for putting me in the blissful state of relaxation, in spite of the worst recession since the big D (I mean, honestly, when was the last time you even THOUGHT of GWB? See what I mean.)
It’s certainly not for a lack of stupidity permeating my daily existence. Why just yesterday, at my favorite student crosswalk, a new high (low?) for pedestrian behavior. Two groups of friends, passing each other in the crosswalk, STOPPED TO CHAT. In the middle of the fucking crosswalk. Traffic came to a standstill while they exchanged pleasantries, punctuated, I’m sure, with many, “um . . likes” and “OMGs.”
Nadya Suleman can alter her appearances to look like a porn star version of Angelina Jolie and push out enough kids to form a government, but Madonna can’t adopt an African orphan.
A former soldier kills three cops who responded to a call from his mother, because his dog peed on her carpet. And he was stockpiling guns “to protect his constitutional rights.” So guns are okay, but gays aren’t?
So, I ask myself, do I have stupidity fatigue? I looked for symptoms.
I still get the headaches from exaggerated eye-rolling.
I’m still the bitterest queen at any party (except at dinner Saturday night, where John E. stole my sash and crown. Subtlety, girl, subtlety. We’re supposed to be LAUGHING with/at you, not squirming awkwardly in silence between courses.)
I’m like Velcro for stupid people. They approach and stick to me.
Nope, I think I’m just a big fucking slacker. And it’s absolutely gorgeous in Austin right now. And nothing really pisses me off when the weather is this good. But what the hell, let’s kick this thing off again. After all, April is the month of fools.
It’s certainly not for a lack of stupidity permeating my daily existence. Why just yesterday, at my favorite student crosswalk, a new high (low?) for pedestrian behavior. Two groups of friends, passing each other in the crosswalk, STOPPED TO CHAT. In the middle of the fucking crosswalk. Traffic came to a standstill while they exchanged pleasantries, punctuated, I’m sure, with many, “um . . likes” and “OMGs.”
Nadya Suleman can alter her appearances to look like a porn star version of Angelina Jolie and push out enough kids to form a government, but Madonna can’t adopt an African orphan.
A former soldier kills three cops who responded to a call from his mother, because his dog peed on her carpet. And he was stockpiling guns “to protect his constitutional rights.” So guns are okay, but gays aren’t?
So, I ask myself, do I have stupidity fatigue? I looked for symptoms.
I still get the headaches from exaggerated eye-rolling.
I’m still the bitterest queen at any party (except at dinner Saturday night, where John E. stole my sash and crown. Subtlety, girl, subtlety. We’re supposed to be LAUGHING with/at you, not squirming awkwardly in silence between courses.)
I’m like Velcro for stupid people. They approach and stick to me.
Nope, I think I’m just a big fucking slacker. And it’s absolutely gorgeous in Austin right now. And nothing really pisses me off when the weather is this good. But what the hell, let’s kick this thing off again. After all, April is the month of fools.
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