Category Archives: true life 2002

Republicans, the don’t actually suck

…not anymore than anyone else, anyway.

I was chatting with Faith and she was giving me a good-natured hard time about my perceived hatred for Republicans. This is an issue that comes up again and again, and unlike Faith, not everyone understands that I’m not exclusionary. So, with this still floating around at the top of my brain, I thought this might be a good time to clear some things up.

I don’t hate Republicans. I don’t hate the rich. I don’t hate people who are older than me or younger than me or smarter or less-intelligent than me. I don’t hate people who are thinner, fatter, taller, shorter, or a different ethnicity or religion than me. I don’t hate anyone.* I may strongly disagree with someone. But I would never hate anyone based on their beliefs. Especially as a group.

Believe it or not, my friends range from hard-core Green Party organizers to staffers of some of the most conservative politicians in the country. They’re people. I don’t bar someone from a dinner party because they voted for that man who seems to think he’s our President. Life’s pretty damn boring if you only hang out with people who are exactly like you, don’t you think?

That’s one of the things I love about the DC-Bloggers list (see links to right). I don’t have one iota of control over who’s on that list. There are conservatives, liberals and everything in between (and beyond). It balances out my self-selected links. And it pushes me to read blogs I might not otherwise find.

But see, this is my blog. This is where I get to say whatever the fuck I want (within reason) about whatever is on my mind. Sometimes I seek to balance my opinion with an opposing argument, but I don’t feel it’s necessary.

*That’s a lie. I have a short list of people I hate. The odds of you being one of the 2 people on it fall somewhere between slim and none. And if you’re on the list you know, baby, you know.

don't look the gift horse in the mouth

This weekend if I go out to visit my parents I’m going to be a sitting duck when the aliens come. On the other hand, the swelling is my friend. They couldn’t cast my broken foot because of the swelling.

Washington, DC. Summer. Cast. No.

This is old now, but I keep forgetting to post it:

“Rats blamed for mysterious cattle mutilations”

Recent mutilations of cattle and horses in the Argentine countryside were the work of rodents, scientists said on Monday, not ritualistic slayings by extraterrestrials or vampires as some farmers feared.

Argentina’s national food and animal health inspection service Senasa sent its own “X-Files” scientists to the remote plains to look into the deaths of farm animals found mutilated and drained of blood….

Sure, that’s what they want us to believe.

It's cheaper if you pop the joint back into place yourself

Believe it or not, I spare you a great deal of whining and complaining about my health. Today, however, I need to set aside the regularly scheduled post and take a moment to complain. I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so when I say this was painful I mean that it was painful. Are we clear?

And before I give you the short form of this story I’m going to warn you right now that, no offense, I don’t want to hear any personal stories on the subject. Stories of injuries that you, your family, friends, or your cousin’s ex-boyfriend have suffered that resulted in death or dismemberment will only aggravate me today. Do not aggravate me. I merely wish to wallow in my own searing pain, thank you.

Short form:
1. there was the dislocation of the bone
2. there was the relocation of the bone
3. there was the struggle to stay concious and not throw up
4. there was the realization that Madonna is actually God

The one thing I can say my orthopedic surgeon is that he tends to be honest in their greed, like all in his practice. They’re quite upfront about the fact that you are the downpayment on their new Jag or Rolls. I realize that this is arrogant and offputting to a lot of people, but I personally appreciate the honesty. It is for this reason that I will probably be able to refrain from complaining about my orthopedist in the next few weeks, for those who are cowering in anticipation of another screed about how irritating doctors can be. With that in mind, hopefully this is the last you’ll hear on this whole subject.*

In pretty much unrelated news…while I was still laying on the floor realizing I’d done grievous injury to my foot but not yet realizing the full extent of the problem, I came up with a new answer for people who badger us day in and day out to have children. I’m going to tell them we’ve decided to adopt. When they ask what changed our minds I’m going to explain that I want one of those cool shirts like Madonna has that says “mother” on the front and “fucker” on the back.

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to return to my doomsday film festival. Up next: Fail-Safe and the China Syndrome.

*the subject of this injury, not the subject of doctors in general.

and yet, people still ask

I’m the last person you want watching your home while you’re out of town. You’d think everyone would understand that by now. I’ve had to make some absurd phonecalls over the years.

“You had a roof when you left, right?”

“Does your yard flood every time it rains?”

“Didn’t you say you had two hamsters?”

“Did you have a dining room ceiling when you left yesterday? Uh-huh. And was it, um, on the floor?”

“Did your dog have a history of heart problems?”

“….lightning…..”

“Remember those stairs you had to the 2nd floor?”

“….tornado…..”

“When did you get a python?….What do you mean, you didn’t?”

“…lightning…..”

“I’ve never seen a cat do that before.”

“Yes, we put him in the freezer.”

“….hailstorm…”

“The manager says they’re scheduled to change the locks today and they won’t give me the key. No, I don’t think 3 cats can take care of themselves for a week.”

“….lightning….”

“Really? Your basement has never flooded before?”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I clean up the 3 gallons of icecream that melted out of the freezer and onto the floor after the landlord accidentally shut off the power.”

And my all-time favorite 911 call:

“911.”
“I’m housesitting and there are 2 men in the backyard with automatic weapons.”
“Address?”
“…(address)…”
“Yes, Ma’am. Please get on the floor and stay away from the windows.”
(SWAT team descends on house nextdoor).
“Nevermind.”

Yes, you get the idea.

Nevertheless, I agreed to help out a neighbor this week. It seemed simple, in that dangerous “what could go wrong?” sort of way. All I have to do is pick up the paper and then deposit said paper in the recycling bin, I don’t even need to step foot on the property since I’ve got pretty good aim.

Except this morning when I picked up the paper the front door was standing wide open. My first instinct was to leap into action (read: sit down on the sidewalk and cry).

Fortunately, I didn’t have to take such drastic measures since it turned out my neighbor’s mother had stopped by to pick some things up.

This is good, because I’m too hungover to cope with anything huge today.

monopoly

Today we engaged in that quintessentially American activity: Monopoly. If you think Monopoly is a boring game, you just aren’t making up interesting enough rules. Be careful, though: the more arcane your rules are the harder they become to remember (or maybe that was the vodka talking).

Monopoly is much more fun when you toss reality aside, I think:

“Ha! Illinois Avenue. I have a house on that! 250 bucks.”
“Sorry. You can’t collect rent on that one.”
“Why not?”
“The house is haunted.”

With murderous, venegeful demons, train derailments, penalties for insider trading, alternate planes of existence, and extortion it’s a much more interesting game.

I won like the capitalist running dog that I am, by the way.