Thursday, June 9, 2011

Weener Schmeener

Every time you turn on the news these days, it seems all anyone can talk about is Anthony Weiner showing his weenie to various women on the Internet. Is anyone but me gettin’more than a little sick of this? I mean, aren’t there more important things for news people to dwell on other than some stoopid schmuck who waves his wanker in public? I realize the fact that he’s a member of Congress makes it somewhat newsworthy. But it’s getting to the point that “journalists” are ignoring way more important shit going on in the world and concentrating solely on Anthony’s exposed “pudenda”. By the way, I had to look up that word after reading it in a Christopher Hitchens post. I love Christopher Hitchens.

Now I know that all the politicians on the right are just loving this whole weener thing, and the guys on the left are just wishing he’d resign. I don’t want him to resign just because he wagged his weenie, I just want him to resign because he lied about it when he got caught. If you do something wrong, at least have the balls to own up to it...jeez. (Although I have to admit it seems kind of pervy to take pictures of your crotch and then send those same crotch shots to strangers, it seems stoopider yet to send them through the Internet...through an account traceable to ones self as did the good congressman.)

This whole thing does make me wonder what makes a person want to do something like that. I know I’m old and didn’t grow up in the whole “Facebook” era, have never played “Farmville”, and probably never will. Still, is there something in the water we’re drinking these days that makes people want to send naked pics of themselves to strangers? And what’s with the whole “sexting” thing? Being the Luddite I am, simple texting is beyond my capabilities, and being the repressed, menopausal, slightly dementia stricken oldster I am, sexting will likely be forever out of the question. Besides, at my age, how many people are there out there who would want to try sexting with me anyway?

People have no sense of privacy these days. In fact, they really don’t even seem to feel a need for privacy and they obviously have no respect for anyone else’s privacy. On the other hand, if they don’t feel a need for privacy, they probably wouldn’t even understand another’s need for privacy now would they?

I, on the other hand, tend to go way overboard in the “sense of privacy” department. Hard to believe, I know. A couple of years ago...or more...I can’t remember..(dementia worming it’s way into my brain)... I was working in the yard and didn’t come in after dark. I was all dirty & hot, and stanky...very stanky. So I’m standing in the kitchen and I felt a pain in my chest. Okay, I thought I’ll just lay down on the couch for a couple of minutes and see if it goes away. Well, it didn’t go away, it started going down my right a rhythmic fashion. This didn’t seem like one of Martha’s proverbial “good things” to me. Since the Husband was out of town, I thought I’d call my OC (Old Chix) friend and have her drive me to the hospital.

Unfortunately for me, said OC who is something of a tight wad and was married to a tight wad, refused to have two phone lines installed (dial up days) in her house so she could get phone calls while she was on the Internet. This was before she was gigantically into texting and had a cell phone with her at all times...hey, I wonder if she’s into the sexting thing too??? Ewww. She’s much older than me...(5 months) so that’s an incredibly gross thought.  Can't you just picture some gray haired old lady sitting in her teeth...sexting away to some poor schmoe who thinks he's found himself a babe?

Anyway, on with the story...I can’t get a hold of OC so now I’m debating whether to drive myself to the hospital or not. I live a long way from the hospital and really didn’t know if I should try it or not. And more importantly, I’m filthy dirty and stanky to boot. So now I’m in a quandary. You’re probably thinking my quandary is whether or not to drive myself to the hospital or call an am-ba-lance, right? Wrong...I’m debating whether or not to jump in the shower and get clean before I go to the hospital or just drive down there all stanky. Here’s the problem...I know some of the coppers in this town and if I die in the shower, one of them is gonna come to my house and find my dead body laying on the shower floor in God knows what position and they’re gonna take pictures of my naked body and show them to their friends. I know in my heart of hearts this would happen. The whole time I’m thinking this I can hear them in my head saying “whoa, she looked way better with her clothes on”. I’s stoopid...but I can’t help it.

My dilemma, sad but true, was worrying about someone I knew (but not in the Biblical sense) seeing me naked or having strangers in the emergency room smelling me all stanky. Is this not the stoopidist fucking thing in the world? Here I could be dying of a heart attack and those were the things I was worried about.

Unbelievably, I chose cleanliness and risked being mocked in death by former acquaintances who may or may not have lived up to my extremely low expectations of them. Like I would even have known...I would’ve been dead.

Since I’m sitting here able to write this the whole situation turned out well for me. I made it to the emergency room...clean as a whistle...literally...and much to my delight, found that if you tell them you’re having chest pains, they don’t make you sit in the waiting room...they take you right in and hook you up to a bunch of monitors. (Note to self...must remember this and use it for all real or imagined maladies in future ER visits.)

So here’s what the big diagnosis was...acid kidding. I didn’t even know I had an acid reflux problem. I don’t get heartburn or indigestion or anything like that. I mean occasionally I’ll burp and a little burp juice will come up, which is really nasty...but doesn’t everyone???

I ended up going to my regular doc afterwards and asked her about it. She said that an acid reflux attack mimics the symptoms of a heart attack...I said “Well, how do you know the difference?” thinking I could avoid making a fool of myself in the future by rushing to the emergency room with another simple acid reflux problem. “You don’t” she said "you just go."

Obviously not the answer I was hoping's the stoopidist thing.

P.S. It's never happened again so far...knock on wood.