Everybody seems to be an artist these days...or at least they try to be. I'm no exception. Even knowing full well, and completely accepting the fact, that I have absolutely no artistic ability whatsoever, I got sucked into going to a painting class for adults...one that included free wine. Have you been to one of those classes? They're usually held at a bar or restaurant, where they can serve adult beverages. It's a great way to cater to the wannabe artist in all of us. Especially those of us who can't even draw a decent stick figure...that would be me.
I have family members, who shall remain nameless lest they be forever humiliated by having their names associated with yours truly. They decided to take a road trip vacation, driving from Georgia (the state) to Dallas (the city...in a far away state). They're posting their comings and goings on FB and it's fun to see what they're doing on the way. I'll call them R&D, even though they have nothing to do with research and development, which, when I say the letters is the first thing that comes to mind. R is the husband and D's the wife...just in case it needs clarification at some point.
R has been a lifelong Dallas Cowboys fan...since the Staubach days...and that's a long time ago. D, his wife, is a Cowboys fan too. I'm not sure if she's really a true fan, or if it's just her way of surviving life with a Cowboys fan. In any case, she's nothing, if not a good sport...and quite possibly the nicest human being on the planet. No joke... she is the definition of "nice". Always. She's never an asshole.
Sometimes I wonder what that's like? Never being an asshole. Sadly, I'll never know. In an effort to be truthful, I'm really not that sad about it.
Being a really thoughtful husband, R booked a class for he & D at a local paint & sip place in Dallas. It was D's birthday and the class looked to be geared toward couples. I'm just guessin' at this because each of their "paintings" was half of a "Fall In Love" theme...with a fall colored maple leaf on a wood background.
These gigs always have a "theme" picture that everyone paints. Usually, in the area where I live, the class is sponsored by local vineyards and/or restaurants, or a combination of the two. It's good for both businesses, and everybody really does have a good time.
When you sign up, it's billed as a sip & paint complete with wine and snackage. The one I went to provided a tiny plastic cup of wine and dubious snackage...nothing that I would consider proper snackage. You know, like Triscuits or Wheat Thins alongside a cheese and salami tray? Or a big bowl of chips & salsa. No, this one had cheese, but it was weird cheese...the oddly flavored cheese favored by the granola eating crowd...cheese with pieces of "stuff" in it.
When the class starts, the instructor guides you through the creation of your masterpiece. If you finish the thimble sized glass of wine you can buy more, which almost everyone does. What amazed me was how serious everyone was about the painting. I was in the minority thinking that the whole painting thing was just an excuse to eat and drink...kind of like a Bunco game.
People were painstakingly trying to copy the instructors' exact brush strokes. I had to quit looking at my neighboring artist's paintings because they were obviously offended when I laughed. But it was funny...and really hard not to laugh. Here's a bunch of grown assed people thinking that what they were doing was so fabulous that hysterical laughter was verboten! There must be no mirth allowed during masterpiece creation!
When everyone was finished they were all so proud, showing off their paintings. Everyone was complimenting each other on how fabulous their pictures were. Honestly, I'd say 99.9% of the finished masterpieces looked like a kindergartner painted them. No shit.
Everybody thinks as they get older, they get smarter. Nobody gets smarter, they just learn more stuff. You're born smart or you're not. Some people are really, really smart, some people are moderately smart, and some people...are just the low watt bulbs.
There were a lot of pretty smart people in my painting class. All oohing and awwing over their paintings...smart people who should've been able to see with their own fucking eye holes that their painting abilities haven't improved since they were five years old...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
P.S. The class was fun and if you get the chance you should go. Just be sympathetic to oddballs, like me, who find it physically and emotionally impossible to contain their laughter at your toddler-like painting attempts.
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Some Things Just Make Me Laugh
Even when I'm sitting alone in the living room, sometimes I laugh out loud. Tonight, for example, I was watching a comedy show on TV. There were a bunch of different stand-up comics and one guy, Tony Roberts, made me laugh out loud.
Please forgive my eternal immaturity...it was about farting. He was talking about farting while you're sitting and having it come out like a bubble in your jeans. And I've had that happen!!! I started laughing out loud.
But I'm actually kinda curious about where it goes. I mean you can feel the bubble and it goes up or down the ol' butt crack. Does it pop? I've never heard the pop, and now that I think about it, I'm not really sure I've ever felt the pop either. When I accidentally blow spit bubbles, there's a definite pop...which usually results in little spitlette droplettes going unplanned places. This is always embarrassing.
Fortunately, I've never had anyone around when this sort of fart bubble thing happened...and until I heard this guy joking about it, never really gave it much thought. Now that I know it's happening to other people, though, I'm gonna have to start asking some questions. Old Chix beware...
Like, for instance, if the bubble never popped, would there be no fart stink? Or, is the entire bubble composed of fart stink? If it's the latter, would that make it spread eau de flatulence all along its path? Would it be better to move a little in an effort to try to pop it and let things air out more quickly?
What if your jeans are too tight? Would that make an eterna-bubble that would never pop until you took your pants off? I mean, it would be okay if there was no stinkum until poppage had occurred. Of course, then you'd probably walk funny, like a penguin, trying to prevent poppage. Other bubble farters would probably recognize this poppage preventing gait and laugh, secretly, behind your back...or butt...thankful it wasn't them doing the penguin walk.
Do you think this is how the term "bubble butt" got started?
Obviously,I have way too much time on my hands...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
Please forgive my eternal immaturity...it was about farting. He was talking about farting while you're sitting and having it come out like a bubble in your jeans. And I've had that happen!!! I started laughing out loud.
But I'm actually kinda curious about where it goes. I mean you can feel the bubble and it goes up or down the ol' butt crack. Does it pop? I've never heard the pop, and now that I think about it, I'm not really sure I've ever felt the pop either. When I accidentally blow spit bubbles, there's a definite pop...which usually results in little spitlette droplettes going unplanned places. This is always embarrassing.
Fortunately, I've never had anyone around when this sort of fart bubble thing happened...and until I heard this guy joking about it, never really gave it much thought. Now that I know it's happening to other people, though, I'm gonna have to start asking some questions. Old Chix beware...
Like, for instance, if the bubble never popped, would there be no fart stink? Or, is the entire bubble composed of fart stink? If it's the latter, would that make it spread eau de flatulence all along its path? Would it be better to move a little in an effort to try to pop it and let things air out more quickly?
What if your jeans are too tight? Would that make an eterna-bubble that would never pop until you took your pants off? I mean, it would be okay if there was no stinkum until poppage had occurred. Of course, then you'd probably walk funny, like a penguin, trying to prevent poppage. Other bubble farters would probably recognize this poppage preventing gait and laugh, secretly, behind your back...or butt...thankful it wasn't them doing the penguin walk.
Do you think this is how the term "bubble butt" got started?
Obviously,I have way too much time on my hands...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Food Rubes
Have you ever had a friend who made you feel like an idiot? Maybe it was intentional or maybe it was completely unintentional. It happens. I'm sure I'm guilty too. I guess we probably all are at one time or another.
My friend, Char, who is famous for having undesirable snackage, likes Thai food. Not long ago she took one of her friends to a Thai restaurant where she thought the food was really good. Her friend was not impressed with the cuisine and made it clear that the food in the restaurant Char liked was sub-standard. In a nutshell, this friend told Char that if she ate Thai food at the place where the friend ate, Char would then know what "good" Thai food was.
"It was some Thai restaurant in Boise," Char said.
"Boise"? Unable to keep the WTF tone out of my voice as my head jerked around to look at her.
"Idaho?" thinking that maybe, just maybe, there could be a Boise somewhere in Thailand.
I mean, I might have been able to understand it if she'd said the best Thai food was in Bangkok, but Boise, Ida-fucking-ho??? Which is pretty much what I said.
"I know, huh," said Char, we were both laughing at this point, "It made me feel like such a rube".
I started laughing even more because "rube" isn't generally a term that's widely used these days.
"You're a Food Rube" I said, realizing that I, too, had similar experiences. "We're both Food Rubes."
Who would've thought that Boise Idaho was the Mecca of Thai cuisine? Certainly not Food Rubes like us. But then, we Food Rubes aren't generally known for our sophisticated palates, now, are we? If we were, there wouldn't be such a thing as Food Rubedom, would there?
Not to wax philosophical or anything like that, because, in addition to our unsophisticated palates, we Food Rubes aren't generally sought out for our philosophical genius. It seems that good food is an individual palate matter.
Most people have preferences, spicy, mild, sweet, sour, hot, cold. It's kinda freeing having the unsophisticated palate of a Food Rube, and just be able to shove everything in the ol' pie hole at once, and call it good.
Living in the land of Food Rubedom allows one the freedom to think that KFC is the absolute "best" fried chicken in the world, or that a double Quarter Pounder with cheese is at the top of the burger ladder. Only a true Food Rube would think that peanut butter, lettuce...(iceberg, of course)..and mayonnaise on bread is a truly wonderful sandwich.
I'm always surprised by people who, when they were kids, loved peanut butter and jelly or bologna sandwiches and then when they become adults, think they're inedible. When you ask them if they want one, they look at you like you just asked them to eat a dog shit sammie. Why is that? And they always make that scrunchy face...like they just smelled a fart or something really gross. All of us true Food Rubes know that face well, don't we? Or they do that ultra sophisticated "universal barf gesture" where they pretend they're sticking a finger down their throat and gag themselves.
Happily, one of the benefits of getting old is that you don't care so much what other people think. I mean, there are way worse things you could be than a Food Rube. You know, like a rapist, murderer, pedophile, or even, God forbid, a Food Snob...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
My friend, Char, who is famous for having undesirable snackage, likes Thai food. Not long ago she took one of her friends to a Thai restaurant where she thought the food was really good. Her friend was not impressed with the cuisine and made it clear that the food in the restaurant Char liked was sub-standard. In a nutshell, this friend told Char that if she ate Thai food at the place where the friend ate, Char would then know what "good" Thai food was.
"It was some Thai restaurant in Boise," Char said.
"Boise"? Unable to keep the WTF tone out of my voice as my head jerked around to look at her.
"Idaho?" thinking that maybe, just maybe, there could be a Boise somewhere in Thailand.
I mean, I might have been able to understand it if she'd said the best Thai food was in Bangkok, but Boise, Ida-fucking-ho??? Which is pretty much what I said.
"I know, huh," said Char, we were both laughing at this point, "It made me feel like such a rube".
I started laughing even more because "rube" isn't generally a term that's widely used these days.
"You're a Food Rube" I said, realizing that I, too, had similar experiences. "We're both Food Rubes."
Who would've thought that Boise Idaho was the Mecca of Thai cuisine? Certainly not Food Rubes like us. But then, we Food Rubes aren't generally known for our sophisticated palates, now, are we? If we were, there wouldn't be such a thing as Food Rubedom, would there?
Not to wax philosophical or anything like that, because, in addition to our unsophisticated palates, we Food Rubes aren't generally sought out for our philosophical genius. It seems that good food is an individual palate matter.
Most people have preferences, spicy, mild, sweet, sour, hot, cold. It's kinda freeing having the unsophisticated palate of a Food Rube, and just be able to shove everything in the ol' pie hole at once, and call it good.
Living in the land of Food Rubedom allows one the freedom to think that KFC is the absolute "best" fried chicken in the world, or that a double Quarter Pounder with cheese is at the top of the burger ladder. Only a true Food Rube would think that peanut butter, lettuce...(iceberg, of course)..and mayonnaise on bread is a truly wonderful sandwich.
I'm always surprised by people who, when they were kids, loved peanut butter and jelly or bologna sandwiches and then when they become adults, think they're inedible. When you ask them if they want one, they look at you like you just asked them to eat a dog shit sammie. Why is that? And they always make that scrunchy face...like they just smelled a fart or something really gross. All of us true Food Rubes know that face well, don't we? Or they do that ultra sophisticated "universal barf gesture" where they pretend they're sticking a finger down their throat and gag themselves.
Happily, one of the benefits of getting old is that you don't care so much what other people think. I mean, there are way worse things you could be than a Food Rube. You know, like a rapist, murderer, pedophile, or even, God forbid, a Food Snob...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Two Old Women Get On An Elevator....Based On An Actual Event
Two old women get on an elevator. I call them old...because if you're over 60, you're old. And anybody who tells you different is a big fat fucking liar! Why the big deal about being old anyway? It's not like you're dead. You can still have fun...it's just that what you think is fun and what someone, say 20-30'ish, thinks is fun are probably way, way different.
The old gals checked into the hotel earlier in the day. Not a cheap pay-by-the-hour kind of place, mind you, it was a pretty upscale hotel. And, just to be clear, they've probably never stayed in the pay-by-the-hour kind of hotel in their life.
After dinner, they went back to their room on the third floor. Being old means you're almost always in for the night by 8 o'clock. There are exceptions, but they're few and far between. They finished dinner around 7'ish and decided to call it a night.
Not long after the gals left the hotel restaurant, an old guy walked in. He looked a little scruffy. White hair poked out from underneath a well-worn baseball cap, and a long sleeved denim shirt covered the belly hanging over his Levis. He was alone and even though he looked like a hobo, he wasn't...he'd just finished work for the day. After a quick dinner all he wanted to do was get up to his room on the third floor and go to bed.
Once they got back to their room, the old gals flopped down on their respective beds. Bedspreads down, of course, because since they don't get washed after every guest you know they're filled with other people's cooties. Just for the record, I spent decades laying on bedspreads in hotels until someone pointed out to me the fact that they weren't changed and cleaned like sheets after each guest. It kinda grossed me to think about all the other people's bodily secretions that I've probably laid on throughout the years. But then I decided to look on the bright side and reason that it's helped build my immunity system and is probably one of the reasons that I don't get sick a lot. Though, even after using this Pollyanna outlook, I now turn down the bedspread, because it's just too creepy to think about laying on some stranger's dried bodily secretions. It's one of those "ewwwww" things.
So anyway, the old gals futzed around for a while and decided they should live a little and go down to the hotel bar and have a drink...or two. I mean how often did they get away like this? So back on went the shoes and out the door they went.
In the elevator on the way up to his room, the old guy stood there with a toothpick in his mouth. He felt a rumbling in his belly, a little pressure building...
When the elevator door opened on the third floor and he started to walk out, he looked up and saw the two old gals waiting to get on.
"You should probably wait for the next elevator" said the old guy to the two old gals.
They smiled at him and walked into the elevator...
"Oh my God!" said one of the old gals, and as the doors started to close, trapping them in an elevator of fart stink all the way down to the lobby they heard the old guy laughing.
Yes, this is the man of my dreams in action. I am sooooo thankful that I wasn't with The Husband when he did this...it's the stoopidist thing.
The old gals checked into the hotel earlier in the day. Not a cheap pay-by-the-hour kind of place, mind you, it was a pretty upscale hotel. And, just to be clear, they've probably never stayed in the pay-by-the-hour kind of hotel in their life.
After dinner, they went back to their room on the third floor. Being old means you're almost always in for the night by 8 o'clock. There are exceptions, but they're few and far between. They finished dinner around 7'ish and decided to call it a night.
Not long after the gals left the hotel restaurant, an old guy walked in. He looked a little scruffy. White hair poked out from underneath a well-worn baseball cap, and a long sleeved denim shirt covered the belly hanging over his Levis. He was alone and even though he looked like a hobo, he wasn't...he'd just finished work for the day. After a quick dinner all he wanted to do was get up to his room on the third floor and go to bed.
Once they got back to their room, the old gals flopped down on their respective beds. Bedspreads down, of course, because since they don't get washed after every guest you know they're filled with other people's cooties. Just for the record, I spent decades laying on bedspreads in hotels until someone pointed out to me the fact that they weren't changed and cleaned like sheets after each guest. It kinda grossed me to think about all the other people's bodily secretions that I've probably laid on throughout the years. But then I decided to look on the bright side and reason that it's helped build my immunity system and is probably one of the reasons that I don't get sick a lot. Though, even after using this Pollyanna outlook, I now turn down the bedspread, because it's just too creepy to think about laying on some stranger's dried bodily secretions. It's one of those "ewwwww" things.
So anyway, the old gals futzed around for a while and decided they should live a little and go down to the hotel bar and have a drink...or two. I mean how often did they get away like this? So back on went the shoes and out the door they went.
In the elevator on the way up to his room, the old guy stood there with a toothpick in his mouth. He felt a rumbling in his belly, a little pressure building...
When the elevator door opened on the third floor and he started to walk out, he looked up and saw the two old gals waiting to get on.
"You should probably wait for the next elevator" said the old guy to the two old gals.
They smiled at him and walked into the elevator...
"Oh my God!" said one of the old gals, and as the doors started to close, trapping them in an elevator of fart stink all the way down to the lobby they heard the old guy laughing.
Yes, this is the man of my dreams in action. I am sooooo thankful that I wasn't with The Husband when he did this...it's the stoopidist thing.
Monday, August 15, 2016
New Bosses
Everyone who's held a job has had to endure a new boss at one time or another. If you've been alive as long as I have, you see them come and go...sometimes it's good, sometimes not so good.
I work in one of three divisions of a local government agency. When our boss retired, a new guy was promoted to fill the vacant position. But he's not our boss. No, when they decided to promote the new guy, they also decided it would be good to move all three division heads around. So instead of having one guy who doesn't know what he's doing, you now have three guys who don't know what they're doing. Sounds a little like your typical government cluster fuck, doesn't it?
JD is our new boss. Clearly, he feels uncomfortable not knowing what he's doing. Fortunately for him, and, much more importantly, us, he's got a good sense of humor. On the downside, he's a clean freak. This poses a slight problem for our group because we're basically a bunch of pigs. JD's also a Punctuality Nazi...this only poses a problem for The Princess and I. Punctuality is pretty much a foreign word to us. The Princess is young...she can learn to be punctual. Me, I'm an old dog...and I'm not really interested in learning new tricks. It's not that I can't, it's just that I don't wanna.
Our division is in a building separate from the main office where the other divisions are housed. In our departmental universe, our division is Uranus. Pronounced the good old fashioned way...your anus. We like to think of ourselves as The Land of Misfit Toys...the red headed step children, if you will, of our department.
Hell, our department wouldn't even spring for a shred bin for our office for ten, count 'em, ten years. The powers that be wanted us to haul banker boxes filled with secret squirrel material to one of the divisions that had shred bins. They were important enough to get shred bins...we weren't.
In defiance, which sounds way better than "because we were lazy", we stacked boxes of stuff that needed to be shredded everywhere. It's wasn't quite bad enough to make the Hoarders show because we still had passable trails. It's just that none of us felt inclined to wreck our backs hauling boxes. Now that JD is there, doing his Mr. Clean impersonation, he's hell bent on making sure all the old shit gets tossed. He likes to have everything neat and orderly looking...which has absolutely no bearing on how fast or correctly work gets done. Just my opinion...
Every time a new sheriff comes to town they're like dogs hiking their legs, wanting to make their mark. They want to fix things that aren't broken. They want to make things "better". Everything can be running smoothly and then Barney Fife comes in and fucks things up.
Why can't they just leave things alone until they know what they're doing? Then, after they have some small idea in their pea brain of what's going on, fix what needs to be fixed. When they come in and start changing things before that, all they're doing is raising their leg and saying "piss on you" to the employees who, for the last ten years, have been making things work.
These are the same people who, before they became bosses, used to complain about exactly this type of self-important behavior. How is it that once they become "boss" they automatically forget how asinine they used to think this kind of shit was?
There's always going to be room for improvement. It's a government agency for fuck's sake...government agencies aren't usually known for their efficient operations, now are they?
My guess is six months from now, nothing will have changed...with the possible exception of our office being cleaner...it's the stoopidist thing.
I work in one of three divisions of a local government agency. When our boss retired, a new guy was promoted to fill the vacant position. But he's not our boss. No, when they decided to promote the new guy, they also decided it would be good to move all three division heads around. So instead of having one guy who doesn't know what he's doing, you now have three guys who don't know what they're doing. Sounds a little like your typical government cluster fuck, doesn't it?
JD is our new boss. Clearly, he feels uncomfortable not knowing what he's doing. Fortunately for him, and, much more importantly, us, he's got a good sense of humor. On the downside, he's a clean freak. This poses a slight problem for our group because we're basically a bunch of pigs. JD's also a Punctuality Nazi...this only poses a problem for The Princess and I. Punctuality is pretty much a foreign word to us. The Princess is young...she can learn to be punctual. Me, I'm an old dog...and I'm not really interested in learning new tricks. It's not that I can't, it's just that I don't wanna.
Our division is in a building separate from the main office where the other divisions are housed. In our departmental universe, our division is Uranus. Pronounced the good old fashioned way...your anus. We like to think of ourselves as The Land of Misfit Toys...the red headed step children, if you will, of our department.
Hell, our department wouldn't even spring for a shred bin for our office for ten, count 'em, ten years. The powers that be wanted us to haul banker boxes filled with secret squirrel material to one of the divisions that had shred bins. They were important enough to get shred bins...we weren't.
In defiance, which sounds way better than "because we were lazy", we stacked boxes of stuff that needed to be shredded everywhere. It's wasn't quite bad enough to make the Hoarders show because we still had passable trails. It's just that none of us felt inclined to wreck our backs hauling boxes. Now that JD is there, doing his Mr. Clean impersonation, he's hell bent on making sure all the old shit gets tossed. He likes to have everything neat and orderly looking...which has absolutely no bearing on how fast or correctly work gets done. Just my opinion...
I'm sure everyone will adjust...eventually. But it seems to me that it would be much easier for JD to adjust to our way of doing things than the other way around. Doesn't it make more sense for one person to change to accommodate ten people than for ten people to have to change to accommodate one? It never seems to work that way, though, does it?
Why can't they just leave things alone until they know what they're doing? Then, after they have some small idea in their pea brain of what's going on, fix what needs to be fixed. When they come in and start changing things before that, all they're doing is raising their leg and saying "piss on you" to the employees who, for the last ten years, have been making things work.
These are the same people who, before they became bosses, used to complain about exactly this type of self-important behavior. How is it that once they become "boss" they automatically forget how asinine they used to think this kind of shit was?
There's always going to be room for improvement. It's a government agency for fuck's sake...government agencies aren't usually known for their efficient operations, now are they?
My guess is six months from now, nothing will have changed...with the possible exception of our office being cleaner...it's the stoopidist thing.
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
I Have Questions...
I was driving down the road a couple of weeks ago on my way to the feed store to pick up senior horse feed. We were coming back from yet another unnecessary Costco excursion, The Scari One and I, and we were yakking about the whole gender identity thing. You know, boys who feel they're girls, girls who feel they're boys, the bathroom/shower situation at schools. Some of this stuff seems way more complicated than it needs to be.
If you're not personally involved in any kind of gender identity crisis, I can't imagine you'd ever really know how it feels. Even having a loved one with some type of gender dysphoria would only make you more sympathetic to their feelings, but I don't think you'd really "understand" how it felt.
I can totally see middle and high school aged kids using the whole "identifying" thing to their advantage, though. You know it's just a matter of time before there's going to be some kind of news report that high school boys were pretending to be suffering from gender dysphoria just so they could get into the bathrooms and locker rooms of the girls or vice versa.
Is there any solution that's going to make everyone happy? I don't think so. But, I have questions about how the whole gender dysphoria thing actually works...
Say, for instance, you're a man who identifies as a woman but still have male genitalia with no desire to have a sex change. Is that the same as cross-dressing? What's the difference between that and a transvestite? Are men who dress like women all transgender or do some just like feminine clothes? I've shunned dresses all my life in favor of blue jeans. Have I been a transvestite all my life and just didn't know it? Do people even use the word "transvestite" anymore? Do we really need another word for it? Admittedly, my only knowledge of transvestism comes from watching Eddie Izzard who, in my opinion, happens to be a really funny guy.
If a man identifies as a woman but doesn't have a sex change and wants to have sex with men isn't he just a gay transvestite? Are there men who want to be women who end up still wanting women sexually? Do they identify as lesbians before having the gender reassignment? Is Caitlyn Jenner just cross dressing? Is she going to eventually physically become a woman?
I'd been pondering this stuff before we got to the feed store so I decided I was going to ask the feed store guy about Caitlyn. He's a clean-cut young cowboy type so I was curious about what he'd have to say. When I walked in he wasn't there but his helper was. The helper is the complete opposite of the "cowboy" visually. He's a young guy, all tatted up, kinda convict looking, but just a super nice guy and a really hard worker. The old "never judge a book..." comes to mind.
This poor kid, here's some old lady coming in to buy feed for her horses who, out of the blue, asks him what he thinks of the whole Caitlyn Jenner thing. Tattoo Boy kind of hemmed and hawed, not wanting to say anything offensive. I didn't have the heart to try to make him tell me what he thought. We did share a laugh when I said it was too bad Caitlyn didn't become a woman years ago when she could have been a hot chick instead of an old lady. That's actually pretty sad when you think about it...
It's also sad that Tattoo Boy had to be afraid to say what he thought. Everybody these days is afraid to say what they think. WTF? Why should anyone have to be afraid to say whatever they want? There was a news article about college kids who were traumatized because someone wrote a hated politician's name on a sidewalk...in chalk!!! Really???? How much of a big fuckin' sissy do you have to be that seeing a NAME IN CHALK traumatizes you? And what's up with free speech zones on college campuses? Aren't we supposed to have free speech everywhere in the good ol' US of A?
Tell me what happens now, for instance, if a white male decides he's going to identify as a black or Latino woman? Can he be eligible for affirmative action? If you can't identify people by gender or ethnicity how can you have programs like affirmative action? Can this guy now get say, small business loans, scholarships, or grants specific to black or Latino women? Can he decide he wants to identify as a refugee from a foreign country in order to obtain refugee benefits? I mean, if all you have to do is "identify", how do you prevent shit like this?
You know all this stuff is going to happen eventually because there's always someone who's going to try to take advantage of the system.
The whole bathroom thing is kinda bogus. It would seem to me that if you have kids and you're afraid of your kids using the bathroom alone, as a parent you should go with them. Being some kind of different gender identifier doesn't make you a pedophile.
And why is it every time you hear outrage on a news report about the whole bathroom thing it's always someone fearing for the "safety" of their daughter? How come nobody worries about their sons?
Personally, I want privacy if, God forbid, I'm forced to poop in public. I'd prefer bathrooms that are individual...like little closetlets with locking doors and soundproof walls...and great ventilation systems. If all bathrooms were like the one I want there wouldn't be any bathroom gender problem now would there?
I don't really care who uses what bathroom. If you gotta go, you gotta go...although now that I think about it, the bathroom I want would be a perfect place to murder someone...it's the stoopidist thing.
Tell me what happens now, for instance, if a white male decides he's going to identify as a black or Latino woman? Can he be eligible for affirmative action? If you can't identify people by gender or ethnicity how can you have programs like affirmative action? Can this guy now get say, small business loans, scholarships, or grants specific to black or Latino women? Can he decide he wants to identify as a refugee from a foreign country in order to obtain refugee benefits? I mean, if all you have to do is "identify", how do you prevent shit like this?
You know all this stuff is going to happen eventually because there's always someone who's going to try to take advantage of the system.
The whole bathroom thing is kinda bogus. It would seem to me that if you have kids and you're afraid of your kids using the bathroom alone, as a parent you should go with them. Being some kind of different gender identifier doesn't make you a pedophile.
And why is it every time you hear outrage on a news report about the whole bathroom thing it's always someone fearing for the "safety" of their daughter? How come nobody worries about their sons?
Personally, I want privacy if, God forbid, I'm forced to poop in public. I'd prefer bathrooms that are individual...like little closetlets with locking doors and soundproof walls...and great ventilation systems. If all bathrooms were like the one I want there wouldn't be any bathroom gender problem now would there?
I don't really care who uses what bathroom. If you gotta go, you gotta go...although now that I think about it, the bathroom I want would be a perfect place to murder someone...it's the stoopidist thing.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Blog Party...I Hope
I found this blog party on one of the blogs I read, Skinny and Single. If you don't read this blog, you should...and be sure to read her comments...snark-a-licious.
Having only recently come out of the blogging closet, I've never done this before so I'm not sure I'm even doing it right. The whole blog party thing is supposed to introduce new blogs and readers to each other. I've seen other blog parties and link exchange things, but most of them expressly want "family friendly" blogs. I never felt it was okay for me to participate since I tend to drop F-bombs on a regular basis. This particular one didn't say they wanted only "family friendly" shit so I thought I'd give it a whirl!!! I'm sure the whole "family fucking friendly" blurb was probably hidden in the fine print somewhere and I just overlooked it.
So, I hope I did this right. Sometimes, for me, trying to do the right thing turns out to be horribly wrong...it's the stoopidist thing.
Having only recently come out of the blogging closet, I've never done this before so I'm not sure I'm even doing it right. The whole blog party thing is supposed to introduce new blogs and readers to each other. I've seen other blog parties and link exchange things, but most of them expressly want "family friendly" blogs. I never felt it was okay for me to participate since I tend to drop F-bombs on a regular basis. This particular one didn't say they wanted only "family friendly" shit so I thought I'd give it a whirl!!! I'm sure the whole "family fucking friendly" blurb was probably hidden in the fine print somewhere and I just overlooked it.
So, I hope I did this right. Sometimes, for me, trying to do the right thing turns out to be horribly wrong...it's the stoopidist thing.
SHARE YOUR BLOG!
First of all If you reblog this post you help me, I help you and you help your readers, so everyone wins..
There are thousands of good blogs out there and think of all of that we are missing just because they are not visible to us. That’s why I want to encourage you to share your blog with me so that I can read and hopefully many of my other readers as well. This is also a good opportunity for you to get some new readers and I believe in helping one another since we all want to spread our message to the world.
Leave your blog page link as a comment and I will definitely read it. Please be patient because I have some hectic days in front of me. I encourage everyone to read one another blogs to get motivation and thereby also motivate one another.
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