The politics of the apolitical

Let me start by saying I like you.  I don’t want to argue.  You and I go way back.  Or maybe you sat behind me in 9th grade Social Studies and ignored me.  Either way, I don’t have the energy for a political debate. There are two small children in my house who demand constant attention, a husband who requires occasional attention, and I’m working on launching a writing career.  In other words, I’m too freaking busy to outline the reasons I don’t like Rick Santorum or any other jerk who wants to tell me how to live.

I have become progressively more liberal over the past 20 years.  The change has come from a combination of education, travel, and life experience.  I’m not saying that conservatives are under-educated shut-ins, I’m just saying that life as it applies to me has changed my view of politics and government.  Yes, George W. had a lot to my conservative-aversion, but that’s not important. 

No amount of arguing, name-calling, or finger pointing will change ANYONE’S views.  I see these arguments on Facebook all the time- the posts go on for pages and it’s really a giant waste of time.   Has anyone ever had a Facebook-related epiphany?  Other than ‘Holy cow, I just realized I spend too much time on Facebook’? 

If anyone has changed his/her political or religious views because of someone’s ranting bullshit on a social  networking site, I’d love to meet that person and punch him/her in the ear.  No one can structure your belief system for you, it’s one of the only things that is yours and yours alone.  You parents can’t give you theirs, not matter how hard they try, and this goes double for that asswipe you made out with one time in high school. 

When I occasionally post political quotes, I’m not trying to bait anyone.  I’m merely sharing something I found interesting.  You don’t have to agree.  Hell, you don’t even have to read it.  Because this is America!  None of us has to do anything.  Just don’t waste your time trying to change my views.  What I have now has taken years to build, and your frothing rant will accomplish nothing but a spike in your blood pressure. 

Sofia Vergara’s golden globes

My take on the Golden Globes in Haiku format:

On the red carpet
Angelina looks like a
Red-lipped bitchy snob

Is it only me
Or did her happy mood end
When she stopped cutting?

Charlize is a babe
Her elephantitis dress
Is distracting though

Oh, Nicole Ritchie?
Actor, reality star
It’s not the same, ass

Johnny Depp looked hot
Voice like he had Ambien
We’d all still hit that

Slow-talking contest
With Freeman and Poitier
Makes me feel sleepy

Toss the bell bottoms
Bad as pants, worse as dresses
Lousy trend, ladies

Elle Mc’s bare elbows
The only clue to her age
Wrinkly folds to see

Lots of background noise
Must have been held at Luby’s
Clinging glasses suck

Who’s that handsome guy
With wrestler Stacy Kiebler?
Uh-oh, no ‘thank you’

Sausage lips galore
Like the set of Cougar Town
Wait, was that cancelled?

Peter Dinklage wins!
My friend Dee crushes on him
She’s into shorties

Ad for Drew B flick
Not interested in this
Saving whales bores me

Jessica Lange, star
Could have done a lot better
Than that tired dress

Burnt red hot dog skin
Hoffman, Rob Lowe, and others
Find a new spray tan

More Angelina
Buy a five dollar foot long
Get over yourself

Sofia V’s boobs
The show must be named for them
Get it, Golden Globes?

Jane Fonda looks great
That’s how surgery is done
Give doc’s card to Madge

Almost over when
I notice I’ve seen no films
It’s all strange to me

I saw one all year
Jason Segel has been robbed
Muppets should have won

Lifestyle quiz

Reality, sitcom, or soap opera: what’s your ideal lifestyle?
Not sure what kind of life you want? Take this extremely accurate quiz and you’ll have it all figured out!

1. When your introduce yourself, you:
a. Give your name, your professional background, and number of sex tapes you’ve accidentally starred in.
b. Give your name, but add something fun and quirky for your middle name. Something like ‘Danger’, ‘Booty Shakes’, or ‘Muffin Mama’. After that, trip over a chair and fall down.
c. Give a fake name. You didn’t have your face replaced and finger prints removed for nothing.

2. Someone’s at the door. What do you do?
a. Cue dramatic music as all five of your tiny dogs follow you to answer it.
b. Yell ‘come in’! It’s always a friend, after all, and he or she will most likely fall down on the way in. Laughter all around!
c. Wait for the doorman or maid to get it. You didn’t bust your ass for six months at that ambiguous business venture to open your own door.

3. Oh no! You had too much to drink last night. Today you will:
a. Lay around in your designer jammies and giant sunglasses. Don’t forget the Uggs!
b. Rehash the entire night with your friends and laugh about your shenanigans. Then trip over an empty wine bottle and fall down.
c. Throw that crystal decanter straight in the garbage and head to rehab. You’re obviously an alcoholic.

4. You want to be a singer, but you don’t have any talent. What’s the best way to handle it?
a. Who needs talent when you have boobs? Cut an album immediately! Make a sexy video to go with it. No one wants to watch a girl sing if she’s wearing clothes.
b. Sing and dance like a drunken idiot. We’ll all laugh with you and some cute guy will find your awkwardness attractive. Don’t forget to fall down!
c. “Get the hell out of my life, Rafe! I know you slept with my sister.”

5. You’ve been dumped!
a. Call the camera crew! Look directly at the cameras, show everyone those forced tears and talk about how strong you are.
b. Sit in bed, cry and wait. Lots of friends will show up with booze and chocolate. You’ll all cry and laugh about your romantic missteps. Then you’ll realize friendship is the most important thing of all. Awwww!
c. Try to kill the bastard who broke your heart. Get arrested, then go to a psychiatric hospital for a couple of weeks. You’ll be as good as new in no time, and he’ll beg you back!

6. And why did he dump you?
a. You’re an egotistical asshole who wears way too much make-up.
b. You can’t pay your rent, but somehow afford new dresses and shoes.
c. He found out that you’re his sister. Oopsy!

7. You have a new crush! Who is the lucky guy?
a. “Does this DUI make my butt look big?”
b. Your boss! What will you do? This is the worst thing that could ever happen!
c. Your stepdad- awkward!

8. How many kids do you want?
a. The more the better: You have to build your empire. It’s best to start young so you can be a fun mom who your kids will consider a friend.
b. Two or three, and you can’t wait to see what kind of trouble those little scamps get in to.
c. You’ll start with one. More will pop up over the years. You donated a lot of eggs when you were in college, and you had that bought of amnesia in the mid-90’s. Who knows how many babies you popped out during those days?

9. Great news! You’re in labor.
a. Call the camera crew. That baby will start bringing in money with its entrance into the world. So what if you have to show everyone your laboring vadge? Crotch shots are nothing new for you!
b. Oh no! You’ve lost your car keys and your phone. Your eccentric neighbor will have to take you to the hospital after you give birth in the back seat of his Impala. It will be hilarious!
c. Make sure your hair and make-up are perfect. Don’t worry: the baby will come out perfectly clean and will be in Kindergarten next week.

10. You have a terrible disease! What should you do?
a. Chronicle the entire thing on tape. Include the country in your misery!
b. Make out with the hot doctor and tell your friends. What fun is a disease if it doesn’t help you meet guys?
c. Race to death’s door. After a brief visit to Heaven, you’ll be back on earth and a healthy jerk once again!

You chose mostly a’s: You’re a narcissistic loser. Get ready to sell your soul and complain about the intrusion of your privacy. You’ll have loads of cash to keep you warm once your self-respect is gone.

You chose mostly b’s: Life’s a gas, you silly little slut! Let’s be friends! I love a good laugh track.

You chose mostly c’s: The world is your oyster because you’re a delusional nut-job! Have fun, Crazy McPscyho- no one can take away your mansion and illegitimate children, because they’re all in your head. Count your imaginary billions and wear a ball gown to the grocery store.

A very short story

Happy New Year!!!

I wrote this flash fiction story a couple of years ago.  It’s never been published anywhere, but it did earn honorable mention in an online contest, and my prize was a t-shirt.  I haven’t submitted any witty musings lately, so I’m posting this story for your potential enjoyment. Feel free to send me a t-shirt.


Crazy-assed Marnie Norman didn’t always walk along the sidewalk downtown during lunchtime chewing on aluminum foil.  She used to be normal.  Better than normal, she was a cheerleader.  Believe me, when we were in high school, she was nearly perfect.  That’s when she was still Marnie Smithson.  Nothing like the wild-haired woman she is now, carrying salami in the pockets of the raincoat she wears on hot summer days.

It only takes one bad decision made in one second to change your path from privilege to widow with thirty-seven cats crazy.

Marnie was the girlfriend of Brandon Norman, high school basketball star.  Tall, smart and handsome, Brandon was a once-in-a-lifetime catch.  At least, it felt that way to young Marnie.  Adolescence is like that, everything seems permanent and more important than it really is.

Brandon wanted nothing more than to escape his father’s legacy of farming.  Marnie wanted nothing more than Brandon.  A teenage girl with an obsession is more dangerous than a rabid possum.

The basketball scholarship to State ensured Brandon’s escape.  By graduation night, Marnie’s desperation had becoming a living entity.  She still had another year left in high school and couldn’t imagine her future without him by her side.

She scored a six pack of beer from her older cousin and presented it to Brandon as a graduation gift.  They drove the outskirts town after graduation, drinking beer and talking about college.

“Let’s stop here,” she said to Brandon, “I need to call my mom.”  Except she didn’t call her mom.  She made an anonymous call to change his future.  One hour later, Brandon called his father from jail.

Because of the DWI, he lost his scholarship and settled into the apathy of his farming destiny.  He married Marnie the next summer, years before she started tying her hair with cat-fur covered tube socks.

She ached for Brandon’s baby back then, before she started using old newspapers for bed sheets because she found comfort in the crinkling noise throughout the night.  For some reason, a baby wasn’t meant to be.  Marnie had all the tests run, but Brandon wouldn’t comply.

Though he didn’t know about Marnie’s betrayal, he resented her as though he did.  The years rolled by and Brandon drank more and more.  He eventually got into accidents on purpose so he could score pain pills and take solace in numbness.

Marnie worked as a bank teller and pretended everything was fine. She held out hope that their relationship would return to the high school glory days, long before she started drawing maps to the grocery store on her forearm with mustard.   She tried everything to make him happy, but she would never be his escape from the farm.  She was his tether.

When the paramedics arrived on the scene, Brandon was slumped over at the dining room table, his face in a pool of vomit.  Marnie was crouched in the corner, smoking a cigarette and staring at him in a drug-induced stupor.  She had taken the leftover pills she found on the floor.  After she sobered up, she slipped easily into the role of grieving widow.

The day of Brandon’s funeral, Marnie confided her manipulation to me.  I only told one person, but this is a very small town.  Marnie’s life-long popularity soon disappeared.  She endured glares and grumbling everywhere she went.  She started acting like a lunatic and the stares lost their hateful edge.

One year later, Marnie sent her family Christmas cards stuffed with coupons for toilet paper and tampons.  Her mother dismissed the gesture as thoughtful.  The cards were mailed in May.

Everyone initially believed that her behavior was an act.   Folks said she stole trash bags of hair from a local salon for attention and pity.  After a few months, the cries for attention became more convincing.  The Marnie we all knew would never stop wearing make-up in favor of smearing her eyelids with cigarette ash.

Truth is Marnie didn’t lose her mind from guilt or grief.  She never really saw the fault of her actions.  A pitiful and resented widow was a fate worse than she had imagined.  She lost her mind because she didn’t have the right to feel sorry for herself.