Monthly Archives: July 2011

July 27, 2011 · 0:00

Holy Cow-ch, Batman!

The Virgin Mary appeared on my new sofa, and I’m not at all happy about it.  In fact, she appears all over the couch, repeatedly.  And it changed things.  Like the firmness of the pillows.

We bought the sofa and a matching chair recently, and it was delivered a few days ago, amazingly on Sunday.  So it must be possessed by the Holy Spirit — who else could have arranged a weekend delivery?  At any rate, it is certainly changed from the comfortable couch I sat on for several hours at the store.  That one definitely did not have the Blessed Mother on it.  It was soft and squishy, the sort of couch you are happy to fall into at the end of a long day of cursing about your co-workers and boss.

More significantly, it changed me almost immediately.  I can prove it: I did not say to the delivery men:

“This can’t be the couch I ordered!  Why would I want one that is hard as a rock and has the Virgin Mary all over it?”

Divine intervention is the only thing that would have prevented me from shouting at those guys that they gave me the wrong stuff.

I’ve spent several days trying to figure out just what to do about it.  During that time, I learned that a couple got home from church to find that Jesus’ face appeared on their receipt from Walmart!  I had no idea that they even sold Indulgences at Walmart!  Gosh they have everything there. 

Well, there’s one thing I’m sure of – those folks will get a pretty penny for that receipt – I mean, who wouldn’t want a religious artifact on a Walmart receipt?  It’s the modern day form of Holy Relics!  And I bet that couple won’t part with that receipt/relic  for nothing.

So I figured, what the heck – I’m going to auction off my holy icon on eBay.  I’m sure that someone will want to have the Virgin Mary hanging around in their living room.  Because I sure don’t.  I’m fifty-four-and-a-half.  Give me comfort or give me hell.

Bids will start at $50,000.  That way I’ll be able to replace all the other furniture.  And that will be a blessing.

 

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July 21, 2011 · 0:00

Twinsies

Me and Michele Bachmann are twinsies!  And gosh I’m excited to tell you about it.  Especially since I just learned it was true!  We share something truly special.  It’s the big story in today’s news!

Well, there are the regular, ordinary things we have in common.  We’re both women, we’re both interested in politics, and we both love to pledge allegiance to the flag!  What could be more fun at a slumber party?  What’s more, we both believe in and even PRACTICE marriage.  I would bet the interest on the national debt, though, that my husband isn’t gay.  Now that we’ve all met Michele’s, I don’t think many folks would bet that hers isn’t.  So she has lots of time for sleep-overs.

Anyway, the thing we both have most in common are migraines!  Did you read about hers?  Well I get them too!  And I can tell that they affect us both the same way.  So we all need to feel really bad that we’ve been so hard on her.  I know I do.  Because this diagnosis answers a lot of questions for me.

You see, when I get a migraine, I don’t hide in the dark under a pillow.  I don’t cringe in agony.  I don’t stay home from work, shirking all my responsibilities, waiting for time and pain to pass.

Nope.  I get stupid.

I wish I got “dumb” as in “mute.”  Then I wouldn’t look so, well, dumb.  But I don’t.   I talk even though I develop a really-not-funny-and-don’t-you-dare-laugh-at-me linguistic problem.  It’s called transient aphasia, and sometimes it comes instead of the headache.  The wrong word comes out of my mouth.  And the word that comes out isn’t even close to the one I meant to say.

For example, sometimes I tell my friends that I have a “microwave” when I’m trying to say I have a “migraine.”  They get confused.

Clearly, my new twinsie, Michele, has aphasia, too.  And since we share migraine symptoms — we’ll be BFFs!

Think about it – it must be true.  There are so many examples!  Like when she said that the first shot in the Revolutionary War was fired in “New Hampshire”?  She clearly knew that it was fired in Taxachussetts – she just had a migraine!  And you thought she was dumb.

Or when she was naming Founding Fathers, she knew that she wanted to just say “John Adams” but “Quincy” just jumped right there in the middle.  So everybody thought that she thought that John Quincy Adams was a Founding Father.  Of course she knew he was still a mere lad at the time of the Revolution, she just couldn’t say it right.  And you thought she didn’t know the names of the Founding Fathers.

And when she said that those same Founding Fathers fought tirelessly against slavery.

Clearly, she gets migraines like mine a lot.

Poor Michele.  Not everybody understands her.  Not everybody believes her.  Not everybody stops up their mouths to keep from laughing aloud when she speaks.

But I do.  Well, I do now.

So here is my pledge.  If my new BFF, Michele Bachmann, becomes President, I promise to have lots of sleep-overs at her house.  That way I’ll be sure to be with her when she acts all Commander-In-Chief-y, and needs to order the troops during a nuclear confrontation.  And when she needs to say

“STAND DOWN,”

I’ll make sure she doesn’t accidentally say

“FIRE!”

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July 20, 2011 · 0:00

I’d like to buy some crap, please

I  only buy crap.  It’s not generally my plan, but it happens each and every time I buy something, no matter how hard I try to buy non-crappy products.  Because everything available today is, well, crappy.

I used to be surprised when I’d bring whatever I was purchasing to the cash register.  For some reason, the cashier would ask me if I wanted to buy a “protection plan” that will let me return my purchase, “no questions asked!”

“Hey,” I’d say, “can’t you just sell me one that works?”

Sales people hate me.

Apparently they can’t sell me one that works, because nothing does anymore.

What bothers me more, though, is that all the products we buy are intentionally designed to be crappy.  You know they are.  There’s no other explanation.

When was the last time you could understand what anyone on the other end of a cell phone said?

When was the last time you bought a computer that you didn’t want to smash within nanoseconds because they changed the damn software just enough so that the menus or tabs (or whatever they are calling them this week) are just different enough that you forget what you were writing while looking for the damn things.

When was the last time you bought a product, any product at all, and sat back and relaxed?

For me it was in 1982.  I remember it fondly.  Ma Bell’s telephone monopoly was split up, and customers could no longer “rent” their equipment.  I’d had mine for years by then.  I had to buy out my phones or give them back.  They cost about $25 each, and worked clearly for years.  They’d still be working now, if telephone lines hadn’t become digitized — excuse me,  “improved” — so that the old products don’t work with the new.

I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy now as I remember fondly when I could actually distinguish the gender of the person on the other end of the line.

How many things do you own that work (or work well) 2 years after you buy them?  Not my TV, my telephone.  Not even my new toilet.  And that’s pretty shitty, if you ask me.

Why do we put up with it?

Why is it acceptable that the main dialog on any phone call is “What?” “ Whaddya say?”  and “Are you still there?”

Why is it acceptable that if you buy a camera that isn’t quite what you were looking for, that the store gets to charge a 15% re-shelving fee?

Why should I need to be protected from my purchases?

At this point, I’m ready to just flush this crap down the toilet, purchase protection plans and all.  The only trouble is, my toilet is new, too.  And its protection plan runs out tomorrow.

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July 11, 2011 · 0:00

Don’t Tread on Me

Updated

A few weeks ago, Stephanie, a Danish woman I met at a party, arrogantly announced that American laws were all stupid.  She demanded that I explain to her why our laws allow anyone in the U.S. to own and use guns.

I opened my mouth repeatedly to smush her argument, to belittle her point, and to quote from memory out of the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution in case she didn’t know that it was an infallible document.  But only pitiful little squeaks came out.  Occasionally, a feeble “but…” or “I don’t…” slipped out, but my normal ability to defend American culture to Europeans failed me.

Worse yet, I couldn’t even begin to explain why U.S. gun laws are great.  Because U.S. gun laws baffle me.  Shouldn’t all thoughtful, law abiding people agree with me that loaded guns should not be just carried around in case you get pissed off or you decide you have one too many toes?  Guns should especially be kept out of bars, political rallies and churches, places that don’t always bring out the best in folks. 

In fact, it was hard not to say to Stephanie, “Our gun laws are completely inexplicable and incredibly stupid.” 

Stupid people — even certifiably crazy people — can buy guns legally, with fewer identification demands than a 20 year old buying a 6-pack.  It’s especially easy here in Virginia, where I live.  After talking with Stephanie, I looked up a few facts.  I discovered that guns bought in Virginia are subsequently used in the highest percentage of crimes.  Go Virginia!!!  Yahoo!!!  Doesn’t that just make you want to whistle Dixie?

The study was done by The Americans for Gun Safety Foundation shortly after a crazy person at Virginia Tech used legally purchased guns to shoot 32 students and professors and then himself.

I’m actually glad that I don’t have my own arsenal.  I do tend to get pissed off.  Remind me not to stick a Smith and Wesson into the glove compartment, because I get pretty annoyed at each and every other driver on the road.  Have you noticed what jerks they are?  The lane hoppers, the texters, the adults turning around to rough up grandma.  They should all be shot, or smacked, or, when push comes to shove, pushed and shoved.  If I’d “packed heat” on my recent drive to and from Maine, I’m pretty sure I’d have used my guns repeatedly, on the drivers who cut me off, the ones who tailgated, or on those damn Tea Party folks who sport a “Don’t Tread on Me” bumper sticker on their car.  Because it makes me especially apoplectic to see folks who don’t think taxes are necessary driving their crappy, environmentally hazardous cars on roads built by U.S. taxpayers.

Now that I’ve found my voice, I need to get in touch with Stephanie, again.  Because she is under the misimpression that our gun laws make it so guns are the only way we Americans can abuse each other.  And I want to let her know that we have other options.  Automobiles, for instance.  And who knows, the one I drive might just accidentally ram the back of that ’95 Buick with the “Bachmann for President” sticker on the left side of the bumper.

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July 5, 2011 · 0:00

What can I bring?

From now on, anyone coming to stay at my house needs to bring power tools.

My brother, Fred, and his wife, Laura, just left after a long weekend spent hiking, kayaking, cooking, eating, drinking and fixing stuff.  They can come back anytime they like, wherever I am.

When I visit friends or families, I rarely fix stuff.  Sometimes I break stuff, but no one asks me to repair broken plumbing, hang pictures, fix cabinets or anything that involves a tool.

My dad was the ultimate fix it guy.  He tore apart our childhood home from stem to stern and rebuilt everything.  Dad could do carpentry, wiring, painting, roofing.  All the manly stuff.  Me?  Well, I got to be very good at holding ladders and handing up brushes and hammers.  I know the difference between regular and Phillips head screwdrivers, know a nut from a bolt and can gage the correct lock nut to go with any particular screw.

It’s just when I try to do something useful with these skills that it gets expensive.

The same goes for John.  I prefer that he never open up the tool drawer, not that it’s organized enough to enable anyone to actually find the tool they’re looking for.

But with John “fixing stuff,” the results are either costly or a permanent reminder that John’s gifts are not of  the practical sort.  Ask my wonderfully brilliant (truly) husband to explain the practical physics behind hammering in a nail, and he can provide it in mind numbing detail.  Ask him to actually hammer in a nail, and the result is an eyesore that stays in our house until we get it ready to sell it.  That’s when we hire someone at great expense to fix the broken things we have been looking at since five days after moving in when we originally tried to fix them.

That’s also when we get rid of the hideously ugly things like the fake African violets ensconced in the bathroom wall in a house we bought in 1989.  We noticed how ugly they were when we decided to buy the place, but figured we’d get rid of them before too long.  And we did, six years later when we sold the house.

So after my brother’s visit, I’m thinking of requiring that all guests fix something.  I promise wonderful meals and great conversation (“Hey, are you interested in the theories of physics?” I’ll ask.)  It seems like a great deal to me.

Actually, Fred is not the first such savior, just this weekend’s.

John’s niece Heather wisely married a man who can fix everything, and they just can’t come often enough.  Clinton emails me before he comes, asking for a list of chores.  For a few years I was too shy to impose.  But he really enjoys the wonder with which we look at him after he repairs something that John and I have tried unsuccessfully to fix every weekend since the start of the second Bush Administration.

Last time they visited, Clinton rushed past our outstretched welcoming arms to examine the kitchen cabinet that refused to open just because we bought a new refrigerator.  I hadn’t finished offering him, Heather, and their daughters Lydia and Alex drinks before Clinton had fixed that problem and was checking his printout to see what was next.

Heather and Clinton have an open invitation to stay for as long as they like.  Fred and Laura do too.

But it occurred to me that there are a lot of chores to be done around here and these folks just don’t visit often enough.  And since I know that John and I will never do them in a way that they won’t need to be redone, I have come up with a plan.

We’re going to have lots of company in the next few months, starting with you.  And when you ask “what can I bring?”  Don’t be surprised when I suggest a power saw.

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