Since the Age of Exploration gave way to colonization of the Americas, folks living in our neck of the woods here in the U.S. of A. have feared travel back to the Old Country.
They feared crossing the ocean on a sailing vessel, a steamer, an ocean liner. It is a big ocean. (Remember the unsinkable Titanic)
They feared flying over the Atlantic in a dirgible (Remember the Hindenburg)
They feared flying over the Atlantic in an airplane because anything can happen.
But mostly they feared trying to get by in a language they could neither speak nor understand. That, and they use different money over there!
In recent years, though, more and more Americans are venturing abroad. Seeing the sights, the art, the scenery, the architecture that Europe is so justly famous for.
But all that will end soon. Because there is something new in Europe to fear.
Vaginas. Yup. Vaginas. Big ones. At least that’s what I read over at Talking Points Memo
A Giant Vagina Attempted to Swallow An American Tourist (Photo AP Photo / Feuerwehr Tübingen via TalkingPointsMemo)
Giant Vagina Sculpture Traps US Student in Germany
An American exchange student who got stuck in a giant vagina sculpture was freed by firefighters in southwestern Germany.
Tuebingen fire service official Markus Mozer said Monday that the young man slipped as he tried to climb into the stone sculpture to pose for a photo.
He couldn’t free himself, so the fire service was called. Four firefighters eased him out of the sculpture.
The incident happened on Friday and the student’s name wasn’t released.
Mozer says no damage was done to the sculpture, created by Peruvian-born artist Fernando de la Jara.
I think this story should give us all pause to fear what can happen when we step out of our comfort zone. Or maybe when we step too far into it. One of the two.
Because everyone enjoyed my last public service announcement, Medical Advice, I figured you might need some advice on, umm, other drug-related issues. You can thank me later.
You guys know that I am a fake medical expert who does drugs. In a safe, legal way only, of course.
But I saw this over at my friend Father Kane’s blog, and I just couldn’t resist sharing it with you. Not that any of you need this advice, but someone you know might be wondering. Someone you don’t know well. Someone you don’t even like. But still, it is important to keep folks safe.
Just today I realized that I really am a good person. Nice. Law-abiding.
It’s true. Because somehow today I did not live out my longest held fantasy. One that I’ve wanted to enact since childhood.
I will admit that I was close to doing it. Possibly closer than I have ever been to saying “What the Hell, I’m gonna do it! — Now! Today!”
I will admit to seriously considering doing it just for the moment when I was struggling to get into the driver’s seat of my car today at lunch time. The moments. OK, it took half of my damn lunch hour.
You see, I had an important errand that I had to take care of.
But some asshole had parked so close to my car that I couldn’t even get my purse into the car from the driver’s side.
Did I deserve to be placed in this, ummm, position? Did I park outside of the white line? No. I was parked just fine, thank you very much. Parked within the designated parking spot. Straight. Did I mention that I was well within the white lines on both sides of my car? Well I was.
I did not deserve to be treated in such a manner.
So when I realized that without liposuction, a detention in a concentration camp or a colonic, there was no way in hell I could get to the driver’s seat from the driver’s side. I was annoyed, I stood there for minutes with my hands on my hips, glad there were no children milling about to increase their vocabulary.
But I had no choice; I had to go. So I walked to the passenger side of the car, to climb into the driver’s seat. I soon realized that the driver’s seat was as close to the steering wheel as vehicularly-possible. I realized that I was also not supposed to exert myself following my surgery.
Did I mention that it was important that I go?
So I struggled to get my body into the driver’s seat without a cerebral hemorrhage.
Somehow, I managed.
The cerebral hemorrhage happened when I carefully backed out of my parking spot, and realized two things:
There were 24.5 parking spots in that section of the parking lot alone, and five floors of empty parking spots on the floors above us; there was no reason for someone to park in such an assholic/inconsiderate manner.
The car sported a special license plate.
Instantly, I started fantasizing. Within a heartbeat, I was transported back in time. Teleported to the very first movie I remember watching.
I was very young. Young enough to be crabby that my brother, Bob, had control of the TV. Annoyed that he was watching a movie instead of cartoons. Annoyed enough to forget that as long as the TV was on I didn’t really care what was showing. (I had, just that morning, been watching the test pattern.)
The movie was brilliant, and I have never watched the test pattern since. It was called
If I Had A Million
It was a compilation of a bunch of sequences where various characters were given a million dollars that they could spend however they chose. It later became the TV series “The Millionnaire” where a wealthy man would give people $1 million as long as they didn’t tell where it came from.
Anyway, in the move If I Had A Million, WC Fields’ lady-friend Mary had just had her new car ruined by what we would today call an “asshole,” but who was then called a “Road Hog.” When WC Fields and Mary Bolandgot their million, they knew just what to do:
They bought a bunch of old clunker cars, and whenever there was a road hog around, they would ram their clunker into him, causing the jerk to totally wreck his own car, along with theirs. But that didn’t matter, because that was why WC and Mary had bought those old clunkers!
They did this repeatedly. And it has been my fondest wish since I was about six years old, to be able to do that to the bad drivers, the folks who cut people off, who weave and edge and drive dangerously.
Revenge would be so sweet!
But in spite of being a wise ass, I am not an asshole. I did not smash the car that parked so inconsiderately. I did not accidentally-on-purpose run my keys along the $60,000 Audi Q7 SUV. I did not even spit in its general direction.
It was especially challenging because I realized that the owner is represents everything I hate. I realized that I’d seen him before, changing lanes discourteously. He (and yes, it was a he) had an overpriced car that he drove like he owned the road. And those specialty license plates?
The Asshole was A Tea Partier! Photo Credit: VA DMV Website
And I realized that I really needed to feel sorry for the dumb rich guy. You see, this genius paid extra taxes to the Commonwealth of Virginia so that he could protest paying taxes.
It was apparent pretty much from the start that today was Monday.
I got up late and everything that followed was just slightly off.
Traffic was awful. I mean, this is DC – traffic is always awful. But today I found myself stopped in places where I usually go. I watched the clock tick past 9:00. Past 9:15.
Luckily for me, though, it wasn’t that big of a deal. When I arrive late, I stay late. It all works out. But still, I’d rather get there and not just hang out, stopped in traffic.
I thought I should call the office and let them know I was on my way. Naturally, I had an ulterior motive.
Because I planned to call Yenny.
Yenny is my friend and colleague at the office. But she has magical powers. Because when I’m stuck in traffic and I call Yenny, traffic begins to move. It was important that I talk to Yenny or I knew I’d never make it to work.
I was at a dead stop. My cell phone was in my pants pocket, but I put my earpiece in place and clicked that bluetooth on. Siri, the magical creature in my iPhone sang a note to let me know that she was listening. That she was ready to help.
In the months that I’ve had my iPhone 5C, I’ve come to rely on Siri for just these situations. She’s great. The Siri who lived in my iPhone 4? An absolute idiot. We were not friends. We had words. Those words rarely had more than four letters. Siri4S would respond “what did I do to deserve that?” Trust me. She deserved it.
But Siri 5C? She is a star. She doesn’t let me down. She helps me. I love Siri5C.
“Call Yenny,” I instructed her politely. I never swear at Siri5C. In fact, she often comments on how polite I am with a casual “don’t mention it,” when I thank her.
Now this morning when I asked her to call Yenny, I realize that I didn’t say “please.” That is because last week when I was in precisely this situation, and I said “Please call Yenny.”
“Should I call the Police?” Siri asked. I didn’t think much of it at the time. She may have been having a rough start to her day. Still, I decided not to say “please” to Siri. I always say “thank you,” though.
What did Siri say to today’s request to “Call Yenny?”
“I don’t see that,” she said. “Did you mean ‘conference call number’? Or would you like to call Gastroenterology Fellow on call.” She only heard the “call” and went from there. This wasn’t an auspicious beginning.
“No,” I said. Clearly, Siri was having a rough start to the day, too. I clicked my Bluetooth off, and clicked it on again immediately.
“Call Yenny … ” I gave Siri Yenny’s last name. On a bad day, Siri will cooperate the second time I ask her to do something. Much like my son.
“Do you want local businesses beginning with “call”
“No, Siri.” I said. I hung up.
Then I had an idea. I figured I’d have Siri call my number at the office – and presto — I’d be connected! So I clicked on again and said “Call Me-“
But I immediately remembered that “Me-Office” goes to my direct line, not the main company line. So I’d be able to leave myself a message that I’d be late — which I already knew. Because, well, you know.
So I interrupted myself. Figured I’d stop before I said something stupid to Siri. But it was too late.
Because what Siri heard was “Siri, call me … never mind.”
”OK,” Siri responded. “From now on, I’ll call you ‘Never Mind.”
Sadly, this may be an improvement. Before he went back to college, Jacob instructed Siri to call me “Queen,” I couldn’t figure out how to change it.
FiftyFourandAHalf 