Running the Gauntlet

You know when you run out of something vital to the happiness and well-being of your sanity and that of your family? You know, stuff like "feminine products," Midol and vodka. So, you run up to the store (or drive, your choice) and head towards the front door when you stop short because you have spotted THEM. The solicitors who park themselves right at the door so they can accost customers both coming and going. And of course they're usually standing right next to or in front of the big honkin' sign that says something along the lines of "Acme Stores Does Not Condone, Support or Approve of Solicitation of its Customers by Political, Charitable and/or Religious Organizations." You gotta have a thick hide to blatantly accost people in front of the sign asking you not to do it.

Every time I go to the store, I have to run the gauntlet and it really irritates the crap outta me (so what's new, Mrs. Raging Case of PMS?). There's the guy who always has some sort of petition he's thrusting into your face while he blows smoke from the cigarettes he chain smokes. Oh yeah, dude, way to get people to stop and listen to you. And SPEAKING of cigarette smoke, don't even get me started on employees who take their smoke breaks 6 inches past the front door so all the customers have to run the gauntlet of clouds of carcinogenic smoke. Lovely.

Then there's the people who set up their little TV tray table with a painted coffee can and hand-printed signs and photos that you can't *quite* make out as to what they are photos of. As far as I know, it's photos of them with a crack pipe and they're soliciting money to further their habit. Especially when these people look like they've been awake for a week and are scratching and clawing at their faces.

Or the guy in the custom motorized wheelchair and he's all blinged out (I'm cringing that I used the word "bling" but it fits) and wearing sneakers that cost triple digits and he's parked at the door asking people for money. Um, no.

One day, I was running (yes, running) into Target to get some feminine products only to have this PERSON block my path because he wanted to talk to me about some political conspiracy crap. Target is real good about kicking these people off their property but this guy felt the rules didn't apply to HIM. Now I'm a non-confrontational sort of person but this guy won't let me pass and I'm already postal and I say I'm not interested get outta my way and he starts spouting off and we're doing the dance where I'm trying to move past him and he continues to block and I finally say, loudly, "Dude I am here to buy some Goddamn Tampax and if you don't move your ass right now I WILL drop you with one punch! Now let me get my Goddamn Tampax!" Perhaps it was the way my hair was standing on end or the wild "bitch is on the rag" look in my eye but he slithered away pretty darn quick.

I paid for my Tampax and as I was walking out the door, Mr. Blocker was being hustled off by Long Beach's Finest. He was protesting about Freedom of Speech and Civil Rights yadda yadda blah blah blah until he saw me walk out and damned if he didn't shut his piehole and meekly walk away.

Yeah, that's right Scooter, NEVER come between a menstruating woman and her Tampax. You WILL lose.

Postscript:

2 hours after I wrote the above, I go out to my mailbox and there was a package with my name on it. And get this, it was a box of free samples of Feminine Products from the Nice Folks at Kimberly-Clark! I go, "No way!" and the box of tampons and napkins go "Way!"

How funny is THAT? BTW, I still haven't had a Facebook Friend request from George Parros but I'm still hoping.

Here, kvetch!

The last coupla days, I've had about as much energy and giddy-up as a 3 toed sloth. And I've had a hankering for the white cake with buttercream icing that my local Stater Bros supermarket sells by the slice. And I'm getting my panties in a twist over a rule change for work points in the racing series I'm involved in. What this all means is that Auntie Flo from Redlands should be arriving any day now via the Red Ball Express and the Crimson Tide is rolling in. How many more euphemisms can I use to say that I've got a raging case of PMS?

I suppose I should be thankful that I haven't started menopause yet but every time I hear that commercial where they tell you to "Have a Happy Period" I want to pop a cap into whoever came up with that slogan. The only time someone should be happy to get their period is when it shows up after having drunken unprotected sex with some random nameless hook-up. You know the fucknuckle who came up with THAT slogan is a man who has NEVER experienced the cramps, bloating, 'roid-like rage and all the other fun stuff that comes with it. It's not called, "The Curse" because it makes women feel happy. Unless of course it comes after having the unprotected drunken sex in which case we aren't so much as "happy" as we are thinking, "Oh, thank GOD I'm not knocked up!"

So. Anyways. Today is the anniversary of 9-11. A day that will live on in infamy. Just like when JFK was shot and when Michael Jackson died, everyone remembers where they were on September 11, 2001. I was sound asleep in bed when the phone rang. A friend was babbling that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center so I got up and turned on the TV, just in time to see the second jetliner hit. I was glued to the TV, watching in horror as people started jumping to their deaths instead of waiting to burn to death when they realized they weren't getting out alive. I'm getting goosebumps just remembering.

One of the things that made the most impression on me during that awful time was when all flights were grounded. Living in the flight path of LAX, Long Beach airport and the military air station in Los Alamitos, I'm used to hearing every aircraft from small private planes to helicopters to 747's to F-18's. The silence was deafening.

Eight years later, I just noticed that I haven't heard any aircraft for the last couple of hours. I don't know if this is because there just aren't any flights at the moment heading into Long Beach which is a FABULOUS airport to fly in and out of by the way or if I just tune them out or what. It just seems kind of weird I don't hear any of the billion JetBlue flights that fly past my house daily. Huh. Odd.

Ok, I gotta go get some Stater Bros supermarket white cake with buttercream icing.

God Bless America!

Fun (or Not) With Facebook

Like a jillion other people, I too have signed up with Facebook. Which is supposed to be the adult version of MySpace. It's cool, I've been able to keep in touch with relatives who I'm only able to see once a year (if that) and I've found friends I haven't talked to or heard from since high school. In fact, shortly after I included this picture on an earlier blog post:

My date from that photo contacted me via Facebook. What a co-inky-dink! Hey! I have an idea! If I post a photo of George Parros would I get a Facebook Friend request from him? Let's find out, shall we? Cuz I love me some George!

So anyways, Facebook is nice. But I just don't get all the games and chain-mail type of crap that I'm constantly being flooded with. This week alone, I've received the following:
- "Are You a Vampire of Werewolf?" Neither. I'm annoyed.
- "Kiss the one you wouldn't mind snoging (sic)" Hello? It's spelled "snogging." With double G's. Rhymes with "blogging."
- "Someone sent you A Blue Rose." What the hell is a Blue Rose and why is it Blue and not Red or Pink or any of the other natural rose colors?
- "Someone sent you a Mommie Award." So, what's my award? It better be my very own Arcade Skee-ball game complete with prize tickets or I'm gonna be pissed.
- "Someone sent you a Supreme Gagball Deluxe!" Ok, is this a passive/aggressive way of telling me I have a big mouth and it needs to be gagged? Bite me.
- "Someone sent you a Mygift2U" Ok, if there's one thing I hate it's "text speak." Especially when it's not in a text. So Stop It. C U L8tr.
- "Someone sent you a Jack & Coke!" I don't drink Jack & Coke in the 3D world and I'm not going to start in the internet world.
- "Someone sent you a hug and a kiss!" Aw, how nice. Now stop.
- "What beer are you?" What, do I LOOK like I'm shaped like a bottle or can? Are you trying to tell me I'm all hopped up? Get it? "Hopped up" because there's hops in beer? Never mind.

And each of these application requests demands that you then forward them on to 10 to 25 of your Facebook friends! What, has Facebook become one giant chain letter? I hate chain letters of any kind and refuse to forward them on. I forward them straight to the trash. Yes people, I'm the Chainbreaker! I'm the reason the world has such bad luck because I. BROKE. THE. CHAIN!

And what's with all the games? Until I figured out how to block the applications, my profile page was nothing but people going on and on about Farmville, Yoville, Whoville, What EVERville. I get people asking me to join their teams for Fashion Wars, Mafia Wars, Star Wars. Play this game, play that game, join this team, farm, family, village.

But the best, really, had to be when someone sent this to me "So-and-so is a fan of Sarah Palin! Why don't you become a fan of Sarah Palin, too!" Ok, last night TheManTheMyth was watching a History Channel show about Nostradamus and his prediction of the third Anti-Christ but nobody knows who the third Anti-Christ is. Well, I do. It's Sarah Palin. Seriously. And I value my soul way too much to become Facebook Friends with the Anti-Christ.

So George? Friend me, baby! I promise I won't forward any of those stupid applications to you.

Kthxbye!

Bong Hits for Jesus

Don't know if you've been paying attention but today was the President's Evil Indoctrination Speech. You know, the one that was "allegedly" about education and staying in school instead of dropping out to become the next contestant on "Rock of Love" but was actually a subliminal message to convert our nation's children to Commie Pinko Socialism. For those of you who aren't sure, there is a hefty dose of sarcasm in the above sentences.

I'm still aghast and my flabber is more than gasted at the hysterical hysterics of people over this speech. My local news station (KTLA Morning News...LOVE Them!) showed a clip of some Anne Coulter look-alike, complete with the stringy over bleached hair and thick, black smeared eyeliner that makes her look like a tweaker stripper. Which is what she probably is and explains her insane and psychotic rantings. Anyway, the newsclip shows this woman clutching her face like she was the model for Edvard Munch's "The Scream" and sobbing hysterically because her children were in danger of being indoctrinated! Seriously, that's the word she used. TheManTheMyth and I looked at each other in utter disbelief and he said, "with a mother like that, she's gonna have some fucked up kids." Ya think?

So I watch the speech. And waited and waited for the subliminal message. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a hot dog and soda dancing across the screen, planting the idea to go to the snack bar. But waddya know, there WASN'T anything controversial or dangerous in that speech. No subliminal messages, not even if you played the speech backwards. Not even a "Paul is Dead" was snuck in there.

Of course you can't argue with extremists any more than you can argue with a drunk and try to make them see reason. Believe me, I know. It cannot be done. And these people all believe the Gospel according to that fat drug addict Rush Limbaugh and will continue to wave their pitchforks and torches to prevent their children from being "indoctrinated." God forbid their children be exposed to different views. That must not happen in public school!

I found out this morning, via a Twitter (Tweet?) from the local Seal Beach rag of all places, that my kids school district refused to show the speech live. Instead, the teachers and administrators would tape the speech and after review, would decide if it was appropriate to be shown to the students.

Los Alamitos School District should be very happy I don't come over there and bitchslap them for deciding that a speech from the President of the United States that is aimed at promoting education must be censored from the students. Am I the only one who sees the irony (the opposite of wrinkly) here? You'd think this HAD to be a joke! But, sadly, it's not.

Cheezus Christ on a Cracker, these people need Bong Hits for Jesus.

Or an enema.