Friday, August 29, 2008

McCain picked a vagina, dumbass.

In what must seem to be an attempt to steal the wind from the Democratic Party’s momentum, McCain announced his pick for the vice-presidency. Yes, dear reader*, Alaska governor Sarah Palin. I mean, are the republicans even attempting to hide the lengths to which they’ll go to retain the presidency? Governor Palin was obviously picked because of her gender. For those who may gasp at the audacity of that statement, please tell me why McCain et al. would choose as his vice president a 44 year-old with two years of gubernatorial experience (before that, a mayor of a teeeeeeny town in Alaska), being investigated for abuse of power claims? It’s because she’s a woman! Can you imagine the conversation leading to her selection?

McCain and his cronies to aide: Hey boy! Did you compile that list yet?
Aide: Not yet sir, but I did manage to narrow it down to…
McCain (interrupting): How complicated is this?! So long as she has a hole, put her on the list!
Rove: Oh and make sure she was born with it. We definitely don’t need that PR disaster right now.

McCain picked Palin to reel in that desperately needed female voting contingent, from independents to the die-hard Hilary fans. And dare I say he may have calculated correctly. I thought that the past 8 years have weeded out those moronic voters who proudly voted for Bushie boy because, you know, they can see themselves swigging a beer with him. Alas, I was wrong. Instead, Hilary’s historic run managed to create a new breed of morons who plan to vote for Governor Palin because she’s a woman. Well! In that case…

To be frank, I want to like Palin. This is despite the reality that she screams hypocrisy in the face of the McCain “No Experience” offense, is pro-oil, is being investigated for abusing her power for a personal vendetta, supports Bush’s economic and military policies, is anti-gay, anti-abortion and on board to have Roe v. Wade overturned. Hell, chick is damn near satanic. But her political history shows her choosing her ethics and morals over political advancement. She’s called bullshit in the face of republican corruption and she actually seems to care about the financial well-being of her constituents, using herself as an example. I love her non-political background, and dagnabit, I love that her selection probably set off apoplexies among the republican old-guard.

Disregarding the transparency of his decision, for the reasons listed herein and elsewhere, I tip my hat to Senator McCain. For come November, we shall have a woman or a minority group member in the white house and THAT is one hell of a step barrier to break down.

(*The “reader” singular is intentional. After the sparse posts of the past few weeks, even I stopped reading the blog.)

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Apparently anything CAN be porn.

I used to work at a law firm that was notorious for the constant stream of sexual harassment suits (among others) filed against the attorneys and upper management. So much so that the firm’s “sensitivity” committee mandated all attorneys to attend sensitivity trainings at least once a month, complete with cheapie eighties videos set to soundtracks that would have done any ’70s era porno proud.

I must confess, however, that I fell prey to the charm of my colleagues and spent the first two months confused by the seemingly endless charges of lewd and lascivious conduct lobbied against the male associates and partners. That is, until I stumbled into the following conversation after yet another session of sensitivity training:

Male Associate A: You know, I was so disappointed by that video.

Male Associate B: In what way?

Male Associate A: I thought there would be a lot more, you know, grabbing and rubbing and you know, stuff.

(Guffaws from the guys… Someone says “man, oh man…” An embarrassingly frat-boy lite high-five takes place across the room.)

Me: Male Associate A, you know that video was NOT meant to be porn?

Male Associate A: I know, but I was just hoping.

(More raucous laughter. Talk about witnessing first hand the repercussions of repetitive in-breeding.)

Me: Did you get anything from the video?

Male Associate B (actually rolling his eyes at me!): Oh calm down, Me. The video was boring and dry as sh*t, but we’re not stupid. We could at least figure out that whatever wasn’t shown in the video is okay to do.

Me: No, I don’t think… You know what? Never mind.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

The Mojave Experiment

This is so stupid I don't have the energy to write anything else. Oh wait I I don't.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Just don't take communion from them

This Sunday, my priest, back from the Lambeth conference, gave some metaphorical sermon about the church being a ship and how everyone should be on the ship as we sail to heaven (translate: love the gays). This of course triggered an unprecedented seven-lectures-per-hour series of rants from my dad, mostly about the Episcopal Church and how they're shoving homosexuality down his throat. During one of his rants, he brought up a rather interesting point: One way Africa was successfully colonized was through missionaries who introduced a religion that was—according to them—superior to the native religions. This resulted in African converts, which in turn made it easier for the colonizing European nations to take over—umassimilate into the communities. From my dad: "Now fancy if the Africans had known that this great religion encouraged homosexuality. There would be zero converts and I doubt things would be the same as it is now." As I said earlier, interesting, but I hate what-ifs. (Including the big what-if of the day: Would Hills have won if the Edwards adulterous affair had come up earlier? Honestly, who cares? It's pointless speculation.)

So anyway, here are my thoughts on the Episcopal Church, our gay bishop, and our position on homosexuality: The Episcopal/ Anglican Church arose out of the Church of England, which was built on a shaky foundation. Namely, it was formed because some dude wanted to get a f*cking divorce. So rather hypocritical grounds for its members to later claim some moral superiority to a gay bishop. On top of that, if the bible does state explicitly that homosexuality is a sin, how is it we have always turned a blind eye towards all those bible denounced sins, including priests who divorce as freely as if the bible didn't say divorce was a no-no?

I truly don't get it. It's that double standard that bugs.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Did Mad Men just jump the shark?

Or nuke the fridge, whichever your preference.

Donald Draper is like the coolest character on television, right? So on yesterday’s Mad Men, to get a female manager of a client to do as he says, he slips his hand under her skirt, says some threatening words and of course, in the next scene she’s obeying. Wha? Who writes this crap? Why do men (and female Cosmo writers) believe there’s some button on a woman that if pressed makes her power down and lose control, totally at your will and command? What is this, the nineties? No seriously: The nineties was the most ridiculous decade. You had a thousand vampire movies (bite her neck, she totally loves it), the movie Fear, and of course, the hundred romance books where the heroine is constantly about to be raped by the dashing earl because he thinks she’s not a virgin, therefore spoiled goods. Until he finds out she is, then he cares about not taking her “maidenhood”. Spoiler: They always live happily ever after.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Adventures in customer service

8a.m this past Friday, after a sleep deprived night where my gay boyfriend and I burned the midnight candle to watch Tivoed episodes of Project Runway and So You Think You Can Dance, I stumble into my neighborhood Stabby's, where I'm subjected to a conversation with a barrista who had yet to have his required shot of caffeine.

"What can I get you ma'am?" (Sigh… One sleepless night of debauchery and apparently my appearance qualifies me as a ma'am.)

"Grande Tazo Awake, one tea bag." I say, in reference to my back-up black tea fix, since I had forgotten my preferred tea addiction at home.


(For a cup of tea? This is New York, but sheesh.)

"How much is an entire box?"

"The entire box of 24? $4.95."

"Starbucks is charging me almost $3 for one sachet of tea in a paper cup but the entire box of 24 is only $4.95? Yeah, I'll take the box."

"The box and the brewed cup of tea?"

"Just the box."

My barrista actually says (no artistic license taken), "Ma'am, you should get the cup and not the box, because you do know if you get the box and not the cup, the tea will not be in a cup."

Blink, blink… blink.

"That's okay, I'll survive."

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Break My Heart

Rest in Peace.

October 5, 1957 - August 9, 2008

Friday, August 1, 2008

Humanity is overrated anyway

Over lunch, discussing abortion with a coworker:

oogie: Hell, I’m pro death

B: Lol. If it would inconvenience my life, I wouldn’t even hesitate—

oogie: Yeah. I’d do that shit between lunch and our departmental meeting.

B: No, a spa treatment. You’d treat yourself to a spa visit afterwards because it was such a trying experience—

oogie: Yeah! And then I’d ring you up, “Darling, you will not believe the day I’m having…”

B: lol!

oogie: LOL!


B: You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an abortion doctor when I grew up.


I think as you get older and have more life experience, you become a more sensitive and considerate human being. However, I’m feeling old today, hence the above posting to counteract the aging process. Happy Weekend!

*Rolling on floor laughing my ass off without rolling on floor

The lingering effects of that god-awful metrosexual craze

A beach, two guys, a girl, six empty beer bottles and a beer-soaked debate on the birds and the bees. During the conversation, A, a rather attractive guy in his early thirties, announces that he shaves his chest hair because women are appalled by hairy males. In response, I struggle to contradict what I consider such preposterous belief, only to be shot down from all angles.

Upon returning home, I poll quite a few female friends, only to discover that my preference for the non-metrosexual male is firmly in the minority. In fact, it seems that I relaxed a bit prematurely when I assumed gone were the days of spa trips seated next to a thirty-something year old man getting his nails polished in a shade oxymoronically named “masculine peach.” Or that the days were over where I would date men with more beauty products than a Long Island Walgreens. Or days of dating men who ordered salads for dinner (dressing on the side) accompanied with explanations such as “I’m watching.”

Call me crazy, but on any given day, I’d take a rugged, meat and potatoes eating, hairy beast of a male with nails bitten down to the quick, over this:

And I mean it- call me crazy.