Allow me a brief commentary about my last blog. I had a conversation about Monday’s offering that went something like this:
“Yes, imaginary voice in my head?”
“Are you sad that Monday’s blog got ZERO likes? I mean, people apparently loved your fictional blogs, but no one seems to care about your political rant. Does that upset you?”
“Why no, imaginary voice which sounds a lot like my judgmental mother, it doesn’t bother me in the least.”
“Because sometimes I write blogs just for my own amusement… or for the amusement of certain readers who don’t necessarily ‘like’ an entry but tell me they enjoyed it. You know… by actually telling me in the real world that they liked it.”
“Oh. You’ll never become famous that way.”
“Life sucks, doesn’t it?”
So to any readers who stumbled upon my blog during my three-part installment of love-filled fiction and may feel like Monday’s blog was a shocking departure from my creative vomiting, get used to it. My topics are often randomly chosen based on which part of a sacrificial chicken sticks to the wall. But don’t worry, animal rights whiners, I use a KFC bucket of chicken… not a real chicken that’s hacked into bits and… oh. Nevermind.
Which leads me into today’s discussion: things I think that aren’t really important.
For example, I just realized today that I’m one girlfriend/FWB named Cindy, Carrie or Christina away from being able to say the sentence, “I’m having sex with AC/DC.” Which made me think that I’m currently dating a “CAD,” but since there are three lovely ladies (Hi Cheri, Aurora, and Deni!) it doesn’t make much sense to have a singular acronym. So I could also start seeing a Stephanie, Suzanne, or Simone to make it a plural. There’s also the possibility of dating a Lisa, Layla, or Lily so I can be “CLAD” in beautiful women. If I pick up a Helen, Heather, or Holly, then I’ll be seeing four women named “CHAD.” Which either means that those four women would turn me gay or I have a fascination with punch-card voting ballots.
Next observation: I was walking through Mega-Blue-Superstore when one of the employees gave me a little flirty hello. Not your typical, “Good morning, sir. Need any help?” kind of hello, but a seriously flirty, “Hi there” where I could almost hear the winky emoji at the end. So I smiled back and as she walked by I turned my head to check out her ass (don’t judge me, it’s Sir Mix-a-lot’s fault). Hanging from her belt loop right above her butt (which was nice…) was a shirt hanger. Now logically, even though I’ve never seen another woman do this, I understand she probably put it there because she needed her hands free and didn’t want to lose the hanger. But my thoughts went…
She could hang a little curtain on that hanger. Her ass could be some kind of weird stage for a puppet show… or it could just be a big tease like, “Hey boys… you can’t see my pretty ass until the curtain comes up.” Would it be weird if she put some baby clothes on that hanger as she walked around? Like that baby sleepwear that says, “Dino-Snore.” How creepy would that be?
Later in my shopping circle, I heard a gentleman in a motorized cart tell a cute three-year old girl in a shopping cart, “You better hold on there, little one. You’ve got a lady driving that cart and they can be terrible drivers.” To which the mother just chuckled and told her daughter, “Yep. Mommy’s crazy.” Now, I’m not going to go all “femi-nazi” and proclaim that sexism is alive and well because one man who looked to be 120 years old made a bad joke about women drivers. Those jokes have been around for decades because there’s a small amount of truth to them. It’s the same as jokes about guys being embarrassed to buy feminine products (look – I can’t even type tamp… see?) or teenagers touching themselves constantly. Truth is funny.
I’m also not going to criticize the mom for just playing along with the bad joke. Maybe she really thinks women are worse drivers than men, or maybe she just wanted to get away from the motorized unwrapped mummy as painlessly as possible – not my place to judge. But what I did think was…
It’s so fucking unfair that old people can get away with that shit and I can’t. If I had made that same joke, I’d either have gotten the “femi-nazi” response of how dare I assume all women are blah blah blah or I would have gotten the passive-aggressive response of a little giggle and then the mom zooming to the manager to complain about the asshole in the produce aisle. Plus, I’m not “allowed” to engage with small children I don’t know. Do you know how many times parents have looked at me with horror or anger for just noticing their child looking at me and responding with, “Hello there, little one?” And I’m in the education field as a career! But… since I’m in my mid-life years and have a chin beard with mustache, I fit the stereotype of a child molester.
And that’s why I hate old people. Fuckers get away with everything. Plus… “Socialism!”