Stretch Life Out

There’s something about the world today that inspires one to call others a dumb-ass.  Mostly, I am talking about the medical profession (at least today, tomorrow it could be lawyers).  It seems that nowadays every time I go to a doctor about some paranoia problem or pnemonia, I have to fill out some dumb form I’ve filled out already.  It makes me wonder if the computers in the office are just for show.  What the hell is on there?  Is it just a fancy box to keep schedules in that they screw up anyway?  These supposed “smart” people have asked me the same old questions since my birth:

Smart person:  “What’s your date of birth?”

Me:  “Are you a dumb-ass?”

Smart person:  “Do you have a family history of colon cancer?”

Me:  “How ’bout I stick my foot up your ass?”

Smart person:  “I make more money by wasting your time.”

Me:  “Do you even know my name?”

As you can see, these people don’t know and don’t care who I am or what my problem is.  Just for the record I was recently at the doctor for a minor issue that took thirty seconds to dismiss after a half hour of waiting.  Everytime they ask me about my family history there’s an uncomfortable pause like I should feel ashamed or something, and you’d think that by now their fancy computers would have updated and realized it’s a pointless question.  As you may have guessed, I was adopted.  I don’t know where I come from, I don’t know if anybody ever suffered from anything, and I certainly don’t think they’d want a long painful tube intruding in undesirable areas.  What I do know is that smart people are dumb-asses. 

Sometimes the white coat people get a little curious:  “Mm, you’re adopted, huh?  What’s that like?”  Mm, what do you mean?  What’s it like looking at people’s butts all day?  What’s it like stealing money from the sick all day?  You should have been a bank robber.  I think you missed your calling.  White coat guy:  “So being adopted is no big deal and perfectly okay.  I get it.”  Me, the dumb sarcastic patient:  “Sure, it’s liberating not knowing you could face certain death at any moment.”  You know exactly what you’re in store for and that sounds kinda boring.  You’re boring, quit boring people!

There isn’t really a point to all this.  I just wish the “smart” people would look at my file (and I guess yours too) so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself so much.  I do that enough, and it really annoys my husband.  That doesn’t stop me though.  I just want to make sure I’m being heard.  Unfortunately, the nurse who was desparately trying to get up my butt (which was no where near why I was at the doctor), is deaf.  I don’t know how much thirty seconds costs, I haven’t received the bill yet.  Maybe I should go to medical school.  I want to be able to charge for thirty seconds.  Mm, maybe that’s why those doctors are so smart.  Plus sometimes they save lives, I guess.

I am adopted and I approve this message.

I find paying for parking at amusement parks, state fairs, festivals etc. to be a complete scam and waste of my time and husband’s hard earned money.  On a recent mini getaway trip to Great America we had to pay to get into the parking lot and park our rented sweet-ass mini-van.  It costs $25 for “extra special” parking which to this day I don’t understand ’cause we parked right in front of the gates to get in to the actual over-priced park and not once did I see a flag let alone six of them.  Why does it cost money to spend money? We’re already planning to pay for shamful games no one ever wins at, stupid $10 dollar shot glass souvenirs (in fact there is no booze to ease the pain), $3 bottled water, and a $60 lunch which I had to steal some food from my kids because I couldn’t afford to eat.  Lunch was a total waste because the bite of my daughter’s burger I did have tasted like grounded up dog food minus the vitamins and seasonings.  Yes, I’m sure I know what dog food taste like ’cause I have a dog and can smell the flavors from his butt.  This is what resembled my daughter’s burger.  Not fair.  We had to pay just to park in this place?

Another problem with paying for parking (there are many) is that if I get my hand stamped so I could get back in the same day and had to leave the black hole of a park that took all my money say to get medication I left at the hotel, I would have to pay fo parking all over again.  Or if I leave and come back the next day I still have to pay to park there.  Why?  I need someone to explain this to me.  Is the fee to maintain the parking lot?  What’s to maintain?  As far as I can tell the parking lot is exactly the same as it was twenty years ago.  I know now that the money ain’t going towards the food.  I think next year we should get a hotel nearby and just endanger our family’s lives by walking on over and spitting at the parking lot attendent which I saw some people doing, unfortunately minus the spitting and rated TV-MA profanity I envision in my happiest of dreams.

I pay my taxes, to my detriment, I pay for gas ($25 can fill up a fourth of a tank), I pay for tainted tomatoes, I pay for electricity (about half my mortgage), I pay and pay and then I pay some more.  Why not make me pay to park at the mall, or grocery store, or at my kids school, or even pay to park to buy a car?  These are all paces we spend money so why not make life worse so that all the country is pissed about something other than the President or oil barrel prices or lids up on toilet seats? 

Everywhere I go this summer I have no choice but to pay up, but I see no signs at these places that says I can’t call you people some choice words.  I have school supplies and clothes and gasoine to save up for.  I’m tired of people trying to stick me, I want to stick it to the man, but unfortunately I can’t afford it.  Thanks mister parking attendent.  Go f*** yourself.

My husband and I are huge “Terminator” fans so naturally we were curious about the new “Sara Conner Chronicles” hour long show that has a lot to do with a teenage boy, a hot robot, mom, and time travel that makes no sense.  It’s way cool . . . by the fifth episode.  We were half way through when it dawned on me:  you know, with a teenage boy in the house and a hot teenage girl robot that does anything you command, you’d think he’d be taking advantage of the situation, but alas, network television doesn’t allow robot porn, not even on FOX.  It’s okay if the robot kills people, though, and tears fistfulls of flesh off the corpse, but oh no, not hot robot sex!  You know because that would just be WRONG. 

Think about it–a teenage boy and a hot robot chick.  She doesnt’t get her period, headaches, or nag you about dirty socks next to the bed.  The kid doesn’t even have to worry about her orgasm — she can’t!  You don’t have to worry about STDs or knocking her up, and she never sleeps or eats or gets tired.  My husband was more than enthusiastic about this idea.  Go figure.

Then I said, “What about a man robot?  How come they’re not hot and doing whatever you say?”  My husband kind of agreed and turned it into a point of “Why is the woman robot the good one on T.V. when she was the enemy in Terminator 3?”  That’s not exactly what I was trying to say, but it’s nice to know that technology has it’s own double-standards too.  Of course, like a typical woman, I would have a male robot fix my roof, clean up the monsoon of was once a basement, reaarange furniture until everything was perfect, plant a garden, bathe the kids, rob a bank, vacuum under beds, and talk to it about my problems and feelings, among other things.  Gee wiz, I’d be too exhausted uploading demands to take it to bed.  I think your typical woman would cause the robot to self-terminate in order to escape.

A hot chick robot wouldn’t care about escaping because guys only want a couple of things and those things are easy to program.  Great.  Now I have to compete with Heidi Klum and hot chick robots.  It’s so unfair!  Well, those are probably the same thing anyway.  Only a robot could be that hot all of the time; even the Stepford Wives have their work cut out for them.  I’m lucky if I can put in a pony tail without pulling a muscle. 

Still, The Sarah Conner Chronicles does have an interesting gender dynamic going on.  John, the future leader of humanity, spends his time going to school and taking orders from a hot robot and mom, neither of whom will let the kid take a pee without authorization.  You gotta wonder how this is going to help train him for the war against the machines….probably pent up sexual frustration, and pissed off he didn’t think to get some from his hot robot.  Life’s such a bitch.

It’s astounding to me that we’re forced to discuss the Presidential election over a year before we can do anything about it.  Nevertheless, for whatever reason we have to deal with an endless amount of “analysis” by talking heads who attempt to make sense out of the horse-race, when, in fact, the horse is still sitting in the barn, minding it’s own business of eating hay and talking to Wilbur.  (If you don’t know where Wikipedia is, I can’t help ya.)

Even more astounding is that none of this boring discussion has done diddly to address the single largest voting bloc out there: the 50-51% of eligible voters who don’t vote.  If anything, this extended campaigning will only grow the core apathetic voters to 52 or maybe 53%, hey I’m no statistician.  So, political hacks in all parties put down the Kool-aid and listen up: if you want to get out the Apathy Vote, I’ve got a few thoughts.  You can write them down in your notebooks too, and tape them up in your “war room,” I won’t sue… very much:

1. Don’t be so boring.  Your candidate is boring, and you need to face it.  He (there’s only one she) is a boring rich guy who spends every day trying to convince us that he’s one of us.  He’s not, we’re not buying, nor do we care.  Embrace your guy’s boring: he’s a driven guy who (hopefully) knows a lot about politics, world history, and military and social issues.  We want your guy to be a geek, it’s okay.  Let the rest of us be colorful representatives of this bleak, homogeneous, clueless culture.

2. Stop telling us he’s “one of the guys.”  We don’t want to have “a beer” with him either.  I want the Leader Of The Free World™ to be leading the free world and not sucking back a long-neck with yours truly.  I’m a slacker, not your guy.  I’m not going to keep us out of World War 3, that’s your guy’s job.  I’d like him to be talking with the pissed-off leader of Pakistan NOT after spending the day watching sports bloopers and getting hammered on Jaegermeister.  Your boy needs a clear head for that stuff.  Leave the rest to me.

3. Address some actual issue.  Yeah, I know that beating up poor immigrants or discussing the merits of single-sex marriage are fun and activate a lot of blockhead bloggers, but we don’t care.  What people decide to do to each other in the bedroom is their own business, so long as I’m not forced to watch it on YouTube, and no poor immigrant is lining up to take my job nor the job of anyone with an actual skill.  Building a wall is stupid and we don’t trust government to not screw it up anyway.  When we’ve got a tornadoes in January in the Midwest and a healthcare system ranked just above Bosnia, your guy has no time to waste on personal sexual orientations.  Just let it go. 

4. Stop denying evolution.  If it helps you out, believe that god differentiates species and He does it via a process He created called “evolution.”  Whatever your kink, you need to get over this and embrace science.  It’s not such a bad thing.  But please stop saying it’s not true.  That just makes your guy look like a moron.  Knock it off.  You went to an Ivy League school too, you know better.  Give him good counsel.

I was watching Dr. Phil the other day and was astounded that such a popular show could donate an entire hour discussing the pros and cons of men wearing baggy pants, as in showing off their boxer shorts to leave very little to the imagination.  Here I thought Oprah was the fashion guru.  I can’t believe this is how America is spending its free time!  With all the problems in this country, I think we could make better use of it discussing how to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, build homes for the homeless, create jobs for the unemployed, and even who really is the better candidate.  Baggy pants?  This is the least of our problems, but Dr. Phil’s guests turned it into a race, discrimination, freedom of choice issue.  I can sort of see why, but come on!  So what if more African-Americans where their pants below the belt, but has anyone really done an accurate count?  Does it really matter?  Does anyone really care?

Moms seem to care.  They don’t want their sons walking around with their butt hangin’ out or girls to be oogling.  Dads, on the other hand, seem to embrace this fashion trend and join in on the youthful fun.  Some moms think it looks like they’re carrying a “load” for safe keeping in the back.  Guys like to show off their boxers with paisleys, polk-a-dots, stripes, cartoon characters, hearts, and Merry Christmas slogans.  I guess real men aren’t afraid to show their softer side, at least butt.  Apparently, you’re not supposed to wear this style with tighty whiteys, but some do anyway; usually white folk. 

The discrimination associated with saggy pants apparently — according to the show – has to do with the ease of concealing a weapon in the trousers of a black guy.  I can see why that would urk some people off.  I can hide a small pistol in my breasts, but no one is looking at me suspiciously.  I can also hide a knife in my sock, or a shotgun in my purse–we can fit anything in there!  Not one person looks at me funny.  That’s not true, all people look at me a little funny, but they don’t think I’m carrying a cargo of ammunition in my panties.  At least I don’t think so.

I don’t think this fashion statement should be banned.  I wouldn’t wear my clothes this way, but I’m a white girl living in the suburbs.  How would I feel if people were offended by my khakis or Burberry scarf?  Actually, I’d feel fine about it–screw ‘em!  I make no judgements on how guys wear their pants, but it looks so uncomfortable!  My pants hangin’ off my butt would be so difficult to manuever, and imagine all the guys staring at me at the grocery store.  Gross!  In any case, I think we have more important things to worry about like getting along, paying it forward, banning mini-vans, and finally getting that dork out of the White House.  What’s next Dr. Phil?  Wearing your hat sideways?  Stick to troubled marriages and feuding in-laws instead.  Psychiatrists should stay away from fashion.  Baggy pants is out of your league.