Afternoon Delight

Lady Friend and I were able to have lunch together today, which isn’t something we ever get to do during the work week. So we did what any spontaneous, romantic couple would do and we went to the indoor shooting range. Neither one of us had been to this range in the middle of the day before and it was nice because there weren’t a lot of people there at all. The people who were there were all law enforcement officers of some type. There was even a forty-something soccer mom type lady in the lane next to us who had a big ol’ U.S. Treasury Department badge on her belt. The best part of the experience today was getting to see my first and only Dad Crush, who also happens to be my former handgun instructor. He mentioned that it’s been extremely busy at the range since the Va Tech tragedy last week and that they had a number of current Va Tech students come into the range toward the end of last week and over the weekend. Interesting. Anyway, my Dad Crush is familiar with Pigtown and, as always, he leaned over the counter and gave me some parting advice: “Keep moving, young lady. Keep moving when you’re out there. Serpentine. Serpentine. Don’t ever let anyone catch you. And please be safe.”

Awww.

Skyrockets in flight…

Parking Fun With Yuppies

Saturday afternoon I drove to the Fells Point area to meet my cousins for some daytime cocktails. I drove down Wolfe street and found a parking spot on the street near Wolfe and Fleet. I did what most people do in a parallel parking situation and I put on my turn signal, pulled a car length in front of the empty spot, and started backing in. With that, some yuppie cow came flying around the corner from Fleet Street and pulled right up on my ass in an attempt to claim the spot I was already backing into. I guess I was supposed to be intimidated or something. Whatever. I kept backing up and she threw up her hands in disbelief and begrudgingly moved her car. Keep in mind, there were other empty spots on the same block.

Before I was finished parking my car, she pulled up alongside of me and rolled down her window. Lady Friend was with me and I said, “This should be fun.” LF rolled down her window and the yuppie cow was shaking her head and laughing in a manner that has perhaps worked for her in the past in getting her way.

Cow: (in a near screech) “You do realize that this street is for residents only, don’t you?”

Me: “You do realize that we are city residents and anyone from anywhere can park here for two hours at a time, don’t you?”

Cow: “Well I just thought you should know.”

Me: “Heygreatthanksforthetip!”

And with that I gave her my exaggerated thumbs-up gesture, which is when I hold my elbow up at shoulder height as I give the thumbs-up. I also gave her my cheesy game show host smile à la Wink Martindale. I just stayed frozen in that pose until she drove away shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

Me: “I bet once upon a time she used to be pretty.”

LF: “That would definitely explain a lot.”

I’m No Miss America

But this could be me in fifty years.

Cooties

I have an irrational fear of bedbugs. I’m not sure where this comes from, since I’ve never had a bedbug experience. I suppose the fear may come from the vulnerability factor of being asleep and not realizing I could be getting bitten by creepy crawlies. And for some reason, I still insist on checking out sites like this.

There was a brief moment in my dating career where I had potential to put myself in a possible bedbug situation. I met this really smart, very educated, medical professional who seemed perfectly normal (don’t they all?) at first. She was in the process of buying a condo when we met and by the third date or so she owned it. I made a big mistake in thinking that chatting about neutral things like home furnishings and shopping would be safe, polite topics.

My Two Cents

I wasn’t going to comment on the Virginia Tech tragedy because I am still trying to sort out my thoughts and emotions, but here I go anyway…

For me, this tragedy is compounded by the blame storming that’s already occurring in the media. It’s Va. Tech’s fault for not responding fast enough. It’s got to be someone’s fault for not recognizing that a student had it in him to go on a rampage. And of course we need to re-write all gun laws because that’s usually the default root of the problem. The media quickly declares that we have an epidemic on our hands and then begins treating people like the Va. Tech. gunman as the rule and not the exception. What seems to be ignored is that there is no accounting for insanity. No one knows what will make a person snap or when. It’s a given that crazy people walk among us and chances are they look just like you and me. They usually don’t wear bright red shirts that say “Caution: I Am a Crazy Person.” If a person is determined to hurt mass amounts of people, they will always find the means to that end. All the gun control laws and bans in the country would not have stopped Timothy McVeigh and his fertilizer bomb. Insanity has no quantitative value. We can’t predict it’s outcome with weights and measures and this is something we must accept.

Blame makes us feel better about tragedy because it’s easier to focus on some outside cause rather than taking a look at ourselves. Perhaps we are quick to blame because we are afraid of what people are capable of. It makes us squirm when we start taking inventory of the people around us. Could he do something like that? Could she do something like that? When? Where? In what manner? Sometimes the answer is that there’s just no answer. There is nothing to understand. Let your heart be broken and sit with it for a while. Remind yourself that people like the Va. Tech shooter are the exception and not the rule. In a country of 300 million people, one person did this.

Timeless Advice

I’m always hearing this from Lady Friend:

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Speaking of Loretta Lynn, Lady Friend and I just booked a weekend trip to Branson, Missouri to see her in concert on May 20th. Yes, we know it’s a random thing to do, but that’s how we roll yo. We haven’t traveled out of town in over eight months, so we’ll go just about anywhere at this point. Branson advertises itself as the “Vegas of the Midwest” which definitely makes me curious because I just can’t imagine any other place being like Las Vegas other than Las Vegas. Anyway, we’re staying in a blinged-out lakeside condo for a few nights and also attending a Bluegrass & Barbeque Festival while we’re there. There’s a pretty good chance that I’ll be the only Catholic in Branson and that LF and I will be the only homosssexualsss in the entire city, but that’s fine by us. I’m sure we’ll have many Jane Goodall moments as we traipse around town. We should be okay if we avoid making out publicly and dry humping each other by the pool, which is universally gross no matter who’s doing it.

churlish: M-W’s Word of the Day

M-W’s Word of the Day, with my own additions:

churlish \CHUR-lish\ adjective

1 : of, resembling, or characteristic of Anger Hangover : vulgar
*2 : marked by a lack of civility or graciousness : surly
3 : difficult to work with or deal with : intractable

Example sentence:
Anger Hangover was obviously very upset over getting the plague from her cubicle neighbor, but that’s no excuse for her churlish behavior toward her co-workers.

Did you know?
It is easy to understand how “churlish” has come to mean “vulgar,” “surly,” and “intractable” if you know your Baltimore history. In Anglo-Saxon Baltimore a churl, or ceorl, was a Pigtown resident of the lowest rank who owned and cultivated a small row home. She had certain rights and had the upward mobility to rise to the rank of Hon. After the Yuppie Conquest, however, many churls became serfs, and the word “churl” eventually came to be used as a pejorative for a rude, ill-bred person.

Underhanded Television

Every now and again DISH DOUCHE Network gives me all these “free trial” channels to lure me in an attempt to get me to spend even more money on their weak ass service. Whatever. But something happened to me last night. I was scrolling through the insipid “free trial” selection and stumbled across CSTV (College Sports TV). I’m not into any college sports at all. I’ve never understood cheering for universities that I didn’t attend. Anyway, last night I happened upon a women’s softball game between UNLV and Utah and quickly found myself in a softball k-hole. I was completely mesmerized by the way those girls were winging those underhanded pitches over the plate with fierce accuracy. Goddamn! I also became acutely aware of my age because rather than thinking some of those women were hot, I thought they were just cute and adorable. Zero lust on my part. Not even a scant impure thought. Another thing that made me awestruck was the 10+ Butch Factor Rating™ of the coaches of both teams. I mean, it doesn’t come as any surprise how butch they were, it being college softball and all, but even a tried and true lez like me is capable of being shocked when certain combinations of visors, uniboobs, and ill-fitting khakis appear on my TV screen. Sweet mother of all that is good and kind, please don’t ever let me see such things in HDTV.

So tonight I’ve got more women’s college softball at 7:30 with Texas @ Baylor. I’ve also got adequate lift and separation as I look down at my boobs right now. If I keep watching women’s softball, it’s only a matter of time before my fun bags start feeling the urge to merge. Please don’t let this happen. Please don’t let me become known as Dances With One Boob. I’ve spent way too much money on my Sticky Vicki’s bras and it would be a shame to let those feats of engineering go to waste.

Are you there, Internet? It’s me, Anger Hangover.

I don’t know what the hell I contracted but, as predicted in my last post, it got far worse. I have not been ill like this in years. I’m feeling much better than I did a couple of days ago, but I’m still not feeling too foxy. I gave up my much-coveted Opening Day ticket, so you know I’m still feelin’ bad if that’s the case. The demon sickness seems to have moved into my chest and now I’ve got the chunky-style coughing thing going on. It’s kind of sexy in that tuberculosis sort of way. I feel like getting into a buffet/salad bar line somewhere and watching people cringe as I cough and help myself to more coleslaw.

The experience hasn’t been completely miserable though. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed not leaving the house because I’ve been able to free-tit it for five days. Believe me, sometimes a raging fever and snot geysers are worth it! I read a couple of books too, although I can’t remember them now because of the fever delirium, but I think they were probably interesting. I’m also quite surprised to see that the internet is still here. I thought for sure it would evaporate if I wasn’t logged on for at least twelve hours a day.

So anyway, thank you all for your Get Well wishes. I can’t say they warmed my heart, because you know it’s nothing but black ice, but they did make my heart feel almost like the outside temperature. Almost. I hope you all enjoyed your Easter (yes, I said “Easter”) weekend. Hopefully your weekend was much better than this guy’s weekend. His came to an end just two blocks over from my house yesterday.

Quarantine

I just knew I should not have posted anything about my good fortune on Monday. I should have kept it to myself. Why? Because I am now infected with the most unholy virus and it seems to be getting worse. Today is Holy Thursday and, although the illness I’m heading towards is probably a notch or two below crucifixion, I’m hoping I’ll be able to rise from the dead on Easter. I’ve got Opening Day tickets.