Year: 2012

And That’s How You Accuse a Nun of Being a Terrorist

ME Overly simple thoughts , , ,

From time to time, I like to let people know that I’m just a normal everyday kind of person, despite the amazing fame that all of you must imagine me to have. I mean, I actually do have an amazing kind of celebrity status, but it’s not for anything that I can actually tell people about. Just let it go.

So when I want my legions of minions to see the human side of the dog-and-pony show that is me, all I have to do is toss out an embarrassing story to let them see that I have an all-too-human flaw or two. Or three. Let’s go with two. Plus, my lawyer really thinks it will help sway the parole committee if I own up to my mistakes and show remorse. If I ever need to come up for parole, that is. Better to be prepared, the way things are going these days.

In story number one, I went shopping with my daughter. We perused the racks and I headed to the register with a really, really blue knit-weight short-sleeved dress. It wasn’t all that pretty, ESPECIALLY being Smurf-blue, but it was marked way down and I thought it could make a good swimsuit cover or something to throw on to chase the garbage men down the street while rolling our overloaded trashcan behind me. We laid our items on the counter for the saleswoman to ring up when my daughter said, “Mommy? Why are you buying that dress? I thought you had to wear pants to work so you could fight off the inmates whenever they start a riot?” (It’s important to know that yes, my child was old enough to have really clear diction and a great vocal pitch, two things which the saleswoman REALLY appreciated at this time.)

“I’m only buying it because it’s on clearance. You know, it’s to wear around the house and stuff. I’d NEVER be seen wearing that dress out in public. I mean, seriously, is there even a name for that color?” I scoffed.

Please tell me you see where this is going. Yup. The saleswoman was wearing the dress. The exact dress. The one I had just declared not fit to be seen in. That one. Apparently she gets a discount for shopping there. Complimenting her on how the shade of blue really brought out her eyes did nothing to make her overlook my comment.

Sadly, that is nowhere near close to the worst thing I’ve done to humiliate myself publicly. The worst thing (well, the worst thing I’ve done this year, and yes, as a matter of fact, I do know we’re not even to the end of the first week) involves calling Homeland Security on a woman with a suspicious-looking lump under her dress that I have to say ANYONE could really easily have mistaken for a kilo or two of uncut cocaine but instead was just her hunchback. She was actually an elderly nun and she probably got that hunchback from decades of bending over to wipe little orphans’ runny noses in the tuberculosis ward of a Zambian hut hospital but that’s not what it looked like when I was following her through the mall, waving down idle security guards and telling them to go get the feds while I kept an eye on her. Apparently I’m quite the credible witness because those guys tackled her like she had the secret rocket formula and was smuggling it out of Oppenheimer’s lab.

Tell me that doesn't look like the same woman who cut in front of you at WalMart.

How was I supposed to know she wasn’t a notorious coke mule? Like anyone (but me) would think to accuse a nun. And excuse me for wondering why a nun is even shopping in the mall. Aren’t their clothes provided for them, like Maria’s dress in Sound of Music? More importantly, why in the name of all that’s holy was she wearing that hideous blue dress?

Apparently, This Is An Election Year. I’m Running for Coroner.

ME Overly simple thoughts , , ,

It doesn't really look like it, but these two are probably dead. Maybe. I don't know.

I’ve said it before, I’m not really up on current events. I try to pay attention if some whole region of a small country was wiped out by a killer storm and I really do try to make sure I know just a teensy bit about the newest bacteria that’s going to destroy us all if we catch it from touching the handle of a shopping cart.

One flaw in my personality that I really do not feel bad about is politics. I am vaguely aware that we have a President. I know his name, I know his wife is a lovely woman who’s been ripped apart for trying to get kids to exercise. I know he has two kids but I couldn’t pick their faces out in a crowded elevator, a fact that in my mind already makes the Obamas Parents of the Year. That’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge on politics because I Just. Don’t. Care. Most of our government is controlled by a network of people who spend millions of dollars to snag a job that pays less than $500,000 a year, which right off the bat tells you something is going on.

But here in my hometown, there is one campaign that I watch eagerly every election year by following the candidates’ platforms and listening for any hint of scandal from their respective war rooms. It’s the coroner.

Yes, we still elect our coroners in this state. I don’t know, maybe your state does, too. But little known fact about my state (and maybe your state)…YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A DOCTOR TO BE THE CORONER.

Yup. Probably stemming from a shortage of doctors that were less than a two-day horse ride away, but you don’t have to be the doctor to legally declare someone dead. And that, my friends, keeps me awake at night. What if some backhoe driver wins the election and declares me prematurely dead just because they’re having a little trouble waking me up? What if I’m in a car wreck and the coroner is actually a pizza delivery guy and he tells them, “Bag her up. She’s a goner.”

My real concern is the fact that a lot of would-be coroneratorial candidates are actually funeral home owners, which on the surface would make sense. They see a lot of dead people, and not just in the creepy way like that kid in the movie. But doesn’t anyone else see the conflict of interest here? THESE PEOPLE MAKE MONEY OFF OF DEAD PEOPLE. We don’t need them drumming up business by being called to the scene to declare someone dead. They’ll be calling the time of death from across the Walmart parking lot, just to pay off their kids’ braces.

That’s why I’m running for coroner on the Let’s Not Be Too Hasty platform. I’m so squeamish it will takes days for me to declare you dead, because I’m going to wait until you start to smell and flies hover around you before I’m willing to get close enough to check. I’ll just sit way over here and if you haven’t moved (and your left eyeball falls out from the decay), I’ll know. I wonder how much coroners get paid.

Rabies Isn’t an STD

ME Overly simple thoughts , , ,

I don't care what he tells you, you'd better use protection.

I have already explained that a large part of being a writer involves looking up really stupid stuff on the internet. I seriously don’t know where Hemingway got his ideas since the world wide web didn’t exist when he was hammering away on the old Royal. That must have been some really awesome Cuban rum he was always drinking, although I’ll admit that with the right number of mojitos I can become wordily inspired, too.

So there I was, researching stuff online and one thing led to another which led to an asinine video which led me to have to Google “sexually transmitted rabies.” We don’t have Dish Network at my house, don’t take this from me.

And here’s what I found out. Yes, rabies can be sexually transmitted. Between two people, stupid, not by having sex with raccoons. But I also discovered a different article that says no, it cannot be transmitted sexually. (I did learn that it can be transmitted by donating your organs if you die from rabies, which sadly happens a lot more often than I want to think about.) Apparently, there hasn’t been any real consensus yet on getting rabies by doing the nasty, either with an infected human or an infected woodland creature. You have been warned.

All of that life altering confusion made me really sad because I tend to rely on the internet for a lot of drastically important information like how much money I have in the bank and how long it’s going to be until the delivery guy shows up with my pizza. I also rely on the internet to tell me which candidate is being the least stupid this week. And I can’t even find out if having sex with a redneck who was bitten by a contagious squirrel is going to kill me?

I was going to suggest for a second that someone should be policing the internet to make sure it isn’t lying to me, but then I remembered that Congress is trying to get all Nazi-Fahrenheit-451 and censor the internet. I won’t stand for that since there is no way a possibly-Republican government censored internet is going to let me Google the phrase “riding a unicycle naked” for my next book.

There Goes My Resolution Not to Be a Bitch

ME Overly simple thoughts , , ,

I really wanted to be a better person this year, but two things happened. First, I woke up and accidentally dropped my toothbrush in the toilet, and of course the toothbrush stores are closed today so I’ve been walking around the house swishing toothpaste and club soda together to try to get my mouth clean. I’m trying really hard not to take it as a sign that 2012 is going to suck camel ass.

The second thing that happened was I stumbled on this music video that actually had a catchy tune, if I needed a playlist of songs to listen to while bludgeoning people to death. It was like staring at someone who forgot to put his pants on. You’re staring and you know it’s wrong, but oh well it’s the most interesting thing you’ve seen all day.

And there, at the end of the video…an advertisement. I’m all prepared for an ad for iTunes or where I can download this band’s music. Nope. The best advertising fail ever just happened on a song called “Vampire Rock Anthem – Live Forever.”

I don't know Disney, what do YOU think a vampire might do with one more day?

I shudder to think what hordes of vampires might do on Space Mountain, especially since Disney is INVITING them there. And the Baptists were afraid of Gay Days. You ain’t seen sin and carnage until the undead jump in line at the Dumbo ride.