Anyone Else Want to Measure My Inseam?

I got back recently from a smashing week in Boston where I ate my weight in lobster tail (if I weighed 2 lbs and who the fuck are you to say I don’t) and saw all sorts of magical historical nonsense that made me feel weirdly patriotic, ate a ton of good food and had an overall good time. Never really been one to explore the native land, so I haven't actually been to the East Coast (except NY) and sometimes it really is worth the ridiculously long flight to hear some accents in person (as opposed to Ben Affleck movies).

The fact of the matter is, it was kind of amazing to stand and stare at the 3 story building that once housed the city hall in the 1700s where the Declaration of Independence was signed, perfectly preserved with towering glittery sky scrapers all around it. It’s a juxtaposition that inspires some actual appreciation of where we started and where we are now.

And then I went to the airport.

The full body scanners have been around for several months now. Whenever I fly home from Atlanta for work, I am faced with the possibility of having to have some stranger sitting in a box (where I can't see them) look at me naked to ensure I’m not carrying a weapon up my ass. But it's never happened. I've always been waved the other way and heaved a sigh of relief.

Not so in Boston. They waved me over to the Naked Cancer Machine ™. There was another man in front of me who seemed to be waiting for some reason, so like a good American, I lined up behind him. Because neither of us were actually going through, the TSA agent (female) looked at me and said “Oh, are you opting out too?”

I said “Oh, I didn’t know I could opt out. But if I can then yes, I’m opting out”.

She said “Well of course you can opt out, it just means you’ll be subject to a full body search by a female agent.”

So through the regular detector I went and then had to spread eagle on a mat in front of a bunch of strangers wandering to and from flights. I think she noticed how red my face was and asked "do you want a private search?"

"No." I replied, as her hands roamed ALL OVER my body "I want to stay here."

My eyes met Brendan's. He looked so angry. I've never seen him look so angry. And immediately I teared up. It was humiliating. I couldn't ever have guessed how humiliating it would be. But I thought that it was good that people stared as they walked by. Hopefully it helped remind them of the actual "cost" of our "freedom". And that seeing me or anyone else being groped (or naked) won't ever stop crazy people from doing crazy things.  

The thing that made me so sad though was I'd just spent a week learning about where and how my country began. How it started as this tiny land of idealists (with some fucked up ideas, don't get me wrong) who nursed the little democracy, slowly trying to undo its own initial injustices one amendment at a time until it grew into a proper country. Only to culminate in me being felt up in front of strangers at an airport against my will. 

It made me want to get a drink, but public consumption of alcohol is illegal.

In other news - the front running Republican candidate declared that she supports the Biblical philosophy that wives should be submissive to their husbands. I hope he at least helps loosen her whalebone corset in the evenings.

Insert Penis Joke Here.

Like everyone else, I'm tired of hearing about Anthony Wiener and the pictures of his wiener. Ok, maybe not like everyone else because it's still EVERYWHERE. Here's my issue with this issue.

It's not a fucking issue.

Except that it is. And no one is more guilty of making it into an issue then Wiener himself (not to be confused with HIS wiener). First the denial, then the admission, followed by gooey levels of remorse and apology. So disappointing. So badly handled. So utterly avoidable...

This is what he should've said instead of "I'm sorry."

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS! Regardless of my marital status, if I want to send a picture of my impressively sized man meat to another consenting adult over the internet - what business is it of the public's! You don't know my life!"

He then could have added that his wife's knowledge (or consent or lack thereof) is something that is only between them. So since he's not engaging in anything illegal (i.e. prostitution) everyone else just needs to bugger off and let him get on with his day.

Boom. Done. The whole storm would be gone by now.

But no, instead he's getting pressure to step down from a position where he's doing a lot of damn good by other people who have most likely done something similar in the privacy of their own home. Screw that, I bet half of them have done something similar in the non-privacy of their office, the bathroom stall of a airport or somewhere else terrifyingly public. There's a reason why I refuse to use the computers at the library!

Anyway - there you have it. The reputation of another good politician totally ruined not by his deeds, but by his inability to own up to them. And that makes him a pussy.

But this is still awesome.

Head, Shoulders, Knees and I Fuckin' Give UP

I kidnapped my friend's 10 year old a couple weekends ago. We had lunch at food carts and shopped around in junk stores and got our toes did. And all while doing so - I sought to understand the world of the pre-teen of now...

"What's hot now with the 4th graders?"

"Squinkies"

"Squinksies?"

"Squinkies. They're little animal and people shapes that come in clear plastic balls and you collect and trade them."

"What do you trade them for?"

"Other Squinkies. I only have a turtle 'cause I'm not that into them"

Realizing instantly that I have completely lost touch with today's youth, I had a moment's silence in memorandum for Garbage Pail Kids and kep the convo going only to discover that this particular 4th grader's suburban grade school no longer allows running at recess.

I had to ask her to repeat that. No running. No getting from the slide to the swings at a faster rate than a speed walk. Which means if someone else is heading for it at the same time, it will be the saddest race one could witness.

Around the same time, I was having brithday drinks with my awesome cousin who is a Phys Ed teacher at a middle school. Since there's been nothing but talk of cuts to education programs and staff, I plied her with liquor and hesitantly asked her if everything was kosher at her school. The good news was, she was still employed. The bad news was that she was no longer the Phys Ed teacher, but the Electives teacher. When I asked what that meant, she said she wasn't totally sure because they just cut a bunch of things including Health and Home Ec. Health would now be taught as part of P.E. and Home Ec was just out, period. I still have the Christmas shorts I made in Home Ec in 7th grade (circa 1992). They're...tighter...but they still fit. It's still my most successful sewing enterprise to date.

Another good friend - and 2nd grade teacher extraordinaire - just had a delightful little baby. I stopped by this weekend to bestow an ironic onesie and coo. I asked if she was looking forward to going back to work at all and her response was yes for the kids, not so much for the current environment. She went on to explain that the P.E. teacher had been forced to retire and now all the elementary classroom teachers had to include Phys Ed in their daily lesson plans. Music was also cut completely. Music. Fucking music. No recorders handed out to each student to take home and practice Hot Cross Buns and Somewhere Out There (Theme to An American Tale). What's truly tragic about this is I still remember the classical pieces of music that I fell in love with in 4th grade music class, Danse Macabre and Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf.

Here in Portland a measure to raise property taxes to support schools just failed. I don't know if the measure was the right thing for the city, but I know the result will be less music, less physical exercise, less everything. It's starting to feel third world. I realize that's an extreme statement - but when considering we're the United States of Fucking America, I think it's appropriate.

I don't have kids yet. I don't mean that to sound like I've been trying to - I haven't. The reasons for this vary depending on the amount of wine I've imbibed on any given night. However the only explanation I'm willing to give here is that Brendan and I are still figuring ourselves out and until we do, it's just not happening. That being said - it's almost too depressing to contemplate. I know they're a blessing, they change your life, etc., but I imagine being in my friend's shoes when she's told that her child can't run on the playground and I just don't even want to do it.

That being said - I also woke up at 9:30 AM this morning. Something I very much enjoy.

I don't have any fixes - I don't know what the answer is. I have some ideas, but they'll never be reflected through my local or federal government body. So all I can do is sit on my balcony in the sunshine, drink a beer, rock out to Kanye and write a pissy blog. And I'll do it. Because this is America.

Nevermind, I don't know what the fuck that means. Maybe I've had too much of the beer.

Guest Blogging

Where I am right now.

Joan

I meant to show y'all my badass Joanie costume from Halloween! If you don't watch Mad Men, you should still know who this chick is because it's just important. To the world. And other places.

So anyway - this (see below) was the goal with only some hair dye, a vintage store and some excess winter weight to help me out.

The hair went full red. Sadly it didn't turn out as orange as I hoped, but the commitment was made. The incredibleness of this photo lies in the fact that I successfully fashioned a beehive with ALL MY OWN TODDLER HAIR. And a shit-ton of hairspray.I also made the earrings out of a weird set of pendants and some craft supplies found at the local Michaels. Hot glue 4 LIEEFE!


Here's the entire ensemble. You can't tell, but I even have a pen necklace (thank you, Etsy) and my turquoise shoes (thank you, Jessica Simpson...gah) flippin' MATCH my blue and green dress (found for $20 at the thrift store and is from the correct era except there was a weird bunching situation in the front that made me look pregnant when posing).
B got to be Han Solo this year because I made him be Ira Glass last year.

And then on top of it all - I was still able to do things like this, thanks to the help of drink.Yes - I'm holding B's laser shooter gun thing. It makes "pew!" noises.

Anyway - I was damn proud of that costume and since I tend to post a picture of what I go as every year - I didn't want you (dear Internet) to feel as though a part of you was missing for not knowing what I was for Halloween in October of 2010. The end.

This Exists - Part XXIII

Do any of you get Daily Candy? It's a mailing list you can join where every day they tell you how to be cool by informing you about the music you should listen to, the clothes you should buy and the books you should read, etc. I've been on the mailing list for years and while I'd like to say it's because my job is in email marketing and I have to know about these things...it's really just that I need to know what music I should listen to, what clothes I should buy and what books I should be reading.

Once a week they send you a special newsletter with "Deals" for their subscribers. Today's included this:Aside from the obvious skepticism surrounding this being considered a "deal" - I find the following items concerning:

• She calls herself "Psychic Girl". Is this the name of her business? Does it instill any faith? I mean if I'm going to put my future in the hands of anyone, it's going to be "Psychic Woman"

• The "deal" is for 43% off. Why? And how might the discounted price affect the quality of the reading?

• Her name, "Jusstine", has one "s" too many. Excess consonants are shady.

• Jusstine is labeled as a "trusted" psychic. Trusted by whom? And can they also be trusted? Would I leave a puppy in their care? Tell them a secret? Ask them to hold my hand while I cross the street blindfolded?

In this day and age where everyone's trying to make a buck (or avoid gainful employment) I urge us all to question any and everything that is 43% off. Because really - nothing good can come from a discounted 6th sense.