Man-whore. Desperate man-whore.

You know, all personal, incessant chatter aside, I've realized something as of late. 

James Bond was a slut. 

Yes, everyone has some awareness that this is true. Though, as sad as it is to admit, I've only ever seen two James Bond films (don't judge me).

The two films I've seen are Dr. No and the newer Casino Royale. I refuse to watch any Pierce Brosnan Bond flick because I think it would be like watching Hugh Grant trying to be a badass. 

I started watching Live and Let Die, and was quite surprised at Bond. Yes, Sean Connery gave this guy the go-ahead for the project... but to swap out all the cards in some chicks tarot deck for the "lovers" card just to get laid? Can you imagine how many decks of tarot cards that poor bastard had to buy to pull that off? 

Maybe it's the fact that I'm a female, and have never felt the need to resort to those tactics, but seriously? He couldn't have just pulled the, "I'm a secret agent," charm? Or brought enough alcohol via room service to make himself seem extra-attractive to the pent-up, tarot-reading medium? Are you feeling a bit desperate, Bond? 

Maybe (obviously) I need to watch more Bond. But I feel like there's no way Connery would ever have to, or even consider it an option to try so hard to get a little Bond girl action. 

At least this Bond has one thing going for him. He drinks whiskey. 

If we all could just admit that we are racist a little bit, even though we all know that it's wrong, maybe it would help us get along.

I went to the birthday party of a friend Wednesday night, and found myself involved in a discussion about racism. Apparently, the guy I was talking to takes things WAY too seriously. It didn't help that he was a complete and total hipster. He even had the Captain Hook mustache, and the cheap, tacky, fur-lined earmuff cap. Poor sad, cookie-cutter hipster kid.


This whole conversation started with a rather hysterical (and quite racist) joke that I found far more amusing than he considered to be in good taste. As we sat down outside and the conversation inevitably turned toward the awful, serious racism that can be found in the world, all I could think was that it was a shame that I couldn't just break into the song from Avenue Q, and follow him around for the remainder of the evening, yelling singing it at him.


Now, I understand that racism still exists in this far from perfect world. I understand that people have to deal with all kinds of judgments and assumptions that are imposed upon them by others. I understand that that isn't exactly considered fun, or right, or good. I mean, shit. I'm a white girl that grew up in Atlanta. Just like everyone on the planet, I know what it feels like to be ostracized.


(I think Jane Elliot showed the effects of racism best. She's amazing. Watch this if you haven't seen it. Hell, watch it if you have.)

Haha, the dude in the foreground even has the same curly mustache!

Thing is, I also know that things are only worth the value you assign to them. It's like art. Or politics. (Upon comparing racism to art or politics, the kid that was arguing with me went off. "WHAT?! You think that racism, art, and politics are all the same thing?! What's WRONG with you?!" Dude, the only thing wrong with me is that I lack the freeze ray from Despicable Me, because that's CLEARLY the only way I will get you to LISTEN.) If people feel a piece of art is worth $X, they'll spend $X on it. If not, the piece becomes worth whatever the next person that comes along is willing to pay for it. In politics, a politician is only worth the people standing behind him/her. Without the people that support you as a political figure, you're not going to be elected.


That being said, I feel like racism is something that ought to be seen as so ridiculous and archaic that all you can do is write it off or laugh about it. It shouldn't be treated with solemnity, or slight, inward gasps, or eyes darting back and forth, or whispers. That gives racism power. It allows the serious, offensive racists to feel they have sway, and are correct in their judgments. That's bullshit. Instead, people ought to stop taking shit so seriously. Life isn't about covering our ears and wearing blinders when things make us uncomfortable. It's about fleshing it out and learning WHY they make us uncomfortable, and then dealing with them. So either meet racism with a laugh and not a second thought, or (if it's serious/violent/out of hand) meet it with a firm "No, this isn't how the world works anymore," and change that situation.


I tried explaining this, but I think my logic made the hipster-brains in Captain Tightpants Jr.'s head melt a little. He started spouting off random words that had nothing to do with what I was talking about. Maybe he was hoping to confuse me long enough to change the subject. The last intelligible word that he used incorrectly was "existentialist", as in: he was an existentialist and therefore felt as though racism was to be treated as something that either doesn't exist or is far too horrific to joke about. Unfortunately, choosing to argue where lines ought to be drawn, with a perfect stranger, no less, is not existential in the least.

ex·is·ten·tial·ism [eg-zi-sten-shuh-liz-uhm]
–noun; a philosophical attitude associated esp. with Heidegger, Jaspers, Marcel, and Sartre, and opposed to rationalism and empiricism, that stresses the individual's unique position as a self-determining agent responsible for the authenticity of his or her choices.


So, you see, his disagreeable and judgmental words (and general attitude) go entirely against his so-called "existential way of life". If you believe that everyone, as unique creatures, has the right to think whatever they want, how can you possibly argue something that's so ridiculous to such an extent?


Fucking doucher (I'm so eloquent when people piss me off).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So, anyway, apologies for the lack of humor in this post. I just hate it when people perpetuate and give strength to anything negative, and then argue about how their doing that is supposed to help the situation. Why can't we just accept that everyone is a person, and that that's all that matters? Why does everything always have to be SO FUCKING difficult??? Ugh.

Well, tomorrow is my birthday. Tonight I'm being kidnapped by my darling TeriWife and SnarkMinion and taken to The Clermont in honor of said birthday. I'm hoping the rest of the weekend is just as full of crass, dirty, drunken shenanigans (at least until dinner with my parents and grandparents on Sunday).

Love to all. Best wishes and all that. And remember, Depeche Mode said it best. xoxo

Glass hates me more than the printer at my office does.

I came home last week to find a HUGE, fuck-off branch in the bush in front of my house. On the ground, there were some lovely shards of glass from the top right corner of the picture window I have (I'm calling it a "picture window" because it sounds fancy, and the duplex I live in is anything but fancy, but I don't want to call it the "super cheap, but still made of glass instead of plastic even though the glass is 100 years old" window).

It had been storming worse than normal that day, and I guess the branch was first chewed to a breaking point by evil squirrels, in preparation for some upcoming battle, and then aimed poorly and launched into the window. Picture window, I mean. So I did what any responsible tenant would do. I called my creepy, potentially a serial killer of a landlord.

He had all kinds of questions (a lot of them I had to answer with the phrase, "I wasn't home when it happened, so I'm not sure,"). And then the questions became somewhat rude. "Well, did the branch of the tree just, um, fall directly into the window?" What the hell do you say to that? "No, actually the neighbors put up a trampoline, and a complicated system of pulleys and levers, and the branch fell into the bush, which was strangely coated with springs that must have bounced it into the pulleys and levers that pulled some mouse-trap type shit and caused the branch to land on the trampoline, where it was catapulted into the window. Clearly. Why would you even ask me that? You're the one who leased the front yard to the guys from Spy vs. Spy." Jerk.

He told me that he and his maintenance man, Willy, would come look at the window the next day and decide what to do about it (by the way, with my landlord being as old and bizarre as he is, I wouldn't be surprised if Willy was a cliche, darling old black man that calls the landlord Guv'nah and does his bidding. Like a mix between the stereotypical oppressed slave and a chimney sweep from old school London). Well, the note I was left after Landlord and Willy's initial inspection basically said, "Fuck you, you're full of shit, you clearly broke this window and don't want to pay the $35 for two single panes of glass and a caulk gun to fix it, you're a liar and I'll take an extra $50 added to your rent check this month, thank you."

Um, excuse me? Because I CLEARLY went outside with a ladder, bashed in the window (because according to the glass and where it fell, it wasn't broken from the inside), went looking for a giant dead branch, placed said branch in the bushes, and then decided to CALL YOU instead of fixing it myself, because I thought it would be funny?

You know what? That's totally what happened. Fucking asshole.