ShiftlessBadger: October 2006

31 October 2006

Could you pick me up some Fear at Safeway?

Occasionally the Badger doesn't sleep so well. Is it his conscious, restless with his day's unsavoury deeds? No, the Badger is a very savoury character, mostly. I was wide awake at 10:45 last night (I fear my university self, who never slept until two, is eyeing me with unhidden disgust) and really needed to get to bed, in order to be in top form to save the world at my non-profit (well, actually, I needed to type some stuff. But I digress).

I took a Lunesta. Lovely, lovely little blue pill. I have always suffered from insomnia, and those little babies are magic. I say: pure magic. There might be some powerful non-narcotic drugs in there as well, but who's counting. I awoke this morning with three yellow sticky notes stuck to my book. They read:

I've never tried to describe Lunesta as it takes effect, but it's quite an a amake [sic- I think I was going for amazing here] feeling- jaunty indeed. Staggering around a bit, bouncing from wall to wall. All whit [sic] feeling that sleep might be ever the most best lovely idea, never pushy. Gust. Quiet like when you hear good advice from an aunt you loved dearly, but is dead, no? So where did that advice come from? Maybe she's not so dead. But maybe she doesn't stay under the bed but she gets out and wanders around when you're not looking and that's when you fear her the most, because who wants to see their Fear shopping at the IGA or the Piggly Wiggly. Nobody. That's who.

Clearly, that warning on the bottle about not operating heavy machinery is not a joke.

30 October 2006

You Low Down, Dirty

Son of a bitch. As soon as we got close, you just walked out that door, and never looked back. Didn't we have something going on? All of our letters? Our correspondence? That time I think I saw you at Metro Center but tripped and dropped my newspaper down the escalator and that old Grandma kicked my bag, and then I sort of hid behind the brown pylon because I was so embarrassed reading "Trains to Shady Grove" over and over just so it wouldn't look like I was insane? What about that?

I've been under a rock for awhile, I know. My job has decided to go from "feel warm and fuzzy because you work at a non-profit" to "here are seven thousand projects to finish by tomorrow, why are you going home it's only six. thirty pm". Plus, I also seem to have, unwillingly, I might add, become addicted to Grey's Anatomy, something that shames me to the core (more on this unsettling development soon). I know we haven't spent as much time together as we could have. And our correspondence, well, it started to feel forced, didn't it? I'm not the only one who felt it, I know. I'm sorry for all that has happened. But we could have worked on it. We could have fought for it. I never suspected I would have to find out from the papers.

I stopped paying attention to Fenty after I voted for him. I should have known better. Imagine! I voted for his shiny bald head, assuming it's luminescence would lead DC to a brighter future, never suspecting he had one hand on my shoulder and the other gently caressing your buttock. I hope you're happy. Everything you did will fall apart, and your smiling face will slowly fade from the posters on the S2 bus as surely as that jaunty smile will fade from my heart. Your quote in the paper- please. Just sad. "I think I can help more people than I could working at Metro!" I can just hear your sing-song delivery chiming out the words in an attempt to convince us all you're not a whore. WHORE! I BELIEVED IN YOU! Fine, Dan Tangherlini, take your new job. Take it and like it, but just remember, you've walked out that door, and the doors are closing. Please move to the center of the car. You had me at Metro. Bitch.

Look at me! I'm cute and innocent until you love me!

Heartbreaker, Ass Shaker, Administrator

18 October 2006

Three Hundred Million People Trying to Find a Parking Space

So Tuesday morning, while I was shaving, the three millionth American became a reality. That's how they phrased it on the morning news: became a reality. It makes it sound like someone popped the last one from a petri dish and handed her a big gulp and a twinkie, slapped her on the ass and gave her the keys to a SUV. And maybe they did. I'm pretty sure that if she was created from the unholy union of harvested eggs and sperm in a test tube at Texas A&M that's what they would do, just to make sure she fit in. Until, of course, the rapture happened and she and her creators were damned for all eternity.

It makes me laugh when people say there are too many of us. Granted, three hundred million is a lot, but people, have you been to the Midwest? We got plenty of room. Acres of room. Miles and miles of empty, empty room. So I don't see what all the screeching is about: we got plenty of money to go around. We have always been able to absorb more immigrants. Most American ARE immigrants. If we currently hold US passports, then it is becasue at some point our forefathers were doing it in foreign languages.

I think what people worry about is the loss of our Anglophone majority-white European society. What? We are more homogeneous now than we have ever been. We don't even have real accents anymore, thanks to our friend the television. We used to have dozens, now we like two. So what, a new Indian take-out place is going to disrupt your standard of living? Koreans are going to start breaking into your house at night and stealing your VCR? Guatamalans are going to burn down your Christmas tree and make you practice Santaria (yes, yes, angry letter writers: I am mixing cultures and religions. deal.). No. None of these things are going to happen.

You will have more delicious, spicy foods to eat at your convenience, Koreans will continue to do what they have always done here: get rich, and Guatamalans will take soccer back from six-year-old girls and make it a man's game again. What's not to like? And their kids will talk just like you. And fat. I am sure they will eventually get incredibly fat. Becasue after all, the nation that gorges together... well, you get the idea.

"Is this where for we get Big Gulp? All the way from Russia we come, for the Big Gulp. Why Koreans drive so bad?"

16 October 2006

Booze Bus, A Thoughtful Consideration

Well now, that was a special trip. In retrospect, we could have gotten on the bus, driven around the beltway once and pulled into the closest bar. I wouldn't have really known the difference. Except the bars of Annapolis were filled with midshipmen and their fathers. Midshipmen are seriously not taking advantage of that whole gay-icon thing. I mean seriously- it saved Madonna from being just another Cindy Lauper (Cindy baby, we will always know that you were the one who really knew what girls wanted. Not materials, no ma'am. Fun.). It could do the same for midshipmen. When I mentioned this at work today, people agreed, and one person even presented her formula. Man + Uniform = 150% more hot.

Let's consider. If the average guy is a 5 out of 10, then adding a uniform will automatically make them a 7.5. Not a bad return on investment. But if a midshipmen with a uniform is already only equaling a five, then that uniform removed leaves a man that is decidedly less than average. Algebra giveth, and it taketh away. Yes, yes, they are learning to lead brave people into battle to fight for my right to titter electronically ad naseum, but really. It's simple math, boys. I digress.

The bus itself was run by these people , and over all I have to say it was pretty fun. The two guides who led us ("led" might be a strong word: "announced when it was time to get on and off the bus". Oh, and lest I forget, orchestrated the toilet paper races.) were really nice, but watching them be "party people" on the bus, I wondered what are they like at home? Do they discuss the pointlessness of existence and watch depressing Belgian movies ? Or are they as excited at home as they are on the bus? "WHOOHOOO!! Soap! It's soap in the bathroom! YEAH!" or "CARROTS! ROCK ON CARROTS!". I can't imagine. It must be exhausting.

The bus trip did make me realize one thing: there is a reason people in their late twenties don't normally do this. It hurts.

But if we didn't do it, then the terrorists would win. We all have to do our part.

14 October 2006

1. Shake excess water from hands.
2. Push button and release.
3. Rub hands briskly under hot air.
4. Dryer stops automatically.