Calvin & Hobbes, 26 Years Later.

Today is the last day of April. June is the 2 year anniversary of me starting a blog! I started out with a dream and hint of whimsy, delving deep into my internal memory of funny, to find random, often strange things to write about.

Today, I had to post this comic: (I believe you can click it to get a bigger view, or use the link below it!)

http://www.geekfill.com/2011/11/14/26-years-later%E2%80%A6/

Calvin and Hobbes was one of my very favorite comics as a kid, next to Zits and Dilbert. Looking at this comic, it somehow transports me back to being 7 years old, with a thick anthology of this comic strip, reading about the adventures of a towheaded boy and his stuffed tiger, his shenanigans, all his mischief. 

And I like to think that I was much like that little boy. Fearless, adventurous, a bit sneaky, funny, lovable, with a best friend to get into trouble with. 

I'd like to think I am still like that little boy, only a more grown up version, who is also responsible enough to pay her bills and not just jump in mud puddles and hide in my transmogrifier.

Nostalgia is a funny thing. 

Time heals most wounds and also blurs the edges of particularly painful or difficult memories. A perfect example of this is when you break up with a significant other. At first, you can still be mad or sad, and remember every word of every fight, and think again and again of what you SHOULD HAVE said, and how things could have been different. But, after a few months, maybe you still miss that person. And things are remembered a little differently. You start to think of all the good times, and the laughter, and stop remembering the pain, as the good parts start to outweigh the bad in your memories.

It's why I have always tried to live by the rule of no re-dating. You broke up for good reasons, so unless one or both of you have changed significantly, those reasons likely still exist. It's not an ironclad rule, as like I said, sometimes people or situations do change, but it's a good thing to keep in mind.

Nostalgia is taking out the old and dusting it off to look almost like new again, but not quite, and remembering how great things used to be. 

After all, doesn't everyone seem to think fondly of "the good old days," when kids weren't as stupid and minded their manners, when parents weren't as lame, and when gas still cost under a dollar?

Nothing wrong with nostalgia, that's for sure. Hey, better to remember fondly and smile one of those somewhat sad, mostly happy smiles with the far-away gaze we get when we're remembering something beautiful, than to only look back with anger and sadness. You certainly can't live a full life carrying that around forever, as it will eventually and surely break you down to nothing. 

So, today, look back on those days of hanging out with Teddy (or Hobbes!), who was the very best listener, the greatest adventure-sharer, and the one who helped you fall asleep. Remember Teddy! And someday, maybe we'll all have those rascally kids who have a Hobbes of their own to love and imagine and go on adventures with. And when that happens, we once again get to pull out those old memories, dust them off, and play with them again for awhile. 

Why Don't Zombies Just Eat Animal Brains?

What if cats turned into zombies? And what if zombie cats couldn't be killed? Unkillable zombie cats would take over the world! And then they would enslave humanity, and make us do their bidding. Like now, but we'd KNOW we were enslaved. And cats are already murder-y jerks, killing birds and other stuff.

The only reason they'd keep some humans around would be for the opposable thumbs and ability to use a can opener! WE'RE DOOOOMED!

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/cats_actually_kill

Zombies and vampires seem to be a thing now. Like, Twilight happened, and except for teenage girls, basically ruined the vampire genre for a lot of people. Or maybe not ruined it, as there is a lot of really, really good vampire stories out there, but dampened their enthusiasm, and made it hard to say out loud that you liked vampire stories, lest anyone associate that with the Twilight movement (I did read them, by the way, I am not just slamming it without even knowing what I'm talking about. I hate when people do that!)

Dracula is great, and in the other direction, I really love the Sookie Stackhouse novels (it is the books that the TV show ‘True Blood’ is based on. THE BOOKS ARE SOOOO GOOD.), and there is a young adult series called ‘The House of Night’ by a duet named Cast that is a really good interpretation of vampire stories. In fact, in both of these series of books, humans know about vampires and live with them out in the open, though that doesn’t exactly mean acceptance, does it?

Imagine if you were already living in a world where gay marriage is discriminated against. A stretch, I know. Now imagine that vampires exist and live next door, and you’re equally scared and fascinated by them. And some of them are gay, too. It would be uber-mega-vamp-homophobia! Except you couldn’t bully them, because they could kill you with their pinky finger. Everyone knows vampires are really strong. And cunning. Both because they really are cunning, and because the word “cunning” is an excellent one, and I felt the urge to use it here.

As to zombies, I am not sure on this. I like some of it, I don’t like some of it, but there are some pretty clear themes.

1. Zombies want to eat your brains.

2. Zombies are not the most effective communicators.

3. Most zombies are very slow, which helps to evade them, unless you are caught in a large crowd of zombies, in which case, you are basically mosh-pitted to death and then eaten in a frenzy of zombie excitement.

4. Malls are not the best places to hide from zombies.

5. They are able to be killed, for sure this time, but it takes more effort than killing humans.

6. Zombies are really good at killing humans. 

BRAAAAAAINS! Human, please. I'll take 3 pounds, sliced thin, on a hoagie

Why has no one ever explored the idea that zombies could be out there, eating the brains of dolphins or moose or squirrels or something? Why do they specifically need human brains? Is it just that when zombies come back from the dead, they are usually in a town or near a place where humans live, and therefore are presented with human brains as their first option? Oh wait, someone on Yahoo! Answers asked. Let’s see what they say. Hmm...not as bad as I was expecting, given that it’s Yahoo! Answers.

I posed this question to 3 other people. Showing that they know me well, not a single one of them even wondered why I asked, when out of the blue, I texted them “Hey. Have you ever wondered why zombies don’t just eat animal brains?”

I got 3 different and viable answers:

Boyfriend: “I assumed they did, hence zombie dogs, rats, etc.”

Gigi: “I think they do eat animals as well as people, but generally zombie outbreaks happen in populated areas, and the most plentiful game is people.”

Megan: “Because animals are smarter than us and hide better. Humans are all like, ‘I gotta go save my friend!’ But animals are all like, ‘Good luck forest friends, Imma be hiding over here!’”

The girls have good points! Animals generally have that fight or flight instinct that allows them to survive in the wilderness and avoid predators. Humans, while we HAVE the fight or flight reflex, are more able to override that and be like “Come at me, bro!” And all the movies do show zombie outbreaks happening in big cities like Gotham and Metropolis and you know, other big cities. And I don’t see a whole lot of moose and possum wandering the streets of New York to snack on.

So, I am not sure where I was going with this, but I feel like we all learned a lot about ourselves. Vampires are rad and they should be coexisting peacefully with us and drinking synthetic blood (Not exactly a spoiler: ‘True Blood’ is the name of the synthetic blood that vamps are able to subsist on instead of snacking on humans or animals in the Charlaine Harris novels-turned-TV-show). And zombies are questionable. They either eat both animal and human brains, kind of slowly, or they leave Fido and Sasquatch alone and target humans; either because we are heavily populated and therefore plentiful, or because we are stupid and animals hide better/run faster.

Side note: The True Blood books were really good. For fans of the show: Each novel is really action-packed and fast-paced. The entire first season of the show mirrored just book 1 of the more-than-15 book series, and then it diverged from the books. If you like the show, you should totally read the books! When I read them, I got the first several from the library, before eventually having to buy a couple of them when they didn’t have the next in the series that I needed!

Making It In This World As A Gumshoe.

I bet I would be a pretty badass murderer. Or, you know, crime scene investigator or detective. Yeah, that one. I would be a super badass private eye!

 

Especially if this were the 40’s, and I was just a man, a gumshoe, sitting in a room full of shadows, feet on my desk and newspaper in my hand. A sigh filled with ennui escapes me, as I realize that my last couple of cases were boring, too easy, not worthy of my time and skills. But, I suppose sometimes we do what we have to to pay the bills. A sudden sound interrupts my reverie. The door swings open, revealing a woman, her face half covered with a wide-brimmed black felt hat. She stares at me for a moment, as I place my paper on the desk and wonder what she could need. What would a woman like her be doing in a place like this, in the not-yet-gentrified, slightly seedy side of DC? She sits opposite me, her head down. When she looks back up, I can see the fear in her eyes, the pain behind the fear, under the edge of her hat. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth, her words almost tumbling over each other in her haste to tell her tale. At the end, she stops, sniffs once, and looks me directly in the eye. “So, will you help me?”

Sure, my little story is stereotypical for a P.I. in the olden days. But really, what else would you be expecting? In this case, it’s stereotypical because it works. Could you not clearly see it, in your head, full black and white, as it plays out like any good detective novel or movie?

Back to the point. I have watched A LOT of crime shows. My top favorites are Criminal Minds, Bones, Law & Order, and Psych. One of my favorite authors is David Baldacci, a writer whose complex, twisting, incredibly detailed crime thriller/detective novels make it so that I cannot stop reading, even when I am so tired that half my body is hanging off the bed and my eyes are barely open and I think to myself “It’s 1:30 am! I HAVE to go to sleep or I’ll die at work tomorrow! Ok, just finish this chapter...”

With all this knowledge, in addition to a keen and analytical mind, I figure my best bet for a career is either catching the bad guy, or being one.

He's so fancy!

Think about it! I could be like Bones but with more personality, and friends. Or I could be some sort of criminal mastermind, building an empire on deceit and gold. I wonder if there is some kind of school course or something I could take that could train me in both, and then halfway through, you pick your specialty (crime or crimefighter) and then the rest of the course is more specific and specialized to what you’re going to do.

Imagine if, as a Crimefighter major, you also got to pick a superhero alter-ego, or as a Crime major, you were immediately fitted for an old style sharp pinstriped suit, fedora, given a cigar and a pocketwatch, and were told to maintain a neat mustache. No goatees allowed. 

Goatees don’t exactly scream gangster to me. And in case you want to argue with me about goatees being super awesomely gangster, I shall take this time to remind you that Mel Gibson has a half-gray, half-black aging-devil-looking mustache and goatee combo. And it's not doing the dude any favors.

The devil or is it the Amazing Mesmero, low-budget magician?

I have to tell you...so far, being a criminal mastermind is edging out detective. I mean, I get a suit, and a sweet pocketwatch, a fedora. AND I SUPER LOVE MUSTACHES (again, maybe not ol' Mel's...)

Were there female gangsters in the 40’s? Because even though I adore fluffy mustaches, I don’t exactly want to sport my own. I can strap into a suit and step on people on my way to the top of my crime organization in blood-red stilettos and singing happily to myself, with a gun at my hip.

Do I get a pinkie ring, too? Who buys me the pinkie ring? Is it a privilege? Should I only accept a pinkie ring from my 2nd in command, or can I just go get it myself from Claires or Zales or something? Also, if I’m allowed to have a pinkie-ring-preference, I’d like it to have some sort of crest on it, or my initials. Because I’ve decided on my signature.

They way you’ll know I’ve been there or a crime could be associated with my people will be that my pinkie ring is a signet ring. I’ll melt wax and then leave the imprint of my ring in the way. Oh man, my ring will be so rad.

Pretty sure if I were in the 40’s, that my decision is made. I would be the Gangster Queen of Brooklyn. Or Florida. Depends on where I’d be living, I guess.

Except instead of being certified in crime reduction, it would be in crime increasion. Increasing? Enlargement? Hell, I'm not the one who makes up graduation certificates!

I am going to think about this before bed tonight and maybe I’ll have some awesome dreams full of gangsters versus old-timey cops, and murder, drama, all in full-on black and white, with a narrator in my head. Since it’ll be a dream, I’d like to officially put in a request for the narrator to be Morgan Freeman.

What My Closet Reveals About Me.

I was a very odd child. Aside from the obvious weirdness I still exhibit, I had selective hyper-organization skills. I say selective because I used to refer to the floor as “the biggest shelf in the house,” and my room looked like a disaster site. Though to be fair, I knew where every single thing was, it was just that other people might die in there. But at least I’d know where they were! My mom says I also showed signs of "selective hearing," but that one was a more deliberate choice.

Here is a good example of my selective hyper-organization skillz:

I didnt know what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I was interested in a ton of different things. So I found a file box, one of those plastic boxes for 4 x 6 index cards, with a closing top and alphabetical files in it. And then I proceeded to write each thing I was interested in on a card, a description of what I thought it would be like to do that for a job, and filed it in my box. In alphabetical order, of course. I actually still have it somewhere. Probably in a box of random crap in my parent's garage.

Mine was blue, in case you needed a clearer picture.

My 'files' looked something like this:

Job: Writer

My life: Sitting at a fancypants computer in a big huge house with a pool and a horse and 7 dogs. I’ll write when I’m not swimming and stuff. Writing means working from home, which means no pants.

Oh. My. God.

I was a genius.

No wonder I want to be a writer so badly. Hello? NO PANTS WORKDAYS. That’s the winning career. I hadn’t even factored that into adult-me wanting to be a writer.

Another example:

Job: Astronaut

My life: Marrying another astronaut while we are in space, flipping upside down and stuff. Discover new planets and stars and make a lot of money. Also, pretending I am swimming through a spaceship sounds wicked awesome.

Ok, I need to stop giving examples. It turns out little me was not so different from adult me. Because I have to tell you, both of those examples are making me rethink the path my life is currently on.

Is it too late to become an astronaut? I think they have a physical test, and I have to tell you, I don’t run. I am an UH-DULT. There is no reason for to be running to or from anything. I have no money, so there’s no one attempting to rob me, and I’m not quite at a point in my life where I feel the urge to run toward McDonalds or something. I mean, I’ve never tried it, but I also don’t think I would do one of those slow-motion running on the beach into Boyfriend’s arms. That just seems silly. So there you have it. I don’t run.

If someone were to start chasing me, I’d probably get about 7 strides in and then stop, huffing and puffing, bent over with my hands on my knees, and yell at the person “WHY THE HECK ARE YOU CHASING ME?” And if that person couldn’t provide a satisfactory answer, like maybe “Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Someone rich.” Or something along those lines, then I am going to shark-punch him in the throat and get back to walking at my normal speed. 

Me, after a block. But not black and no way in hell would I be in some kind of race.

One way my awkward organization skills show themselves in my adult life is my closet. With my shoes, I just leave them in a pile on the floor, usually pointing in the direction I was going when I took them off. But I have all my tops hung up neatly in the closet. Which isn’t the weird part. They are in color order, from lightest to darkest. Now, I haven’t taken it TOO far. They are NOT in order of sleeveless-short sleeve-long sleeve (at least not at the moment).

But they are in color order, starting with white on the far left and moving down the line to yellow, peach, pink, red, teal, green, blue, purple, brown, black.

It makes sense for me. When I am in the shower in the morning, I like to think ahead to what I am going to wear to work that day, and it’s rarely a specific T-shirt that I want to wear. It’s usually more like, “Hmm...I think I’m in more of a teal mood today.”

And it’s super easy to maintain! I leave the hanger wherever the shirt was, so when my laundry is clean and I’m hanging stuff up, if it’s a blue shirt, I just grab the empty hanger from the blues and put the clean one right back where it was! The fact that the closet shelves are messy and a bit disorganized, and there's dust all on the floor, does not negate the fact that my clothes hang in a rainbow of happiness.

This isn't my closet. But it's beautiful!

DON’T JUDGE ME. Or at least, don’t judge me for THAT. There is so much more going on in me that you could judge me for. :) 

I wonder if a psychologist would have a field day with me, or if I am not as odd as people say I am, and he would traverse easily through the weirdness in me?

I was an ordinary child in many ways. Isn’t that what criminal masterminds always say? Didn’t Dr. Evil say something to that effect? And the car he was in was incinerated and he was saved only by the protective shell of his mother. And then something about Belgians.

There are only 2 things I can’t stand in this world. People who are intolerant of other people AND THE DUTCH!

...somehow, it always comes back to Austin Powers, doesn’t it? Life, the universe, everything. Screw 42, it’s Austin Powers that explains it all. Even Clarissa never came close.

lol, one more:

“I used to think you were crazy, but now I can see your nuts!”(and yes, Mom, I AM using the correct form of "your" here, in context. I'd explain it, but you'd probably think it was gross.)

Bwahahahaha!

Love that whole series. I even have them on DVDs. Much to Boyfriend’s dismay, I like DVDs, and CDs, and other obsolete technology he no longer deigns to acknowledge. Poor Boyfriend, living with such a technologically backwards person, one who even argues in favor of watching movies on DVD, because then we can watch deleted scenes and other extras. I can see how that would cause a techy person immense suffering. :P

Job Hunting Is The Worst Thing Ever Times Infinity. Also, Let's Discuss the Moon for a Moment.

Every time I get a solid reject slap in the face, I just go back in and beg for more.

Because THAT’S THE KINDA CHICK I AM, DAMMIT.

Job hunting is the worst. And it’s a catch-22 in a lot of cases. I am 26 years old, I have almost 6 years of professional experience, all in sales. Now, I am attempting to find a job in a completely different field. They SAY entry-level, but they don’t really mean it. They want someone who has some minimal experience, or maybe a college degree in that field. How to get experience in order to get hired and gain some experience?

Life’s little mysteries.

They also say “it’s easier to find a job if you already have one.” This one very well may be true. But then you have to figure out ways to go on interviews, for jobs you likely won’t get anyway, in the middle of you already-employed workday.

Getting a new job is a lot like moving to a different apartment or house. There are usually good reasons to make the move, you usually want to do it, and it generally puts you closer to where you want to be.

But damn, it sucks times infinity. PLUS ONE.

Job hunting and apartment hunting are both exercises in frustration. Eventually, you find something and you make the decision to take it, and it either works out better or it doesn’t.

But if you don’t even try, you’ll stay stuck in the same place forever, unhappy but not making any moves to fix it.

So, I guess in the end, no matter how discouraging or frustrating job hunting is, we’ll still slap on suits, take extra copies of our resumes, remember to wear the nice shoes, and then later, go home and start applying to more, after the rejection slap we just suffered at the hands of those that control our job fates.

Wow. Talk about depressing. Sorry for the weird sad note in this. It is a discouraging process, but I never let anything get me down for long! Here, enjoy this awesome picture of Liz Lemon from 30 Rock and Buzz Aldrin yelling at the moon. 

 Speaking of the moon, why do all the other planets we come across get cool names for their moons, like Jupiter’s “Callisto” and “Iocaste” and Saturn’s “Hyperion” and “Phoebe” (Phoebe is Saturn’s 9th moon and was discovered in the late 1800s. Wonder what made them go with Phoebe??), and all we get is “moon.”

It’s like, screw you, Earth, you don’t even get a NAME for your stupid moon. You only have one of them anyway. Or maybe it’s like when a small child has a teddy bear and almost always names him “Teddy.” Maybe we were too young and uninformed to be able to properly name our moon anything other that what it actually is. Though, we at least didn’t name Earth “Planet.” 

Imagine that. “Of all the planets in the solar system, Planet has supported life for this long...though we aren’t entirely convinced of the intelligence of said life. After all, they named their giant self-sustaining spaceship ‘Planet,’ even after calling all other 8 orbiting bodies in their vicinity planets as well.”

So, we escaped being made fun of by all the other, bigger planets on that score. If we are allowed to vote on it, I think we should name the planet something Earth-y. We name a lot of other planets moons after random gods and goddesses of lore. So, we should name our moon something more human-y, since so far, we’re the only humans we know of out here. And it’s OUR moon anyway, so screw what other planet’s being think we should call it.

Hmm...how about “Great Tide Controller of the Sky” or “Man Behind the Curtain” (heck yeah, Oz reference!), or maybe “Fred.” Maybe something more flora/fauna related? “Flower of the Night” or “Jungle Riptide.” You know what? Riptide Jungle would be a cool name for an 80's tribute hair band.

I don’t know, I am running out of name ideas here. Come on, help me out, people!

...lol, and if you think those are awesome names that I came up with on the fly, wait ‘til I have a puppy. Or a KID! I want a puppy, and I’d like to name it Dragon. We shall see, OH WE SHALL SEE.

Rawr! Dragon will eat your face! He's such a magnificent beast!

Gambling My Life Away

If my work had a talent show, I wouldn’t sing. I mean, come on, that would be so EXPECTED. I sing in my office, on the street, in the bathroom, quietly to myself in public, when I’m bored, when I’m happy, or when I’m writing a new song. And etcetera.

Wouldn’t want to be too obvious, now would we? However, I could enter the talent show with some chainsaw-juggling, or sword-swallowing, or perhaps some comedic monologue. First, I would need to learn to juggle while simultaneously not chopping off a limb, swallow a sword without dying, and then learn how to act.

...oh, look at that. I’m acting like I already know how. CHECK. CHECKEROO. CHECKTOWN, Population: 1.

Life is NOT like a box of chocolates. Unfortunately for Gump, he apparently never turned over the top of the box and saw the little map of what everything was. Life is like a huge poker game. You’re going in blind, you only know your own cards, you bluff your way through a lot of situations, and in the end, win or lose, you still played the game. Life is a gamble.

I like to gamble.

In fact, I come from a gambling family. My grandparents are cardsharks. My grandfather will steal all your pennies at the poker games we play without remorse, and with considerable skill. My grandma is also a great player and loves it. In fact, we’re all gamblers. We love casinos. The noise, the people, the vague desperation mixed with the heady scent of winning. You see all walks of life on the casino floor, and you can see the happiest and the saddest in people.

Word of advice: Never hit on a 12 or higher.

Life is sometimes simply a roll of the dice. You don’t know what will come up, you can’t guarantee any particular combination, but you know the basic parameters of the game, even if you don’t understand all the particular nuances yet.

Hmm...for me, life is like craps. I don’t understand all of it, but it looks and sounds hella fun, and I want to play! I will play. People say ‘life is short’ and I guess you can think so, but I disagree. Life is the longest thing any of us will ever experience! So experience the hell out of life! Drink beer, play cards, hang out with friends. Work hard, play hard, love hard.

NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENS HERE. But it seems really awesome.

When I love someone, I love hard. Whether it is a significant other, a friend, a family member, or string cheese, it doesn’t matter. I have a hard and steady type of love. It is unconditional. It never says “If only you didn’t do THIS.” or “I’d love you more if you were like THAT.” I am not talking about lust or companionship or even familial bonds.

My love isn’t soft, or minor, or small. I like, and I love, with all of myself. This has burned me in the past, of course. And I would be naive to say that I won’t ever get hurt by it again, but am I going to let some hurt feelings and perhaps a bruised ego stand in the way? Of course not. Life is all about the people you surround yourself with and the way you feel about yourself and those people. I have a support system of honest, amazing, rambunctious, loving friends and family, and I know every day how lucky I am to have them.

Soft, crappy, inconsequential love or like is the worst. When you are 2 steps above apathy. You like someone, but you wouldn’t go out of your way for them. No thanks, movin' on.

I wonder about people who don’t gamble at all, who never take any risks or jump from the plane. I don’t mean unnecessary risks, like jumping without a parachute, or playing Russian roulette with a kamikaze pilot. I just mean fun risks. Riding a scary roller coaster, skiing, falling in love at least once, learning something new, flicking a spider with your bare finger (gasp!).

I also wonder about people who can’t help but gamble. I mean, the compulsion of it, the hint of feeling like everything is riding on one card or roll of the die. I couldn’t live like that, constantly on the edge between destitute and elation, not sure which way you’d fall. I am a big believer in a comfortable middle ground.

Enjoy risk, but the golden rule always applies:

Never gamble with more than you can afford to lose.

Love is a gamble. Relationships are hard. They can be confusing and scary and exciting and comfortable, all at the same time. Wouldn’t be as fun if they were boring!

Love, my dear, young, sweet readers, is a ridiculous, silly, fun, treacherous, dangerous, scary, rewarding ride that everyone should try. Fear is fine. Everyone feels fear. But to allow that fear to hold you back from something that can so significantly impact your life in the best (and sometimes worst) way, is lacking courage. Courage, bravery, is when you do something even though it scares you.

In fact, I recently wrote a song about it. I had this phrase “Bravery in the face of fire” floating around in my head for quite a while, before finally writing a wonderful song about it and getting it out of my head and onto the page.

I hope, one day, to be 85 years old and still playing poker. I dislike the slot machines, but not because the odds are so terrible, and not because I dislike happy clanging and bells and whistles when you win. THAT I enjoy. I dislike the slot machines because they aren’t interactive. Playing poker and roulette and blackjack at least require a modicum of skill, and paying attention, and interacting with the dealer. I like that. :) Even when you lose, you get your money’s worth of play.

So there you have it. Life is not a box of chocolates or a bowl of cherries, or any of those trite things you read on Hallmark cards. Life is a gamble, a rush, a throw of the dice. So, play hard, love hard, bluff when you need to, learn how to lose gracefully, and know when to fold ‘em and walk away.

But trust me on this one: Never hit on a 12 or higher.

How Would The Pope React If God Was a Woman?

You know what would be awesome and more than a little hilarious? If there really was a god, and then when you die, you find out it’s a lesbian woman goddess.

All the religious people would be hella confused, and you’d practically be able to see their brains self-combust as they try to decide between a lifelong programmed response of “GOD HATES GAYS!” and the much more respectful sentiment of “Oh, well, ok, I can adapt. Guess you’re mighty pissed about that anti-gay demonstration and that I voted against the Fair Pay Act. Hmm...maybe I’ll just give myself a little time out to think about what I’ve done. I am going to go face that cloud, and later, maybe we can discuss this some more?”

Wonder what the Pope’s reaction would be? I just can't get this image of a stooped old white man in a bulletproof glass vehicle, just scratching his head and trying to make sense out of it. What would he say? What would he do? Would he attempt to communicate with the still-living to explain that they've had it all wrong and they need to do some rewriting of their laws and stuff?

ALANIS.And I'm heeeere! To remind youuu! Of the mess you left, when you went away! It's not faaaair!

So, that segues nicely into tell you what happened yesterday:
Monday morning, March 11th, 8 am: A guy gets on the 5 train and starts rambling on about how women should wear long jackets. He said that short jackets that don't cover your butt means you are going away from God, and that God hates women who wear short jackets. Then he started singing (an unfortunately catchy tune) about Judgement Day coming.

I ended up humming his stupid song during the rest of my walk to work. That was the most annoying part!

Swear to god, the EXACT SAME GUY got on my train again this morning. First words out of his mouth were "Long jackets, ladies! LONG JACKETS." No explanation this time. Some people looked confused. But I knew what was going on, so I continued my time-tested method of ignoring the heck out of people and reading my Kindle. I love my Kindle.

I googled “Does god hate short jackets?” Just for funsies. The very top result was “Does God Hate Detroit?”

And I think we all know the answer to THAT question. Duh, of course He/She/It does.

I am not particularly religious, and it generally amuses me when I see train preachers, or Turlington Plaza preachers (Go Gators!) or when random customers used to try to convince me that Judaism was wrong and we just “didn’t understand” and would leave those ridiculous Jesus brochures as a “tip” when I was a waitress. (If I wanted to explore Jesus, I could get my own brochures and Zagat book to plan my trip.) Note to self: pamphlets, brochures, and business cards of any kind do not constitute a tip.

Even though people who try to convert me don’t really bother me most of the time, I do sometimes find that it is difficult for me to refrain from just interrupting them mid-sentence and yelling “Yeah? Well there’s a REASON YOU WEREN’T CHOSEN!” And then grabbing my star of David necklace and holding it out as though to ward them off, and then running away frantically.

I just think it would be so funny!

Pretty sure the Westboro Baptist Church people would be the MOST startled to find that God was a lesbian goddess. It would basically immediately prove that their entire life’s mission had been not only meaningless, but in fact, completely opposing to what Goddess wants/loves/tolerates/preaches.

Speaking of Westboro: I hate you all. However, I am seeing more and more articles online of people using their hatred and animosity against them. People like hysterical comedian Lisa Lampanelli, who when WBC protested one of her shows, she went outside, counted how many were there, and then donated $1000 for each member in the protest to the Gay Mens Health Crisis.

Or Clayton High School in Missouri. In February, for some unknown reason, WBC decided to protest against gay people there. In response, the Clayton H.S. Gay-Straight Alliance held a counter-protest. Them, fellow members of their community and even kids from other schools, raised money for every minute the WBC was there protesting. The Clayton GSA had a protest slogan too: “Love Conquers Hate.”

Simply by continuing to protest, and to carry out their ridiculous hatred across the country, the WBC is actually helping raise money for what they are protesting against.

Is there anything more amazing and heartwarming than teenagers, in addition to tons of people from their own community, coming together to preach love and tolerance, and showing their support for one another?

http://www.sodahead.com/living/quizhow-friendly-are-you/question-2533385/?link=ibaf&q=&esrc=s

Freaking gorgeous. It just goes to show that yes, love can conquer hate, tolerance is spreading, and we, the younger generation, can change the world and make our mark.

Let us conclude this with a short prayer:

Oh, Lesbian Goddess in the Sky. We pray to you for many things, praise you for many things you do, and sometimes, we pray really hard for the Yankees to take the pennant again this year. Peace out, Lady In The Sky.

Praying or just got hit with a ball? Who knows?