As anyone who reads blogs knows, a successful blog is updated frequently, at least twice a week. Well damn, I don’t have a successful blog because my last post is old news about the Downing Street memo which has gone no where thanks to the conservative media. But I do have stories of a person behaving badly. And it’s not W (though he’s just awful. President W, please stop saying “tourist” when you mean “terrorist.”
I’ve been traveling for my job, or I should say, I’ve been tagging along behind my boss while traveling around the country. We just got back from Chicago, and now he’s off for eleven days, during which time I expect my ego to make a partial recovery after being with him for 48 hours.
He’s a fun guy with a real sharp sense of humor. For a third grader, that is. Yesterday, as our little group was waiting to catch a plane, I proposed a new ad idea. Everyone liked it. Jokingly, I said, “Just call me genius.” He said, “You know what the definition for genius is?” I ignored him. He repeated the question, for my convenience, of course. “What?” I said, knowing a put-down was imminent.
“Flaming idiot.” Then he laughed his hoary laugh that always ends in a coughing fit.
He has many jibes like this that would make grammar school kids belly laugh. Adults, however, just stand back and look embarrassed for him, while thinking, “This man is an executive?”
Then there was this little gem: I bought a sleeping mask at the airport store, to which he quipped, “Good. That will improve your looks.”
Have I confronted him about his bad behavior? Yes. He has the perfect double-whammy response. “It’s when I don’t make fun of you that you should worry,” he said. “I make fun of you because you are so much fun and I like you.” Then he proceeded to tell me a story about a guy who he used to make fun of at work. One day, the guy screwed up big time and my boss stopped poking fun at him. Devastated, the guy resigned. He knew he had failed miserably and there was no going back.
Okay, that was one stupid guy. He quit because the boss stopped heckling him? If my manager would leave me alone I’d probably put the Prozac away and stop blogging all together. I might smile at cuddly little babies (no, who am I kidding?), I might hum happy tunes. I’d be nicer to strangers. I’d still hate W, of course. Some things never change.
I console myself because I know that often at the root of bad behavior there’s a Republican. Oops, I meant to say a person who’s been hurt badly. Like when Dick Cheney accuses democrats of preferring therapy over a more positive course of action like war, or when Donald Rumsfeld, um, opens his mouth. Someone just hurt them in the past and now they are behaving badly. Sounds reasonable, right?
Oh who am I kidding. People can just be SOBs for no damn reason. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go punish my liver and kill a few brain cells.
June 28, 2005
June 18, 2005
Media Wusses on Downing Street
The media should be all over the Downing Street Memo like Michael Jackson on a drunk 8 year old. I watched the three big cable news networks this morning and there wasn’t one word about it. They were too busy still talking about the Jackson trial and force-feeding us the usual warnings of new Al Queda threats.
Maybe they are afraid of another Dan Rather-like mishap, or Newsweek and the case of the flushed Quran. It’s too bad because there was more coverage given to Clinton’s intern and her neat cigar tricks, than is given to the fact that the leader of the free world built a marketing strategy around the war in Iraq. I’m in marketing and I’m getting tired of the Bush administration misusing my chosen profession for their evil purposes. Will somebody in the media please grow some balls and expose this administration for once and for all? Or are you leaving it up to bloggers?
Maybe they are afraid of another Dan Rather-like mishap, or Newsweek and the case of the flushed Quran. It’s too bad because there was more coverage given to Clinton’s intern and her neat cigar tricks, than is given to the fact that the leader of the free world built a marketing strategy around the war in Iraq. I’m in marketing and I’m getting tired of the Bush administration misusing my chosen profession for their evil purposes. Will somebody in the media please grow some balls and expose this administration for once and for all? Or are you leaving it up to bloggers?
June 15, 2005
Vegas Confidential: dating is a gamble in this town
I am pals with a young woman in her late twenties who recently dumped her boyfriend of six years because he A) may have a drug problem, B) may have a gambling problem and C) couldn’t commit. Okay, so the question isn’t why can’t he commit but why would she want to. This friend, who I’ll call Paris, because dating in this town can be so sleazy, promptly put herself on the market and posted her profile on Match.com.
Paris is very pretty. Like the more famous Paris of the hotel family, she is blond and blue eyed, though not anorexic, but is obsessed with her small dog. She also has an annoying sidekick for a best friend. No, not me, another friend.
Paris got many hits on Match, and after much deliberation, set up a date with one guy. They went to lunch. They clicked. They laughed. He said he’d call her. She never heard from him.
She tried again, and set up a lunch with another guy. They were inseparable for three days. He had her meet his best friend. That went well. Or so she thought. Two days passed and there was no word from beau number 2. Then he sent an email, saying that he was really busy, but liked her company, but needed to take things slow, but was definitely interested, but. . .
They would talk on the phone nightly, and see each other about once a week. Then his ex-girlfriend re-entered the picture. Her mother was dying. He needed to be there for her. But he was still interested in Paris. But he couldn’t spend much time with her. But he really liked her.
The ex-girlfriend’s mother died about four days later. Paris and Beau #2 started seeing more of each other. Then the ex-girlfriend broke up with her current boyfriend. Beau #2 started getting busy with work again.
Paris got fed up with the games. She went back to Match and started looking. In the meantime, another friend set her up. The guy had been in a semi-famous Southern California band. He showed up for the date drunk. About 15 minutes into the date, he leaned over and a bottle of Xanax fell out of his pocket. She handed him the bottle. He said, “oh thanks,” and tossed a couple back. Rudely, he did not offer her any.
That was their only date. Paris is concentrating on her career right now, and thinking seriously about becoming a playgirl, a female Heff. That way she doesn’t have to worry about men with short attention spans. I told her that was all well and good, just don’t start dressing like some Vegas ho-bag.
As I write this, my husband of 15 years is sleeping next to me. Snoring. Loudly. It’s not even 9:30 for God’s sake, and he’s out like a 10-year old boy drinking libations at Neverland Ranch.
What’s the moral of the story? None. Except maybe it’s really hard for us ladies to keep a guy’s attention. They are either snaking after ex-girlfriends or snoring. Snoring is safer and doesn’t hurt your feelings. So I’ll take snoring, and be thankful that I don’t have to worry about blind dates showing up drunk and popping Xanax – and not offering me any.
Paris is very pretty. Like the more famous Paris of the hotel family, she is blond and blue eyed, though not anorexic, but is obsessed with her small dog. She also has an annoying sidekick for a best friend. No, not me, another friend.
Paris got many hits on Match, and after much deliberation, set up a date with one guy. They went to lunch. They clicked. They laughed. He said he’d call her. She never heard from him.
She tried again, and set up a lunch with another guy. They were inseparable for three days. He had her meet his best friend. That went well. Or so she thought. Two days passed and there was no word from beau number 2. Then he sent an email, saying that he was really busy, but liked her company, but needed to take things slow, but was definitely interested, but. . .
They would talk on the phone nightly, and see each other about once a week. Then his ex-girlfriend re-entered the picture. Her mother was dying. He needed to be there for her. But he was still interested in Paris. But he couldn’t spend much time with her. But he really liked her.
The ex-girlfriend’s mother died about four days later. Paris and Beau #2 started seeing more of each other. Then the ex-girlfriend broke up with her current boyfriend. Beau #2 started getting busy with work again.
Paris got fed up with the games. She went back to Match and started looking. In the meantime, another friend set her up. The guy had been in a semi-famous Southern California band. He showed up for the date drunk. About 15 minutes into the date, he leaned over and a bottle of Xanax fell out of his pocket. She handed him the bottle. He said, “oh thanks,” and tossed a couple back. Rudely, he did not offer her any.
That was their only date. Paris is concentrating on her career right now, and thinking seriously about becoming a playgirl, a female Heff. That way she doesn’t have to worry about men with short attention spans. I told her that was all well and good, just don’t start dressing like some Vegas ho-bag.
As I write this, my husband of 15 years is sleeping next to me. Snoring. Loudly. It’s not even 9:30 for God’s sake, and he’s out like a 10-year old boy drinking libations at Neverland Ranch.
What’s the moral of the story? None. Except maybe it’s really hard for us ladies to keep a guy’s attention. They are either snaking after ex-girlfriends or snoring. Snoring is safer and doesn’t hurt your feelings. So I’ll take snoring, and be thankful that I don’t have to worry about blind dates showing up drunk and popping Xanax – and not offering me any.
June 12, 2005
Satan, God and W are in a boat . . .
There has been much buzz lately about how two-thirds of Americans believe that Beelzebub exists. I can see why they would think this. How else do you explain the transformation of America’s once-sweetheart, Miss Lindsey Lohan. Seriously, since it’s Sunday, let’s talk religion, or more specifically,that old horn-headed beast. No, not Dick Cheney. Satan!
In a way, Satan is the new Poster Boy for the Conservatives. They lob him as a metaphorical grenade when attacking their enemies. Satan takes the heat for everything the far right opposes, from the UN to hobags in Hollywood. W refers to the Axis of Evil, and even I, Binx, refer to the Venetian Resort Hotel and Casino where I once worked as the Dark Tower.
My cousin, a gun toting, God-fearing Southerner (and proud of it) once asked me if I believed in Satan. I think she was afraid for my soul, as I don’t go to church and often roll my eyes whenever anyone in my family makes reference to praying or God or church. I told her no, I don’t believe in him. He’s the ultimate monster in the closet meant to scare kids. Problem is, there’s a lot of adults out there who believe the story.
I don’t know why I don’t believe in Satan. I surely think there’s evil in the world. How else do you explain work cubicles and jackass bosses? The world is bad, no doubt. But is there a mastermind behind it? No, I’m not talking about Rupert Murdoch.
What’s ironic is that so many of the born-again Christians seem, well, evil. The ones I’ve come across are narrow-minded hypocrites who must be masochistic because they think do unto others is an excuse to treat people badly.
Things are not good. We are at war. We have a hopeless deficit. The world hates us, and the animosity is growing with a bullet attached to it, Meanwhile, in the Sudan, God is nowhere to be found, and neither are we, the one place we should be.
Maybe God is too busy helping W make bad decisions. We couldn’t find OBL, so we wasted money and lives on Iraq, and now terrorists are multiplying like bunnies. Our surplus turned into a deficit. The economy is wobbling like a Weeble, the rich are getting richer thanks to W’s tax breaks and social mobility is a thing of the past for the rest of us schmoes.
Here’s a thought: maybe W is actually evil, and there is a God. God is “guiding” W, which is his way of paying back all of the Americans who voted for him.
This concludes today’s sermon. Now go have a cocktail.
In a way, Satan is the new Poster Boy for the Conservatives. They lob him as a metaphorical grenade when attacking their enemies. Satan takes the heat for everything the far right opposes, from the UN to hobags in Hollywood. W refers to the Axis of Evil, and even I, Binx, refer to the Venetian Resort Hotel and Casino where I once worked as the Dark Tower.
My cousin, a gun toting, God-fearing Southerner (and proud of it) once asked me if I believed in Satan. I think she was afraid for my soul, as I don’t go to church and often roll my eyes whenever anyone in my family makes reference to praying or God or church. I told her no, I don’t believe in him. He’s the ultimate monster in the closet meant to scare kids. Problem is, there’s a lot of adults out there who believe the story.
I don’t know why I don’t believe in Satan. I surely think there’s evil in the world. How else do you explain work cubicles and jackass bosses? The world is bad, no doubt. But is there a mastermind behind it? No, I’m not talking about Rupert Murdoch.
What’s ironic is that so many of the born-again Christians seem, well, evil. The ones I’ve come across are narrow-minded hypocrites who must be masochistic because they think do unto others is an excuse to treat people badly.
Things are not good. We are at war. We have a hopeless deficit. The world hates us, and the animosity is growing with a bullet attached to it, Meanwhile, in the Sudan, God is nowhere to be found, and neither are we, the one place we should be.
Maybe God is too busy helping W make bad decisions. We couldn’t find OBL, so we wasted money and lives on Iraq, and now terrorists are multiplying like bunnies. Our surplus turned into a deficit. The economy is wobbling like a Weeble, the rich are getting richer thanks to W’s tax breaks and social mobility is a thing of the past for the rest of us schmoes.
Here’s a thought: maybe W is actually evil, and there is a God. God is “guiding” W, which is his way of paying back all of the Americans who voted for him.
This concludes today’s sermon. Now go have a cocktail.
June 11, 2005
W: how about showing me the money?
I think it’s really sweet that you are helping your buddies with tax breaks. A recent article by the brilliant David Cay Johston in the NYT reveals that 68% of your tax cuts go the top 10% of the wealthiest. I’m looking forward to one of them hiring me with that extra money and putting me in a highly compensated position. That’s your intention, right?
That, and the fact that the rich will spend more on things like Yachts and couture clothing. I know you think the trickle-down effect will help me, but seeing as I don’t work in the luxury retail end of things, I’m not sure it’s going to help me any more than if the working class could afford to go to the mall more often and shop at the Gap.
Do you remember the third election debate last year? I know, silly question, you’ve got too much on your mind to remember something you told the American people. But a bit over six months ago you told us that the majority of your tax cuts would go to low and middle income people. The truth is 53 percent will go to people with incomes in the top 10 percent over the first 15 years of the cuts, which began in 2001 and would have to be reauthorized in 2010. And more than 15 percent will go just to the top 0.1 percent, those 145,000 taxpayers.
Who gets to shoulder the tax burden? Me. That’s right. Me. Miss No-Prada Binx. It’s as if your tax break are aimed solely to backfire on one person. Me. Look W, Neocons don’t look good in couture. I do. I want a tax break. Give it to me. I won’t misuse it. I have a friend with a yacht (which, by the way, I hear she bought with last year’s tax refund. Just how large are these refunds you are giving out?) and with my new pretty couture dress, bought with money saved from my tax break, I will look just right on her bow or stern or where-ever it is that people on yachts stand. I’ll make you proud. I’ll look filthy rich, just like one of your gang.
Sincerely (truly, sincerely),
No-Prada Binx
That, and the fact that the rich will spend more on things like Yachts and couture clothing. I know you think the trickle-down effect will help me, but seeing as I don’t work in the luxury retail end of things, I’m not sure it’s going to help me any more than if the working class could afford to go to the mall more often and shop at the Gap.
Do you remember the third election debate last year? I know, silly question, you’ve got too much on your mind to remember something you told the American people. But a bit over six months ago you told us that the majority of your tax cuts would go to low and middle income people. The truth is 53 percent will go to people with incomes in the top 10 percent over the first 15 years of the cuts, which began in 2001 and would have to be reauthorized in 2010. And more than 15 percent will go just to the top 0.1 percent, those 145,000 taxpayers.
Who gets to shoulder the tax burden? Me. That’s right. Me. Miss No-Prada Binx. It’s as if your tax break are aimed solely to backfire on one person. Me. Look W, Neocons don’t look good in couture. I do. I want a tax break. Give it to me. I won’t misuse it. I have a friend with a yacht (which, by the way, I hear she bought with last year’s tax refund. Just how large are these refunds you are giving out?) and with my new pretty couture dress, bought with money saved from my tax break, I will look just right on her bow or stern or where-ever it is that people on yachts stand. I’ll make you proud. I’ll look filthy rich, just like one of your gang.
Sincerely (truly, sincerely),
No-Prada Binx
June 10, 2005
W and Media, Learn This Word: Sudan
Of all the people behaving badly, and there are way too many of them, at the top of the list has to be the rapists of Darfur. Women there don’t worry about random rape. That’s because rape is used as a systematic enforcement to terrorize civilians and drive them away from any Arab lands. Well guess what, Mr. Rapists, you all live in a freaking third world country with poor plumbing and non-existent roads. You don’t have access to good wine or a Barny’s, so face it, your lives are small and they actually suck. Leave the women alone or else one day, when you die, you’ll wake up . . . in total blackness. That’s right. No 70someought virgins for you. Hell isn’t even good enough for you. By the way, Allah, God, whoever: fairy tale. That’s right, you pathetic bastards. He’s as fictional as freaking Little Red Riding Hood. And the skin your in isn’t worth as much as a nice pair of lizard-skin loafers.
What’s appalling is that we hear so much about so many other crimes, but very little of this. The media is too busy with Michael Jackson. Imagine what the world would be like if they devoted 50% of their coverage to the Sudan.
Then there is our little shifty-eyed, oversized-eared president. Does he think Sudan is a car with four doors?
Hey W, get your head out of your neoconic ass and get to work. Do what an American president should do and help a country who needs our help a hell of a lot more than upper class Americans need a tax break. Do your actual job for a change, the kind that makes history in a positive way, instead of the “stealing an election” or “lying to go to war” way.
What’s appalling is that we hear so much about so many other crimes, but very little of this. The media is too busy with Michael Jackson. Imagine what the world would be like if they devoted 50% of their coverage to the Sudan.
Then there is our little shifty-eyed, oversized-eared president. Does he think Sudan is a car with four doors?
Hey W, get your head out of your neoconic ass and get to work. Do what an American president should do and help a country who needs our help a hell of a lot more than upper class Americans need a tax break. Do your actual job for a change, the kind that makes history in a positive way, instead of the “stealing an election” or “lying to go to war” way.
June 07, 2005
W Says the Darndest Things
Molly Ivans relates a funny story on the things W says, such as, he will never agree to spend federal money to destroy life. Um, Mr. President, how do you explain Iraq?
On May 24, he said that he had to keep repeating the same things over and over so the truth would sink in and he could “kind of catapult the propaganda.” Well, heck. At least he’s honest – on this one subject anyway.
On May 24, he said that he had to keep repeating the same things over and over so the truth would sink in and he could “kind of catapult the propaganda.” Well, heck. At least he’s honest – on this one subject anyway.
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