Jesus and Muhammad - Gay?

Okay, just a thought: both Jesus and Muhammad are control freaks- check out their biographies if you don't agree. They are both very picky about what you wear, think and do.

Oh. My. god (pardon the pun): Jesus and Muhammad must be gay!

It makes total sense.

No offense to homosexuals. They deserve better than religious comparisons, but honestly, I think the two leaders of modern theology were total girlfriends. It's such divine retribution for the gays, and if religion has taught us anything, it is retribution.

I only wish the dynamic duo's followers had the good taste of gays. Of course, if you compare in-the-closet homosexuals to religious fanatics, there is such little difference. Except religious fanatics cant' dress to save their souls.

Jesus and Muhammad: gays. Nothing in my life has ever made more sense. Not brown eye shadow, not collagen, not fiber supplements, and not even Gilmore Girls. This explains everything. Whew! What a relief.

I can now sleep at night.

Lay Down These Old Bones

When my grandma was nearing ninety, she used to say to us, "I just want to lay down these old bones and die."

After nine days in a time zone that is 15 hours ahead of ours, and after 42 hours of travel time round trip, door-to-door, I understand how Grandma felt.

International travel always sounds fun. Unlike a road trip to say, Vegas, however, the getting there is the least part of the fun, even in business class. Then, once you are there, dealing with the time zone, eating lunch when you should be dreaming about fairies and pink zebras, is not so much fun either. What's less fun? Traveling East to West. I've been sleeping past noon the last two days and staying up till 3:00am. My muscles are so sore from the plane trip that I have feel there is an anchor in my back, and for some reason, I have a headache that won't go away. Does Asia cause brain tumors?

Anyway, I'm back from Hong Kong, much worse for the wear. I'd blog on something like rude people or W's latest folly, but really, who cares. I'm going to take an Advil and wait for the season premier of Gilmore Girls, then go to bed, after popping an Ambien. So if you don't hear from me for a while, I'm no doubt taking a very long nap.

Happier travels to you. Don't forget the aspirin.

Ann Richards on How to Be a Good Republican:

1. You have to believe that the nation’s current 8-year prosperity was due to the work of Ronald Reagan and George Bush, but yesterday’s gasoline prices are all Clinton’s fault.
2. You have to believe that those privileged from birth achieve success all on their own.
3. You have to be against all government programs, but expect Social Security checks on time.
4. You have to believe that AIDS victims deserve their disease, but smokers with lung cancer and overweight individuals with heart disease don’t deserve theirs.
5. You have to appreciate the power rush that comes with sporting a gun.
6. You have to believe…everything Rush Limbaugh says.
7. You have to believe that the agricultural, restaurant, housing and hotel industries can survive without immigrant labor.
8. You have to believe God hates homosexuality, but loves the death penalty.
9. You have to believe society is color-blind and growing up black in America doesn’t diminish your opportunities, but you still won’t vote for Alan Keyes.
10. You have to believe that pollution is OK as long as it makes a profit.
11. You have to believe in prayer in schools, as long as you don’t pray to Allah or Buddha.
12. You have to believe Newt Gingrich and Henry Hyde were really faithful husbands.
13. You have to believe speaking a few Spanish phrases makes you instantly popular in the barrio.
14. You have to believe that only your own teenagers are still virgins.
15. You have to be against government interference in business, until your oil company, corporation or Savings and Loan is about to go broke and you beg for a government bail out.
16. You love Jesus and Jesus loves you and, by the way, Jesus shares your hatred for AIDS victims, homosexuals, and President Clinton.
17. You have to believe government has nothing to do with providing police protection, national defense, and building roads.
18. You have to believe a poor, minority student with a disciplinary history and failing grades will be admitted into an elite private school with a $1,000 voucher.

I think the best way to honor Ann Richards' life is with her own words. Here's to a great Southern gal.

What Do W, Terrorists, and Irish Coffee Have in Common?

In the last five years, September has become the month for bad memories. The beginning of the month starts off with Katrina and, of course, on Monday, we have 9/11.

As I was getting ready for work on the morning of 9/11/01, my friend Robby called me.

I said Hello, and he said, “Don’t go to work. Terrorists have slammed planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.” Not that there could ever be anything funny about that, but I thought he was making a bad joke. He had to convince me he was telling the truth. “Turn on the TV,” he said. I thought I would click on the TV to find a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, our favorite show. Instead, I saw the first tower collapsing.

I remember saying, “huh, you’re right,” as if he had just told me some fact, either scientific or trivial, like, if you rub your bare feet against the carpet then touch metal you’ll get a shock.

My friend Shannon called me next. “There are several more planes that have been hijacked,” she said, “they can’t find them all. In fact, they believe one is headed for San Francisco.” I pictured a silver plane, streaking across the blue sky, filled with terrorists and hapless passengers who may or may not know their fate. I could see someone looking from their window seat out at the patchwork of land below, a bank of fog looming ahead, hiding our City from their view. That fog always struck me as something that looked impenetrable, yet you know it is no shield.

Shannon and I worked together and were driving in that day. We worked in San Francisco and lived in Marin County, meaning we would be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, which, on that morning, might as well have had a “Slam the Plane Here,” sign on it as far as we were concerned.

“I’m not going in,” I said.

“Yeah, me either,” she said. Then she added, “wanna start drinking?”

“It’s 7:00 AM.”

“Irish Coffee.”

She came over and I made coffee. She pulled a couple of mini-bottles of Irish Cream out of her purse. She had collected them from some of the many flights she had taken, an ironic note. We were consoling ourselves with liquor from a United flight. We foolishly wondered if the hijacked passengers had started chugging the bloody mary’s after they realized they what had happened.

“My guess is that there is no in-flight service,” I said, needing to state the obvious.

It’s strange the things you say and think in times of profound crisis. Here we are wondering if hijacked passengers can at least get an early morning buzz on.

We went to Sam’s in Tiburon for lunch. My husband, who had left for the city earlier, returned. By now we knew all planes were accounted for and flights everywhere were grounded. We sat on the deck and looked out at the bay. We were still drinking. I think I was now slugging back cabernet. The mood on the deck was somber and quiet. The place was packed, and everyone was drinking, and oddly, eating French Fries, which would in another couple years suffer a period of disgrace under the moniker of Freedom Fries. We were all looking for comfort, whether it was beer or food. I heard a woman at the next table say, “it’s the beginning of WW III.” We smirked. Then I asked Shannon, a financial expert, what she thought this would do to the economy.

“Oh forget about it,” she said, waving her hands in surrender. “It’ll be in the toilet.”

“Oops, I guess are jobs aren’t safe,” I said. She nodded.

Later, we went back to our house, and I remember Shannon saying, “You know, I’m just so angry at Bush. I mean he’s just flying around in Airforce One, trying to stay one step ahead of the terrorists. What a chicken s&*t. Rudy Giuliani is running the damn country right now.” It was true. That day, for a few hours, too many hours, Bush was a no-show on TV. Not even a press statement to be delivered via someone else. You know, he acted the same way he did when the levies broke.

I don’t remember much of the day beyond that point. I would imagine it was spent in front of the TV, listening to reporters and pundits talk about the meaning of this and that and what would happen next and yadda yadda yadda. I'm sure alcohol was involved. And junk food.

Shannon and I later found out that both our departments were due to get laid off on September 11, but the company had thought better of it, and decided to wait a month before giving us the heave ho. She moved away and every now and then I get a Christmas card from her. She’s married and has a baby, something she always wanted to do. Her Christmas card is always a family photo, and in it, she smiles large and looks hopeful, like good years are ahead of them. I hope they are. Five years ago we didn’t feel so lucky, but here we are, down the road looking back. All this makes me realize something. I didn’t like George W. Bush or religious fanatics then, and I hate them now. I also don’t really like Irish Coffee.

What a Relief. My Name Doesn't Pop Up.

In case you haven't already heard about this, go to google.com and in the search field, type in Failure. It's pretty funny.

When Large Egos Happen to Bad People

In my career, I have worked with some really, really bad people who have made it their job to makes other people miserable. The buzz word for those types these days is "Toxic."

Chickpea, a boss who picked his nose, passed gas, burped in management meetings, told his staff to shut-up, snapped his fingers at them to get their attention and threatened to fire someone at the drop of the hat, is a toxic person. He's got waste coming out his eyeballs.

Then there was the woman I called "Bats-in-the-belfry Bitch." TOXIC. She turned every one-on-one meeting into a brag-fest, whether it was about how much money she had, how all the clients loved, loved, loved her or how many (imaginary) friends she had.

I've written recently about the snitty slacker and Big Bones Bore, so no need to rehash them.

Lately, a different breed of person has been annoying me. Stupid people with large egos. Just because they are stupid doesn't make them bad. The large ego does, however, throw them in the same category as the people above.

I remember once when a stupid person I worked with confided in me that her boss, Bats-in-the-Belfry Bitch (BBB) was too much to handle. I sympathized with her, because no one hated the triple B more than I did. Anyway, BBB and I worked together on a few projects, and that day when work finished, I saw her in the parking lot and went up to her to ask her something about a project. The stupid chick confronted me the next day, assuming I must have been telling BBB what she had said. I had forgotten about what she had said. It wasn't that important or interesting or nothing new.

I've noticed that since then, many dumb people I encounter actually have large egos, which puts them in the same category as really smart people with large egos - people behaving badly. Usually, you associate a highly successful person with having a Rumsfeld-sized ego. Not that being smart and successful always go hand-in-hand. So at middle-age, I have finally learned a lesson: just about everyone, smart or stupid, seems to have a large ego.

So if everyone would just be a bit harder on themselves, and be their own worst critic, maybe the world would be a better place to live in. Of course, I wouldn't have anything to blog about. I know, I know. That wouldn't be such a bad thing.