update

Yeah, I been absent recently; busy, working, my ethernet card got blown out, talking on the phone with someone special (yes, Jonathan, that’s you), obsessed with another Star Wars game (those things really need to come with a warning label), been taking walks in the evening (I never knew exactly how much my thighs rubbed together when I walked; now I have the chafe marks to prove it). Now I’m trying to get ready for my trip to San Francisco. Whee! I’ll be fully back soon, but most likely not until after my trip. Kisses all!

"Maude" Hates Fags

(Note: One name has been changed to protect a fucking ignorant piece of shit. Also, my substitution rhymes with god, so it has the whole cultural resonance thingie.)

I love homophobia. Especially when it’s expressed out loud. No, really: I do. While that may seem ridiculous or self-loathing to you (How could he like when people say horrible things about him?), I have a very simple explanation: when people say what they actually think, then you have the opportunity to avoid them like a syphilitic dog. I mean, sure, if you wanted to be all “positive action” about it, you could say something to them like “I disagree with you” or “This conversation is making me uncomfortable”, or “You’re a fucking ignorant whore and I hope that your son or daughter, or better yet your husband, is gay and they come out to you and it completely devastates you and destroys your obviously fragile hold on reality sending you into a tailspin of depression and anxiety until you seek the sweet release of death you fucking bitch DIE DIE DIE!”

Either way, I bring this up because my dad was recently exposed to such deliciousness. He just started this new job, and his new boss is named “Maude”. After a couple of weeks there, a bunch of the people were going out to celebrate someone who was retiring (I mean they were celebrating his retirement, not necessarily like “Oh, thank GOD he’s leaving.” At least, I don’t think so. Anyway). When they got to the bar, “Maude”’s husband said to put anything the retiree wanted on his bill. Then “Maude” said to put anything for “Maude” on his tab, too. My dad, being the funny guy he is, piped up “My name’s “Maude”!” And his boss laughed and said “At least you didn’t say ‘My name ith “Maude”’”, flapping her hands up and down at the end of her wrists like dead fish, in what can only be assumed to be her impression of a homosexual. She then proceeded to regale the table with a story about how she and her husband had seen these two “faggots” holding hands while they were on vacation, and expressed her joy at the fact they were going to end up in hell, or Jesus Christ wasn’t her savior.

The fun didn’t end there, though. At a later time, one of the guys my dad works with came up and related a story about the time he went on a business trip with the lesbian who used to work there. Apparently, he thought she talked about her partner too much, because on the way back, he pulled the car off to the side of the road and told her to shut her goddamned gay mouth about her fucking gay lifestyle or he was going to kick her out of the car and she could walk her dyke ass the rest of the way back. For some reason, this upset the lesbian and she went to complain to the boss. “Maude” was the boss, so you can imagine the heaping amounts of sympathy she got. In fact, this guy related, when he got called into the office, “Maude” told the lesbian that the guy could have filed a complaint against her because it was her conversation that was inappropriate. He seemed quite pleased about it, too.

This has put my father in somewhat of a bind. You see, he loves his dead gay son (okay, yes, that was only funny if you saw “Heathers”, but c’mon). He also has ALWAYS been a proponent of tolerating people (except for Christians: he kind of hates them, especially the ‘born again’ ones, although he is making efforts to not hate the like five or six of them that aren’t complete assholes). In fact, I know from first hand experience that he is capable of preaching the good word of tolerance by beating it into someone’s skull (you’d kind of have to see him to understand the real threat behind that). So, now here he is, with his gay son and new boss, and a real urge to smack her head in for wanting to hurt his son. And of course, let’s not forget the guy (whom I am sort of mentally referring to as “fuckstick”) that while he is not my dad’s boss is kind of senior to him. Now, if this was dad’s good old days, he would have punched fucktsick in the head, called his boss an ignorant cunt and told her to go fuck herself, and quit right there.

Unfortunately, he can’t do that because my mom would get really pissed at him. So, he was left with two options: say or do nothing, or say something like “I have several gay friends (see how he’s protecting me?), and they aren’t bad people.” I have to applaud him for that. It’s not easy to stand up to people; it took me a great deal of courage to ask my former barber (not the one I had a crush on) to please not say “nigger” in my presence. But with a role model like my dad, it was a little easier to do.

Stench of Tides

So I leave Miami, stopping at my aunt’s house on the way for Independence Day dinner, and come home to discover that the air reeks like a dead French whore. Red tide is upon us, a fact from which I had been mercifully spared for the last few days. If you do not know what a Red Tide (or Harmful Algal Bloom, which is now the preferred term for the phenomenon) is, you either don’t live on our beloved Florida coast or were out getting baked during your high school science class. Anyway, those nasty little dinoflagellates (specifically Karenia brevis) have worked their toxic action and killed a lot of fish, who have in turn washed up on the nearby shores to rot in the sun. Fish stink combined with the gases released from the dinoflagellates (isn't that just an awesome word?) have made breathing our air a hazard. Really. On the plus side, Tropical Storm Dennis will probably sweep all of that debris away as it scrapes along the western edge of our state in a few days. Ah, nature.