Saturday, April 30, 2016

I'm More Worried About Weird Bathroom Smell Than Cross-Dressing Predators, Thank You

Based on the latest social hysteria/political hay-maker, I present the following.

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What I Worry About When Using a Public Restroom:

1. Is there a line?

2. Eww, what's that smell?

3. What if the lock on the stall won't close?

4. Is there a hook for my purse or do I have to put it on the gross floor?

5. Did the last person leave something nasty in the bowl?

6. Is there toilet paper?

7. Can everyone smell what I just did?

8. What if the lock on the stall won't open?

9. Will my hair look terrible when I check it in the mirror?

10. Does this place only have the stupid air dryers that never actually get your hands dry so you end up wiping the last bit of wetness on your pants and hoping it doesn't leave a big wet spot as you walk out?

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What I Don't Worry About When Using a Public Restroom:

OMG, is that woman actually a male sexual predator cleverly disguised as a lady so that he might attack me, assuming this freaking restroom will ever be empty save for me and him and also that I wouldn't simply grab one of his pumps and fucking beat him senseless with it or that no one else would enter while he's trying to overpower me while wearing a dress, because have you ever tried to do anything physically demanding in a dress, it's nearly impossible, and any female in reasonable physical condition could overpower a dipshit would-be rapist wearing women's clothes simply by kneeing him in the groin and running away because we're talking a public restroom, not the fucking Matrix, you know?

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Lawmakers: Please work on improving our schools and our roads and our health care. Stop making laws that hurt the 700,000-1,000,000 transgender people in our country, who are waaaaaay disproportionately and unfairly targeted by discriminatory legislation of late. They don't want to  molest your women. You're thinking of sexual predators. And it's already illegal for them to do what they do.

Stop making laws that blatantly curry the favor of one segment of the population over another. That's not American. It's a dick move.

And stop worrying about transgender people. As a community, they have a ton of concerns, and you are not helping with any of them. So go away.

I'm going to pick up a few things at Target now. I'm worried they might not have half-gallons of 2% milk in stock (those seem to sell out very quickly - what up, Target?). I'm not worried about who might enter the ladies' room on the off chance that I have to use it while I'm there.

See ya later.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

America, Random Sex Toy Edition

This happened last night.

I picked up Precocious Daughter from school, and we drove home. Walking from the parking garage to our apartment, I spotted something in the hallway several feet away. When we got close to it, we saw this.


My cell phone takes pretty crappy pictures, so let me explain. This is a red, white, and blue lei on top of a pair of apparently genuine handcuffs. Just a-sittin' there in the hallway.

And of course I took a picture of it, because when you live in some frankly fairly swanky apartments and  a lei and a set of handcuffs randomly appear in the hallway, that's what you're gonna do.

But that's not all. About 20 steps farther on, we came upon this.


And my cell phone takes really crappy pictures, so let me explain that this is a pair of lime green fuzzy bunny ears. Also just chilling in the corridor leading to my apartment as if that is what one does when one is a pair of lime green fuzzy bunny ears.

Next to the bunny ears was a sort of wet spot, which PDaughter and I frankly refused to contemplate as we made our way to our apartment (and immediately locked the door behind us).

So there are probably a million reasonable explanations for the appearance of these unusual items in the hallway of my apartment building, right?

The most reasonable being that someone had recently enjoyed a very patriotic and festive sex party on my floor.

Or that the significant other of someone had walked in on said orgy and thrown their party favors into the hallway in a rather dramatic show of disapproval of such shenanigans.

But I have another theory.

I'd like to think that somewhere in my apartment complex is a person (I'm picturing someone who resembles Uncle Fester from The Addams Family, only with self-esteem issues) who possessed a rather large and eclectic collection of erotic aids for the enjoyment of his particular social circle.

But yesterday he got out of bed and thought, "You know what? Donald Trump is right. We need to Make America Great Again! And we need to start by not having wild sex parties featuring provocative naughty props, which might for all we know attract undocumented transgender abortionist welfare mothers. God Bless America, Amen!"

And I'd like to think that this true American then gathered up an enormous armload of handcuffs, leis, bunny ears, fleshlights, edible undies, and whatever else he had lying around to throw down the trash chute of righteousness into the compactor of true patriotism.

But of course, under the weight of dozens of ropes and ball gags and copies of the Dallas Observer, he inevitably dropped a few items as he made his way down the hall. And rather than give special attention to those few things, he pressed on, because America is not a nation that caters to the one percent.

And he righteously dumped his load of hedonistic pleasures into the trash, feeling - very Americanly - that getting rid of part of the problem was very much the same as getting rid of all of the problem, as long as you pretended the rest of the problem didn't exist. He bet that Bill Clinton felt the same way when he all but abolished welfare in the 1990s.

Anway, this American hero dropped a lei, a set of handcuffs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny ears along the way, and I took pictures of them.

If PDaughter hadn't been there, I totally would have snagged the handcuffs and stashed them away for future possibilities. Just saying.

Making America Great Again starts with exercising our rights. Remember that the next time someone wants to play The Easter Bunny Does Bondage in Hawaii.

God Bless America.