Tag Archives: I Disagree

I’m Such a Rebel

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This weekend, Tom and I went to an antiques store. It was huge – old stuff as far as the eye could see. I don’t like to look at old stuff with a full bladder so I sought out the bathroom. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted with this cheery message:

Dire Warning

“OH YEAH, just watch me flush the toilet after my use,” I thought to myself. What can I say, I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.

There were two stalls. In one stall some square had dutifully done what THE MAN told her to do – not flush. I rolled my eyes at such blind compliance to the arbitrary rules of antiques store society.

I used the other stall, and with the defiance of a thousand James Deans and Marlon Brandos, I flushed that toilet.

I washed my hands thoroughly, held my head high and swaggered out of the bathroom, expecting to be dragged away by the antique store authorities. But, no one was there. I had gotten away with it! What a rush!

People, you gotta live by your own rules if you really want to live.

I didn’t write on the walls though, that would be rude.

P.S. I’m starting to become disturbed about how often I write about public restrooms.

I may not be able to use pillows anymore.

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At the drug store the other day, this caught my eye:

My Pillow Mustache

 

“I HAVE seen that on TV,” I thought to myself – that box was totally right! Looking at the list of wonderful things about the My Pillow:

  • Anti-microbial
  • Dust mite resistant
  • Built-in cooling effects (whatever the hell that means)

The list was long and impressive. But, I can’t purchase this pillow, and here’s why:

My Pillow Mustache Problem

 

I just think a grown man with a mustache shouldn’t be lovingly cuddling a pillow on the box. This seems very obvious to me, like marketing 101: “no one with a mustache should be affectionate with the product on the packaging.” I’ve never taken a marketing class, but isn’t that the first or AT MOST the third thing they tell you?

And then I couldn’t stop thinking about how much this man loved this pillow, and then I started to worry about what would happen if they had a baby together, and now this haunts my nightmares:

Mustache Pillow Baby

 

And now I’m not sure I can even have any pillows anymore.

 

P.S. I’ve had to send my stupid brand new laptop off to be fixed so there won’t be a Super Friends this week for those of you who read them.

Be Unspired 4

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Pinterest and Facebook are full of of pictures with inspirational quotes on them. Sentimentality for sentimentality’s sake doesn’t work on me. I have no ill will towards the people it does inspire, it’s just like how broccoli just tastes bitter to some people – you know, because of genetics and shit. So, when I see these rampantly shared images, my gut reaction is a little different from the people who love them. I get unspired, if you will. Here’s some side-by-side comparisons: on the left, inspiring inspirational inspirement and on the right, my brain’s rejection of it. (P.S. I do know that “unspired” is not a word and there’s “uninspired” as a real word, but “uninspired” suggests that there was an expectation of it being inspired, and I just don’t feel that way, so I made up a word instead).

Unspiration2

Unspiration4

Unspiration6

Unspiration5

Unspiration3

Be Unspired III

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Pinterest and Facebook are full of of pictures with inspirational quotes on them. Sentimentality for sentimentality’s sake doesn’t work on me. I have no ill will towards the people it does inspire, it’s just like how broccoli just tastes bitter to some people – you know, because of genetics and shit. So, when I see these rampantly shared images, my gut reaction is a little different from the people who love them. I get unspired, if you will. Here’s some side-by-side comparisons: on the left, inspiring inspirational inspirement and on the right, my brain’s rejection of it. (P.S. I do know that “unspired” is not a word and there’s “uninspired” as a real word, but “uninspired” suggests that there was an expectation of it being inspired, and I just don’t feel that way, so I made up a word instead).

A Trip to the State Fair, Part Two: The World’s Blankiest Blank

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At our state fair, you can find more blankiest blanks than you could ever dream. The World’s Biggest Horse, The World’s Smallest Horse, The World’s Smallest Woman, etc. They used to have a Giant Rat years ago, and when you wandered any where near this exhibit you could hear, over and over, loud enough to soar over all the other noise – “GIANT RAT! GIANT RAT!” The rat must have died because I didn’t see him this year (and by “see him” I mean see the structure that houses him, I would never pay to see a giant rat).

Two things I noticed at these exhibits – first of all, the descriptor “educational” for the World’s Smallest Woman:

“So you see boys and girls, if you are born below average size, you too can travel the country being displayed as a novelty for profit!” I’m assuming that is the educational aspect of it as I don’t think any kind of lengthy lecture on genetics is in the cards (they look so huge when she holds them!).

Second, the reassurance that all of these things are alive.

Yeah, of course they’re alive. If they weren’t they would have been deep fried and sold as a snack.

But, I have to say, as far as side shows go – I got to see one for free! You see, I went to the bathroom. Wait, tangent:

All the bathrooms had attendants – why? Because State Fair attendees are the filthiest people on earth and cannot be trusted not to turn every inch of surface into a toilet, that’s why. These attendants all had tip jars everywhere in these bathrooms. Some even had signs on the mirrors – “Imagine how bad this bathroom would be without an attendant.” While I appreciated that there were attendants, I wasn’t planning on tipping any. One was sitting on a stool (a sitting stool, not, you know…), eating a bowl of soup, saying “welcome” with her mouth full, for example. No, I do not tip for having to watch someone eat food in a public restroom.

However, I entered one bathroom, found an empty stall, and as I was closing the door a desperate cry rang out: “DON’T LET HER GO IN THERE, SHE’S GONNA GET PEE ON HER!” That fucking hero got a damn tip.

End tangent.

At a different bathroom, as I exited, this caught my eye:

Either this lady was taking a nap, or she was being punished by the Blair Witch. I don’t think she was a bathroom attendant, I’m pretty sure she was a fair visitor. I can only assume that eventually, someone built an exhibit around her and now she’s a fair side-show.