Dora the 7-11 explorer

In the week or so since I last wrote anything I’ve decided I don’t want to be around humans anymore. I’m going to take up a dog collection, increase my existing cat count, sell my child, get some houseplants to talk to, and keep my husband around for household handiwork and sex. Everything else can fuck off.

People are horrible. I’m no better, I just don’t have to see my own bullshit for what it is - usually. Even when I do, I can choose to ignore it or blame it on some other shit, like how I was raised, or menstrual cramps. I’m a shitty human being because my uterus is seizing up and it clouds my judgement, forcing me to act like an asshole. Sounds legit.

Riding around town with my offspring in the car, you know, the kid I’m going to sell, and he says to me: “Did you hear about Pres. Trump uniting No. and So. Korea? That’s a pretty cool accomplishment, isn’t it?” Like a “normal” mom would react, I said: “Yep, I guess it’s cool. I mean, it’s cool until you weigh it against taking children away from their parents and putting them in camps. Not like “cool” camps either, these were shit houses. Remember the year you went to the YMCA and it was 1000 degrees outside? They made you stay outside on the tarmac without cover? Yeah, like that, only much worse because the food made everyone sick, so they were throwing up and shitting everywhere and then had to sleep on the floor too.” Completely normal reaction, right?

My 11-yr. old stared at me, not really knowing how to respond. I hope he took that information straight home to his father. There’s no earthly way my child would come to me with Trump propaganda if it wasn’t filtered through his InfoWars father. I’m just making sure my kid knows ALL sides of the issue. I’d like to say I handled it well, but it’s clear, I didn’t. My approach has always been, and will remain, to allow for my child to come to his own conclusions. I just need to encourage his monkey ass to do his own research on issues. I support his right to choose, and yours too, even if conflicts with my beliefs. Just don’t be a douchebag.

On the topic of douchebags…

This morning I was aggravated while at a well known convenient store. It was 11 minutes past 7 am. An older Hispanic woman had come into the establishment. She was purchasing coffee while her companion was outside pumping gas. I’m toward the back of the store shopping for my daily lunch of carbs and sugar, health fanatic that I am, when I hear the clerk mock her in his best Hispanic impersonation. He sounds like Speedy Gonzalez, “Rapido, arriba!” I hear him say. I stop short. What the fuck just happened?

Why do white people feel the need to impersonate fictional Mexican characters when they encounter Latin Americans? I would have been impressed if he had done a Desi Arnaz impersonation, but it’s so calculable that Speedy is the go-to. Shit, I would have settled for Cheech and Chong, and that’s 80% stoner! This shit is insulting as fuck! The only time I mock an accent is when I am directly trying to draw attention to our differences. So, when I’m being an asshole. This was not  an episode of The Simpsons’ - Apu is not the clerk, Homer is not the politically incorrect and incorrigible character we know and love, and this shit really did  just happen in my presence.

[DREAMSCAPE]

I stop cold. I turn around, point at the clerk, “You knock that shit off! Is that half-assed impersonation the best you could come up with? Get your ass back into the stock room and come back when you have new material. That shit was tired as fuck. She’s little and Hispanic and you didn’t even try  a Dora the Explorer joke? What the fuck? That cartoon is half English and half Spanish, you at least had a fighting chance with that one. Way to think outside the box, Steven. Guess they don’t pay extra for originality here, do they?”

By this time, I’m walking up and down the aisles, knocking crap off shelves. “Steven, how old do you have to be to legally drink?” I ask with a bottle of Miller High Life in my hands. I wait for his answer and before he opens his mouth, I say “Never mind, Juanita here probably isn’t legal. Are ya, Juanita?” I release the bottle and let it crash to the ground, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. “Oops. My bad, Steven. Maybe ya ought to get to cleaning that shit up. ¡Arriba, arriba! ¡Ándale”

[END OF DREAMSCAPE]

Wow, it’s super easy to get carried away and fly off the handle. One minute I’m talking about Cheech and Chong and the next I’m fantasizing about destroying a convenient store; must be my uterus again.

Anyway, my point is, people are fucking assholes sometimes. Don’t be one. I’m tired of writing shitty blogs and I really can’t afford any more pets. Don’t contribute to my need to do either. Thanks for reading.