Happy birthday to the greatest woman who’s ever lived.
I wish I could have known her. I wish I could have argued with her.
She revealed to me the sacred word. She taught me value of life itself.
As you may have heard from Facebook, today is my birthday. But what you might NOT have heard is that #OrangeManBad.
Yes, it appears the current White House occupant is indeed a racist, sexist, fascist, misogynistic, racist, homophobic, transphobic, racist, cis white male supremacist, racist, evil horrible hateful Nazi person who is worse than racist and throws Latinx children into concentration camps so they have to drink out of toilets. (Also: Russia.)
In lieu of birthday wishes, I ask that you post all of the horrible things Drumph has done to you since stealing the election from Hillary. Together we can #resist the bad orange man. I hear he is going to be impeached any day now for being #LiterallyHitler.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a black man. I also wanted to be blind, because: Geordi LaForge.
When I was seven years old, I wanted to be a little boy. I called myself ‘Mark’, and my parents let me get a butch haircut and dress in flannel. (Don’t ask me to explain their reasoning.)
By age eight, I was some kind of genderless alien from the far reaches of our solar system. (Not joke; birthday cake read “Happy Birthday Zoing”.)
By age nine, I had transitioned back to female because I wanted to be a tattooed biker chick named Skull. But the only person who actually called me that was a second grader named T-Bone. (Also not joke.)
I eventually decided I wanted to be an Amazon. I just didn’t want to suffer the company of other females.
So if Cory Booker chooses to identify as Spartacus, Clarence Thomas needs to BACK THE FUCK OFF. 😤
“Some people think Peppermint Patty is a girl.”
Watching a video about mammals (01/10/18):
“Aaaah, Mommy! That sheep just POOPED OUT ANOTHER ONE!”
“How come everybody wants to mindhack Captain Picard?”
Playing with lego starships (04/06/18):
“Captain, there’s a space-time continuum!”
“Oh, no! Prepare to open fire!”
“So how come [relative] is getting a colonoscopy? He lose his keys or something?”
“I don’t think Grandma has any money. I think she depends on Grandpa. I think she’s using him to get groceries.”
TRANSLATION: “Grandma never carries cash, and Grandpa went grocery shopping last week because Grandma hurt her foot.”
“Don’t you lose your kidneys when you give birth? Or is it when you get married?”
“I’m not just good; I’m frickin’ good.”
“They should sell lives at the store. I’m talking about immortality, not slavery.”
Grandpa goes over a speed bump, instead of around it (08/23/18):
“And he faces it like a man!”
“Do you know what I’m gonna get you for your next birthday, Grandma? A life.”
“If I was a prisoner, I’d want to be alone in my bed.”
My birthday is coming up, but rather than hopping on the Facebook fundraiser bandwagon, I’d like to do things a little differently.
Instead of asking you to throw pocket change at a charity of my choosing (top candidate = stopabductions.com), I’m asking you to keep your money in your pocket and get up off your ass — unless you’re in a wheelchair — and actually DO something to help make the world a slightly better place.
It doesn’t have to be anything major: treat a friend to lunch, or surprise them with a little gift. Offer your seat on the Metro to someone who looks tired. Pick up trash you find along the beach instead of posting a picture of it to Instagram. Pick up the phone and call an aging relative, just to let them know you care. Fact check before reposting.
Or if you really want to spend a bit of cash (and aren’t bothered by the fact that kindness is not tax deductible), try offering limited financial assistance to an ACTUAL human being in need — covering the cost of a prescription refill, hearing aid, groceries, etc. Even if your offer is declined, the spirit of it will not go unappreciated.
My kid knew exactly what to get me for my birthday without even having to ask: The Borgias Season 3 and Nine Dragons (a book I’d been missing from the Harry Bosch series).
So the next time YOUR kid hands you some crappy fingerpainted necktie or a lopsided mug with all the functionality of a sieve, remember how MINE knows which of my obsessions keep me awake at night, and is capable of navigating his personal sla– er… I mean his grandmother… through the intricacies of online purchasing.
Cesare Borgia would be proud; he bought HIS daddy the papacy, whereas the younger, less politically-astute Juan made do with fingerpainting St. Fermin in the blood of a dead Moor. (Try wearing THAT with white and gold.)