What's On Notice?

On the bright side

I never write about work because I am afraid of getting Dooced. But I may get laid off any minute.

Looking on the bright side - if that happens, I have a couple dozen really ripping blog posts in me.

Meanwhile, I have to relay a true story I heard on the radio today:

Three generations of the same family's women had gone to the same gynecologist for as long as they had all needed a gynie doc. Finally, the old GYN retired and a really good looking young doctor took his place.

The daughter went first and came home and told the mom and grandma how great the new doctor was.

Then grandma went. She came home and was mad as hell. She said to the granddaughter "I thought you said that guy was nice! But I have never been so humiliated! I put my feet in the stirrups and he lifted up the sheet and said 'Fancy!' What does THAT mean?"

Digging a little deeper, the granddaughter found out that Grandma had been nervous about the appointment, so she used some of her granddaughter's feminine hygeine spray right before she left for the appointment.

"But Nana, I don't have any feminine hygeine spray," said the granddaughter. "Show me what you used."

Grandma had picked up the granddaughter's can of red glitter hairspray.

Fancy, indeed.

Welcome to California! Or, Adventures in Dogwalking Part 81

Dear German Tourist Couple,

Yes, it was a lovely sunset, wasn't it? You looked like you were enjoying yourselves, walking along the beach path holding hands, in your comfortable, well-made shoes and natural-fiber clothing.

I'm sorry about the screaming.

I certainly did not mean to startle you. I know that the scene looked all too typical - a chunky middle-aged woman in fat-ass yoga pants with a yellow dog on a leash, walking near the bushes just after sunset.

I did not mean to scream so loud, or for so long. But it was the rats.

Oh, you SAW the rats, that's right, I remember. Yes, we have rats here. Right along the scenic beach.

I thought Goldie might have been onto something when she stuck her head in the bush. But often as not, all she scares up are lizards. So the two large, fast-moving rats were quite a nasty surprise.

They ran RIGHT for me. So I screamed like a little girl. Except with the force of a grown-ass woman.

That was quite some dance I did, too. I'll bet you didn't know that we lard-assed Americans could put on such a spectacular show. I looked like someone from the 1972 East German Olympic gymnastics team, right? Or is that a painful subject?

I hope you can forgive these transgressions. We here in California certainly appreciate your tourist dollars, especially as the state is flat broke. Please return again, and spend freely.

But you might want to avoid those shrubberies next to the trash cans.

Your tour guide,
Suebob

In which I swear a lot and talk about tits

So marketers have decided to target men's interest in breasts as a way to get them to care about breast cancer. Gah.

The best way we can get men to care about breast cancer is to remind them that it is all about much-beloved boobies, those soft and lovely objects of desire? Lord help me.



These ads make me sick. Yeah, titties are great fun for everyone but holy cats, give me a break already. To get a few more dollars for the cause, we further objectify women and, in the process, play into the idea that men are hopeless, sex-crazed goons who can't get their heads out of their asses unless a woman is shaking her boobs in their face. (Mixed metaphors our specialty).

Here's a hint for the marketers: breast cancer is a deadly, serious disease that affects a WHOLE WOMAN, not just her fun-sacks.

And another hint: most people - women included - don't give breast cancer much of a thought unless it has affected someone they know or unless they are in the radiology office for their yearly boob-smashing. And making it all about their lovely lady lumps isn't going to help.

"I pledge allegiance to my girls, to my chi-chis, to my hooters, to my ta-tas, to my gazongas. . . ."

Gah. I pledge allegiance to a worldview that represents women as whole humans, not just collections of sexually appealing parts.

Screw you, Susan G. Komen Foundation. Go take a 3-day walk and maybe when you get back I will be over hating your stupid ideas.

"The only people who could object to such ads are advocates for other kinds of cancer awareness." Really, Dan Neil? I don't think so. This is one woman who thinks that people can act like mature adults when they are discussing serious, life-threatening diseases instead of Hugh Hefner after he has had his Viagra prescription refilled.

What is next? Oh, I know! "Donate to help prevent Female Genital Mutilation and you might get laid by some hot African babe!"

Am I serious? Serious as cancer. Which, as you know, may affect my beautiful, bouncy boobs which I have right here on the front of my chest, because I happen to be a woman.

I am going to go beat my couch into stuffing with a tennis racquet. Good night.

The White House Fence

I went to Washington DC recently for some Suebobian shenanigans. You know, reforming health care and speaking truth to power. That sort of thing.

My friends had never been to our nation's capital before, so we took the grand double-decker hop-on, hop-off bus tour, which I highly recommend. $35 and you get the big DC overview, so you don't feel like you have missed anything.

I loved my traveling companions. We passed monument after monument with scarcely a murmur, but then broke into shrieks of joy at the NPR building.

Being good raving liberals, we had to stop over at Barack and Michelle's place in hopes that they would invite us in to plot a socialist/communist/fascist/Whatever!?! takeover and let us help them wreck the way of American life as we know it. Or at least for tea and cookies.

When we got done taking photos of each other, complete with seriously unfortunate bangs:


...I passed the time by taking photos of people in comfy shoes taking photos. I am a big sap, so it choked me up a bit to see how excited people were to stand at a fence half a mile away from the most famous house in the world and shoot picture after picture.

There were young people...


Older couples...


Slightly younger couples...


Families with squirmy kids...


Really excited people...


European guys...


There were people from all over the world, speaking all kinds of languages. Ladies in glowing saris. Giggling Japanese schoolgirls. People in wheelchairs, with crutches and walkers and kids on leashes.

They could have bought a postcard, but everyone wanted their own photo to be able to say "I was there. Right there." I know exactly how they felt. I did, too.