Why America is Great, Part I

It's President's Day and as USC was kind enough to pay me to exist someplace besides The Graduate School today I've had the time to post this lovely and accurate synopsis of American history so that you may all fully appreciate how awesome our country is while thinking fondly back on all the brilliant, visionary presidents we've enjoyed in our lifetime.

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Now that you're done having that extremely brief depressive episode let's get back to American history.

American history started in 1492 when Christopher Columbus sailed across the ocean blue and discovered an entire continent already covered with people.  He then claimed this land for another group of people living someplace else by sticking a flag in the ground.  I don’t remember if claiming an entire populated continent required a more elaborate ritual than flag planting but I do remember multiple drawings in historical texts depicting European explorers posing robustly, their respective colors flying proudly, while dark and swarthy natives minced reverently around them.

I can only assume that flag planting had at least some relevance to the process.
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Once their flags were anchored safely in the savage ground of the Americas the European explorers (of whom there were multiple groups who planted flags in different geographical areas) spread out throughout the land pillaging and raping it.  Only the history books I and my fellow victims of the Sumner School District were provided with never said anything about pillage, rape, slavery or genocide until later when somebody pointed out that the history books had left some things out and the publishers were confronted with the daunting task of making American history palatable to a population not composed entirely of those who had come out on the winning side of the flag planting extravaganza. 

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But I digress. 

Following the raping and pillaging it looked like England had won the war for what is now known as the continental United States, Spain had been forced to settle for the beautiful (but unfortunately, also populated) Central and South America (except for Brazil, which went to Portugal), and other, less important countries (such as France and Holland, sometimes mysteriously referred to as the Netherlands) had slunk back to Europe chastised by their failure to conquer the world. 

At this point the wildcard, the American colonies, erupted messily all over the Western Hemisphere by declaring their Independence from England and then kicking England’s ass in an kickass war led by totally awesome guys who wrote down really progressive things and created Our Country, the United States of Fucking America. 

I don’t remember exactly what happened after that because at that point in my historical education I had reached puberty and stopped paying attention in class.

Boobs

Then the country had a big blow out when the southern colonies realized the tea sipping hippies up north were holding them back economically and decided to hightail it outta there.  At this point lots of people died and some more stuff happened and here we are today, the greatest country in the world because look at that, look at our history.  Our country valued democracy and respect for individual rights before anybody else even thought of that.  

Therefore, fellows lovers of America, because our founders had a good idea first, the United States of Fucking America is the most amazing nation on the planet, even if other countries have higher standards of living, less crime and sometimes elect female presidents.

And that is why America is great.  Happy President's Day.  

Silly Boys, Vaginas Are for Girls

There is a tiny man who lives in my head and is obsessed with boobs.  You may not have noticed this, but many women in our society wear low cut shirts, and some of them even wear pushup bras.

They do, I've seen them at it.

What this means is that there are very nice looking breasts walking around every day, practically in full view.  BUT...............Do not look at the breasts.

Try not to look at them.  Just try.

I KNOW!  It sounds crazy.  I thought so too when I first discovered I liked looking at breasts.  There they are, see?  They're so close you could touch them.  But don't even LOOK at them.

How am I and the little boob-loving man in my head not supposed to look at the boobs when they're right there?  We see them and the little man starts saying, "Don't look at her breasts, don't look at her breasts, don't look at her breasts" and suddenly looking at her breasts and maintaining the act of NOT looking becomes all I can think about and the next second she turns away or looks down I LOOK AT HER BREASTS and hope she didn't catch me when she turned back and I was still looking but I'm pretty sure she did and oh god now what?

Sometimes giving in to temptation helps because then once I've looked I feel like I can relax because I've verified that she does in fact have breasts and so now everything is fine.

Good thing she's a camera whore.

But sometimes that plan backfires when I discover that looking at her breasts has brought new meaning to my life and that I want to keep looking at them more than I want to keep living.  It's times like these that I find being a lesbian tiresome, because while men may be excused for occasionally becoming distracted by a woman's cleavage, most women are not super jazzed to catch a lesbo ogling their funbags.

Yes, sometimes being gay can be a drag but the many women who frantically scramble to haul their breasts away to a safer location when I enter the room are more than made up for by the occasional woman who is happy to take her boobs out and slap me in the face with them.  Thank you, sweet magical Jesus, for boobs and gay women.

Oh, and ass.

The end.

Thank you Jebus, Lord of Ganja

So I picked up a quad tonight.  I'm taking unprescribed medical ganja smoke, as JuelzyT so poetically refers to it.  I keep forgetting and rediscovering that weed treats my anxiety.  Chelsea said it was anxiety the other night, so I went home and looked it up and realized that she was right.  Son of a bitch.  Why didn't somebody say something sooner?

You can't tell someone something until they're ready to hear it.  My new hookup to the ganja ganj (again, ©JuelzyT) said that she was living in a glass closet back in the day.  Glass closet is right, except that my closet was more like a one-way window with rainbow light beams shooting out of the side I couldn't see.

Since my sophomore year of college every person who's come out to me has been relaying old news.  I've got the gaydar thing down to a science but it could never turn inward.  People would say things and my busy brain would go about picking the comment apart and proudly presenting me with a host of alternative explanations to choose from and call my own.

Speaking of homo stuff while also returning to the whole ganja smoke situation, Nena and I had the most awesome mini rave just now.  She sat between my legs while I listened to music and gave her a massage.  The sour diesel had me flying around and thinking I'd found the most important task in the world right then and life was pretty damn spiffy.

I have no patience for transitions or a cohesive story right now.

That is all.