Mr. Spock and Dance Belts

While he fathomed that Mr. Spock would enlighten him on lasers and teleportation, I moved on to pondering what the wages were for the Enterprise crew.

Trying to define the difference between smart and intelligent with my boys is like much like discussing the difference between jiggle and bounce. For the latter, I actually had a conversation with my ballet studying son, that he had to wear a dance belt to keep his balls from bouncing around. For those who don’t know what a dance belt is, it’s basically a jock-strap, a thong, a Brazilian bikini bottom but – for dancers. Boy dancers.

With tears in his eyes, he pleaded – no, screamed as loud as he could, “It goes up my butt – I HATE it. You don’t understand!”

I wish I could’ve told him that, of course, I understand. Because, no woman, especially at my age,  ever escaped some kind of moment where an uncomfortable thing went up her butt. But…that would be opening up a ten gallon tin of worms with that boy. Instead, I tried to explain how women have to wear (or should wear) sports bras to keep their boobs from bouncing – but he just couldn’t see how watermelons compared to eggs, so I finally told him: if he didn’t wear a dance belt, he’d forever have a tiny penis.

And that was the end of that.

By the way, boys will drop any argument when you talk facts about penises (I did Google the plural for penis and was sad to discover that it wasn’t penii).

Also, since I ordered his dance belt online, I get hit with dance belt ads, basically pictures of men’s crotches whenever I Google or go on Facebook. I don’t know about you, but I have to look over my shoulder when I’m simultaneously reading posts on family vacations next to a picture of balls stuffed in a canvas cup.

But let’s get back to failing miserably at conversing with my boys.

After they figured out that balls bounce and fat bellies jiggle, we moved on to the difference between smart and intelligent.To the boys’ unsophisticated mind, smart and intelligent is the same thing and so, I put it to them like this: an intelligent person is someone who could have a conversation with Mr. Spock.

I have no idea how they got it because they’ve never watched Star Trek, and by that I mean cheesy Star Trek – the only true Star Trek because everything after that is just – Mudd. Besides, the boys are Star Wars fans and I, for one, think the Trekkies and (whatever Star Wars fanatics are called) should not mix.

If I may add, Star Wars is smart, Star Trek – is intelligent.

After my comment, my Libra-boy asked me right away if Mr. Spock would find him intelligent and I said, “meh.”

Still, he continued to daydream of how that conversation would go. While he fathomed that Mr. Spock would enlighten him on lasers and teleportation, I moved on to pondering what the wages were for the Enterprise crew. Eventually, it lead me to conclude that intelligent people never get…paid.

Think about it – you were never lead to believe that anyone – anyone – on the U.S.S. Enterprise got a paycheck. No one ever talked about craving pancakes or…going home. They were always in space or on some fucked up planet, which coincidentally, always had oxygen, otherwise, worker’s comp – sheesh!

If they did get paid, then definitely, Bones made the most money. I’m sure Jim was broke after paying all his alien child support. As for Spock, I’m sorry, it’s just wrong to pay a Vulcan – they seem opposed to cash, don’t you think? Could you picture Mr. Spock at Best Buy or shopping for ear muffs? It’s just wrong.

By the end of Libra-boy’s pretend conversation with Mr. Spock, I gauged his IQ somewhere around sausage. It’s okay. With the way things are today, intelligence is a curse.

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World On A Ledge

President Carol would probably kill and burn all the complainers after she becomes president. That’s the difference between her and you-know-who.

Priorities change. We used to know that death was inevitable, we feared it, honored it – death was respected. Now we treat it like a homeless subway rider. We mumble about the inconvenience they’re causing instead of facing it head on. No more guts and glory – just subway slashers, obese children and grown men with hair buns. Seriously, what’s up with that?

Forget the zombie apocalypse, we need Planet of the Apes.

Or a really, really, really good movie that can’t be summed up in a preview.

Or a kick-ass guitar riff that makes you call out, “SHOTS FOR EVERYONE,” even at work.

When did we become so…lame?

Even the presidential candidates are as appealing as ice cold lime flavored Budweisers (who in their right mind would drink that shit?). My guess is that the same Americans who’d purchase and consume lime flavored piss water would also find anything favorable in what appears to be, the last two people on Earth who have the money to run for president. Plus, it probably goes great with their cat tranquilizer.

What’s more bothersome is the reaction and the rallies. These endless rallies with crowds of people who should be at work. I don’t want either of these lizards running our country either but do I have time to wave a poorly written poster about my feelings all day? No. The boneheads will figure it out when I vote for Pedro. Well, maybe not Pedro, but definitely Carol in The Walking Dead.

I love Carol. She’s so bad ass, I don’t even know her last name. Who cares, we’d just call her President Carol.

President Carol would probably kill and burn all the complainers after she becomes president. That’s the difference between her and you-know-who.

It’s as if we’ve plateaued. Sure a majority of us still don’t have quality health insurance, and an even larger number of us are unemployed and generally poor – but what’s the big deal? Government doesn’t help regular people and they’re certainly not going to start now.

For example, it’s been five months and I’m still waiting on our State refund. What’s up with that Missssster Cuomo? Ain’t got my money cuz you spent it on weed?

We must be the only country in the world with people who are simultaneously poverty stricken and getting fatter. I blame stupid.

Education is free, yet a majority of people are still confused on the use of apostrophes – so they just drop the s. Instead of saying, “Those are Oscar’s balls,” they’ll say, “Those are Oscar balls.” Yet, they add the s to mine: the drugs ain’t mines.

Oscar is my cat, by the way. We recently adopted him because he killed his previous owner. Of course, he tried to make it seem like an accident, but I know he has a secret plot to take over the world, one household at a time. Let’s just hope he doesn’t find his way to the White House.

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To The Pandemic Volunteer

Yes, I just compared volunteer work to slavery. If you think about it, there’s only one difference – gratification. No reasonable person would volunteer unless they enjoyed the work.

A friend showed me a pen she received as a gift – it said, “Stop me before I volunteer again.”

“It’s a reminder,” she explained but its ineffectiveness was obvious as we realized, this was the second parent association we’re on together as volunteers.

As I handed back the pen, I sighed and already it sounded like a threat of resignation. But really, who am I kidding? We’re volunteeraholics. She probably signed up with that damned pen.

Every pandemic volunteer knows what I’m talking about. We call ourselves suckers, targets, 3D losers and we compare our tasks like they’re death sentences.

After serving my time on one thing, I say it’ll be the last and even tell my husband that I’ll take his advice and stop signing up for shit. But the truth is, volunteer work never ends. If it does, it ends badly because slaves don’t get fired.

Yes, I just compared volunteer work to slavery. If you think about it, there’s only one difference – gratification. No reasonable person would volunteer unless they enjoyed the work. They sign up year after year because it’s gratifying and good for the soul. Those are the volunteer gigs where you’re surrounded by like-minded, hard-working, good-willed people and they really are a life experience. Every once in while though, you’ll come across a douchebag who is a slave master and that can fuck with your head.

If that happens, you have to tell yourself that the only jackass who should be tolerated is one that signs your paycheck. Otherwise, walk. You need the aggravation like you need hemorrhoids. I have a friend who sorely needs to take this advice – not the friend with the pen – someone else who stayed on even after everybody left.

Now she’ll have to learn the same lesson I learned the hard way – don’t fill a void. If an organization needs you to fill an important role, the last thing you should do is stick around to find out why because I can tell you why. That role is vacant because the last person was a mistreated mule that most likely died under a pile of bullshit.

But for the rest, I toast my fellow volunteeraholics. You may not always be recognized or appreciated for that matter, but you’ve made a difference, a contribution that is far more valuable than money.

So – Thank You. Thank you, very much.

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