The Baby Jesus Weeps for You

Although I have been veering into the political realm a bit too often here, I thought I would share an experience I had with some relatives not too long ago, because it is funny as hell.

My family is aware of my liberal status. It's no secret. Let's face it, you don't end up with a PhD in Anthropology if you are a traditionalist. But, that doesn't mean that my family comprehends my life decisions, or my political leanings. They would rather just call names. You know, lefty, liberal, commie, pinko, feminist (I think they see that as the worst insult. This label was applied when I didn't change my name after I got married). I've been called it all.

So, not too long ago I was listening to my (very Catholic) cousin yap about how Obama was causing the downfall of Western Civilization or some complete bullshit like that. Apparently, they keystone in this collapse is nationalized healthcare, which would make us socialists (it would not), and that is the same as communists (also wrong).

After listening to her flap her gums for just as long as I could stand, I said to her "You know, when you oppose national healthcare, you make the Baby Jesus cry."

In return I got a "What?"

So I repeated myself. "When you oppose national healthcare, it makes the Baby Jesus cry."

She sputtered a bit and asked me what in the world that I was talking about.

I said "Well, it's in the bible."

After much back and forth, mainly centered on what an idiot I was, I got a bible. I turned to Matthew 25, verses 41-46 or so. And it said:

On the last day, Jesus will say to those on His right hand, "Come, enter the Kingdom. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was sick and you visited me." Then Jesus will turn to those on His left hand and say, "Depart from me because I was hungry and you did not feed me, I was thirsty and you did not give me to drink, I was sick and you did not visit me." These will ask Him, "When did we see You hungry, or thirsty or sick and did not come to Your help?" And Jesus will answer them, "Whatever you neglected to do unto one of these least of these, you neglected to do unto Me!"

Then I asked, "What have you done for the "least of these" except to leave them sick and without care? The Baby Jesus weeps for you, you know."

After that our discussion about healthcare was over. Although it did initiate a discussion about whether or not I could quote the bible because "You don't even believe!!!" And whether or not that would result in my going to hell, which I pointed out could not happen because there is no hell.

It was finally announced that there was just no reasoning with me, followed by a storming out of the room.

Really, I thought I was actually pretty reasonable. At least I had a citation to support my position.

Sigh.

Adventurous Eating

So I have to tell you all about my adventure today.

I found the most awesome restaurant OF ALL TIME, and had lunch there today.  It's called Omar's, and you all know about my weakness for anyplace named Omar's:

Enough of my obsession with Omar's Food and Beauty Supplies, back to the story!

The other day, I was driving home and I passed a new restaurant.  Well, not really a new restaurant, the building has been there for quite a while.  In fact, it used to be a Taco Bell.  Then it was a stereo shop, and now it is OMAR'S BRICK OVEN PIZZA AND SHWARMA.

For serious!  Pizza and Shwarma.

For those of you not a part of the "Church of Shwarma," shwarma is a kind of like a near eastern version of gyro, but not made with that funny pressed meat, or whatever that craziness it is that they serve in the restaurants around here.  It's actually a huge stack of chicken or lamb on a vertical spit that spins in front of a huge burner, and as the cooked meat is cut away from the edge (and made into delicious sandwiches), the meat that is revealed then continues to cook.  

I used to eat it CONSTANTLY when I was in Syria and Turkey, although in Turkey they call it "doner kebab."  But that is ok, it is still the same roasty deliciousness.  And delicious it is.  And along any major thoroughfare, you could find dozens of little shops with their spinning spits of chicken and lamb out front.  Although some of my colleagues thought that I was crazy for buying meat on the street.  Whatever, the car exhaust kills any germs.  

The way they prepare it is they take a huge sharp knife and hold it against the edge of the meat as the spit spins, shaving off the meat into a big piece of flatbread.  They add some tahini sauce, hot sauce if you want it, pickled vegetables, and roll up your meaty burrito of happiness.  If you hang around long enough, you can learn the Arabic words for "Before you make mine, rub the bread in that fat in the drip pan and hold it in front of the burner to toast it."  Or at least a rough equivalent.

So, imagine my excitement when I discovered Omar's Brick Oven Pizza and Shwarma.  I was so happy, that I had to coerce a friend of mine into coming to lunch with me there today.

And, oh my, it was fantastic.  And a little weird.

First of all, the Arabic food was delicious.  They had kibbeh, they had shwarma, they had kebab, they had felafel....and it was all done right.  But the menu!  It was insane!  Clearly, the owners were thinking of catering to a more diverse crowd, hence the pizza AND shwarma, but oh, my!  

The appetizers on the menu were things like toasted ravioli....and hummus.  And fried cheese sticks....and felafel.  So funny!  

And the pizza....of course the standard pepperoni, sausage, but one of the options?  Chicken Shwarma Pizza!!!  I cannot even IMAGINE what that would taste like.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am in no way not recommending Omar's.  In fact, you must all go to Omar's immediately, because they must remain in business or I will just DIE.  Not to mention the shwarma was delicious, and authentic, and if I had just nearly been sideswiped by a taxi on the sidewalk I would think I was back in Damascus.

I just want a copy of that crazy menu.

Why I Hate Facebook

So I recently got a Facebook account.  I was kind of bored with Myspaz, and all the glittery, animation-y backgrounds and other ridiculous crap that people kept putting up on their profiles would variously lock up my browser.  I figured, you can't add that crap to Facebook, so that should be cool.  I'll set up an account.

In the few months that I have had an account, I have developed a list of all the crap I hate about Facebook.

1.  It is too easy to find me.  They make you use your real name on Facebook.  So anyone can find me.  Even the people that I have made a POINT of avoiding for the past decade.  You know who else can find you?  Ex-boyfriends.  All of them.  Now, I know that the sheer number of them out there is kind of my fault.  But why are they ALL looking for me?  I think a large number of them must be on the eighth step, because they all seem to want to rehash what went wrong and apologize.  Now, I won't say that sometimes that is pretty vindicating, but some of them I want to just say "Hey, remember when I told you it's not you it's me?  I was being straight with you.  It really WAS me.  Don't let this be an obstacle in your path to sobriety."

2.  You know who else finds me?  Republicans and religious people.  Seriously, I would rather be friended by every single hazy college hook-up than have to read one more update about how some chock-full-o-nuts from high school "Thanks God for another day on this planet."  Seriously.  It makes me want to gag.  It's not that I'm anti-religion, it's just that....yeah, make that anti-religion.  And Republicans?  Go fly your freak flag someplace else.  I just hide the republicans so I don't have to read their rage-inducing updates in my news feed.  Oh, and I consistently do better on the little bible quizzes than they do,  so go figure.

3.  I also don't like that large portions of my family have discovered facebook.  And went looking for me.  Seriously, I could live without my 70-year-old aunt as one of my "friends" but I didn't want to deny the request and have to fight THAT particular fight come Thanksgiving.  All I have to say is "Worlds colliding!  Somebody save me!"

4.  Mafia Wars.  And Farm Town.  And Yoville.  And Food Fights.  Seriously, I can't even be counted on to return your emails and phone calls.  Do you think I'm going to throw some virtual pie at you?  Hidden, all of you.

5.  That I feel obligated to update my stupid status.  Seriously, the next time you are on my facebook and it's Thursday, and it still says "I hate Mondays" in the status, don't assume that it's because I haven't updated it for 4 days.  It could be a week and 4 days.

6.  Speaking of updates, do I really need an update from you every 3 hours?  And for those of you that are constantly updating your facebook bitching about having to run your 5 kids all over the damn place, shut it.  After the second kid, you knew what caused them.  If it was going to be a problem to manage their shit, you should have stopped there.  I am supposed to boo hoo for you because it's "hard" to get them all to camp?  Because they all need shots for school?  Because you didn't have time to get a pedicure?  You made them, now take care of them.  Only a maniac has more than three, anyway.  I didn't have time for a mani and pedi either.  Cause I have a JOB.  So shut it.

The only thing I really like about Facebook?  Scramble.  If I could find Scramble on some other website, I'd cancel my Facebook account for good.

So, It's Been a While....

Sorry I've been out of commission.  Work and family has kind of taken over my existence.  Between my idiot brother who couldn't parent his way out of a paper bag, and my grandmother who is starting chemotherapy, family obligations have been dragging me in a dozen different directions.

In fact, it is family that inspired this post today.

I have reluctantly come to admit that my grandmother, at 81, is slowly dropping into senility.  Conversations with her are becoming an exercise in logic, and getting any information out of her is akin to questioning a perp a la Law and Order.  You have to trick her into giving you the information that you want.

So, I get a call at work today.  She has gotten a letter that she doesn't understand, and wants me to come over and find out what it all means.

The letter is from Bank of America, and it reads something to the effect of "Hey, the last time you were in the drive-thru, you took out one of our poles with your blue 4x4, and we would like for either you or your insurance company to pay for it."

My brother, who lives with my grandmother, drives a blue SUV and my grandmother immediately leapt to the conclusion that it MUST be him.  I asked her, how could that be???  It is licensed at my parent's house, and the only way that Bank of America could have linked you and your address to it is if R is pilfering your checks or using your ATM card, and we REALLY don't want to go THERE, do we??

Fortunately they provided a contact name and I spent about half an hour talking with an extremely pleasant (for a claims agent) woman in California.  I explained to her that I didn't understand this, that my grandmother doesn't drive, has no car, doesn't even have a license, and could she please give me the specificities of this accident so that I could address it.

She told me that the accident happened at 11:05 am on July 1, in the drive-thru lane of the bank that my grandmother frequents.  I told her I really didn't understand what was going on, that yes, that was her bank, and yes, I see a deposit on that day, but I just don't understand how my grandmother, all 95 pounds of her, busted through your drive-thru lane in a 4x4, all Evel-Kneivel-style.

The woman said that there had been a witness, for which she had a number for, and she would be happy to call and get a more complete statement from him.  She also offered to call the bank and talk with the employees who witnessed it, in hopes of getting to the bottom of it.  I thanked her kindly and told her that I would do some investigation of my own.

So, I hung up and walked into the kitchen to talk to my grandmother.  I told her "They said that it was a blue pick-up truck.  Does Aunt M have a blue pick up truck?"  She thought about it and said "No.  But L (her daughter) does."

I sat quietly for a moment and then asked "On the 1st, did Aunt M take you to the bank?  And was she driving L's truck?"

My grandmother thought about it and said "Yes.  She sure did.  Hit a pole in the drive-thru, too.  Caved in the whole side of the truck.  I was pretty shaken up."

At this point, all I can do is put my head down on the table.

I'll Wear My Green Fedora, Fedora....

The other day I was thinking about my grandfather. He passed away three years ago and the holidays are always a time when I really miss him, and I was thinking about an errand we ran together before he died.

Grandpa loved hats. He had a million baseball caps and quite a collection of "dress hats," as well. He had a fedora like Indiana Jones that he loved, but he had worn it to death. So he wanted to go to buy a hat. Well, there aren't a lot of places around that you can get men's hats anymore, so we had to drive waaaaay downtown to Levine Hats.

I had a pretty good idea where Levine was, because according to the address, it was up the street from one of my favorite bars. Grandpa didn't need to know this, but let's face it, he probably did. So we got ready to head down to Washington Ave.

Our first disagreement was over what vehicle we would take. Grandpa wanted me to drive, but didn't want to take my car. He wanted me to drive his car. My car was a sporty Jeep Wrangler. His car was a massive, silver Lincoln Town Car with chrome and running lights. It was like driving the sofa. But, I shrugged me shoulders and climbed behind the wheel. I really hated driving the Lincoln because it was hard to tell if I was even in the lane. AND I knew that when we got to the hat shop I was going to have to parallel park, which was going to be amusing to watch to say the least.

Once we were at Levine's, we were amazed at the vast array of hats available. Not only did they have the grey fedora that Grandpa wanted, they also had it in yellow, red, and purple. They also had quite a variety of hats with truly astounding decorative touches, including feathers as long as my arm. And the ladies hats! These hats were clearly church hats! Apparently, this shop was no longer the sole domain of the jaunty old white man.

Grandpa picked out two hats, one felt and one straw and we headed out the door.

As we were heading back down the block to our silver Lincoln, parked among a huge variety of Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Crown Victorias, toting our two fancy hats, it left me something to ponder:

Why is it that clothing and vehicle preferences of 80-year-old white men is so similar to that of the urban pimp?

I mentioned this to Grandpa and fortunately he didn't offer to bitch-slap me, but did tell me to "shut up and get in the goddamned car," he was ready to go home.

A Comment on Comments....

So I read a lot of blogs.  And I have to say that "Anonymous" is one busy sumbitch.  Now, I understand that to an extent I INVITE assholery of all kinds here...let's face it, most of what I post is only funny because I'm busy being completely offensive.  The entire reason for the existence of this blog is for me to be rude. Blogging is kind of like farting in public. You just do it and see who it pisses off.

But I will say that "Anonymous" has no place here.

If you don't identify yourself in some way, your comment won't get through moderation (yes, I moderate comments, even if I don't moderate my own behavior.  Find that ironic?  Maybe you should write a blog about it). 

That said, you can be as rude as you want.  I'll let through comments that I don't agree with.  But you DO have to identify yourself.  That way you can't hide your crazy behind your anonymity.  Use a nom de plume.  I do.  But, I have a posted email address.  So should you.

Deeez Nuuutz...In Yo Mouf

Normally I don't like to write about politics, and save my ranting and raving for completely self-centered purposes, but I just have throw out a big Yo Momma "REALLY? Really." to all these so-called "teabaggers."

First of all, are you such fools that you determined that you would variously refer your little protests as "teabagging?" Given that I have LONG suspected that the "family-values" crowd are some of the largest consumers of porn on the planet, it absolutely astounds me that you would allow your "movement" to be associated with the act of repeatedly dipping one's hairy balls in a partner's mouth. Go ahead, google it. Better yet, click "images." Or even "video."

Second, WHAT in GOD's name are you protesting?

The best that I can figure out is that you are protesting:

1. Taxes being raised to the level of 10% lower than it was under Reagan.
2. Bailouts for banks and automakers that were initiated by Bush II.
3. The incredible deficit that is the direct result of the actions of the Bush II administration.

Since absolutely NONE of that makes even the remotest sense to me, this is what I think that you are REALLY protesting, but are too ashamed to admit on television:

1. You are pissed off that our president is black and he's smarter than you.
2. You are equally pissed off that someone who took on a mortgage too big for their paycheck, whether with intention or without, MIGHT get a break and you still have to make your house payment every month.

Ok, as to number one (and you know it's true, I know the jokes you tell when it's just white people in the room. I'm white, too, remember?)....you can protest it all you want but you are really just pissed off that the whole country read your little viral emails about Obama being a Moslem, or not even American...some of them even believed them...and THEN THEY VOTED FOR HIM ANYWAY.

And number 2? OK, I'll admit it, I think it sucks. I was smart when I took out my mortgage. Yeah, my lender encouraged me to go for more. They offered me the variable rate mortgage and just shrugged and said "Oh, you can just refi when your rates go up." But I took the time to educate myself and knew that I needed a fixed rate, and set my cap significantly lower than my lenders did. But let's face it...even if I am of only AVERAGE intelligence, then there are millions of people out there stupider than me. And people who are going to believe it when lenders say "Oh, but if you just do this you can afford SO much more house!!"

Now, you may say "That's so dumb! Who would believe that?" Well think about it, there are people out there who believe Obama is a Muslim and not even an American. Some of them are your friends and have your email address. So certainly you cold see that it is possible that there are some people out there who believed in "magic mortgages" that allow people making $50k a year to purchase $400k houses?

And now you are just pissed off that these morons are going to get their own little bail out. Yeah, I get it. That pisses me off, too, that some dumb ass is going to profit from this. I did everything right, so where is my bail out? Isn't that what you are really pissed off about? That none of the handouts are coming your direction? Come on, you can admit it.

But what is the alternative? Large-scale homelessness? The suburbs sitting empty? Increased crime? Further depression of the construction industry? Really? Really. You think THAT would be better than the asshole down the street getting a better deal on their mortgage than you? Oh, my, that's not fair! Not fair at all! Suck it up, teabaggers. This is the way it's got to be. Unless you want to be mugged in the suburbs, or live next to an abandoned house that is now a crack house. Hey, isn't that what you moved to the suburbs to get away from??

You know what really cracks my shit up, though?

All this hype that these teabaggers have created, all the press coverage...so all morning I have been looking for numbers...how many people turned out for these tea parties?

The information that I could find sounds pretty impressive. A quarter of a million people nationwide (New York Times). Three hundred thousand (Newsweek)!! Wow, that's a lot of people! A quarter of a million, why, that is 50,000 LESS than showed up for the Obama rally in St. Louis.

In Missouri.

A state that didn't even vote for him.

Suck on that, teabaggers.

(Oh, and a comment about comments? If you spew your bile anonymously, I will not approve your comment. If you want to come over here and show your ass, at least be a man enough to reveal your name, you chicken-shit.)