Tales of a Woman Gone Rogue

During Thanksgiving, my father happily brought to my home his new book from Amazon.com. He got his new copy of Going Rogue, by Sarah Palin. His first mark in my home was throwing the book right onto my coffee table, on top of Stephen Colbert's book. I would remove the Sarah Palin-book, and it would find its way back onto my coffee table.

So, one morning, before my dad woke up, I decided to flip through it. Of course, the first 300 pages are incredibly insipid, with very boring details of her life, the history of Alaska, tales of Eiditarods gone bad, and so on. I skipped straight to the juicy Katie Couric-trashing. I was hoping for more claws, but, her ghostwriter kept it disappointingly tame. Though it was mildly entertaining, I quickly felt more contempt and anger. It is difficult for me to associate with her as a fellow-woman, because she fails to meet the standards that we uphold for ourselves. First of all, she cannot call herself a "career woman". She started as a sports anchor, and flirted her way to the governor's mansion in Alaska. She did not have a political background, and cannot utilize her mayorship of Wasilla as a stepping stone. Also, as a mother of five, with one child who has special needs, Sarah Palin could have shared her experiences to inspire other women with children.

It is a mystery why Americans revere her and even tout her as a possible GOP Presidential candidate. She deserted her post as Governor of Alaska after barely completing less than half a term. She exploited her own pregnant teenage daughter, to relate to the "real" Americans in the small towns and rural communities. She, now, is stretching her fifteen minutes of fame well past the time limit. My advice to her, is: now, stay home, be a mother, and provide your children the love and protection they deserve.

The Trials & Tribulations of the Rich, the Blond, and the Skinny

As we spent the Thanksgiving holiday gorging on the never-ending media buffet of Tiger Woods's motor vehicle accident, Black Friday, shopping, and White House party crashers, we must ask ourselves, "WTF?" I remember the headline of "Party Crashers at the State Dinner", trailing in a banner on every cable news channel. Multiple pundits, senior correspondents, anchors, and the like, offered insights and perspectives. Michaele and Tareq Salahi are now household names, spending time at the table on the lips of families during the holiday meal, garnishing their turkey or Tandoori chicken. Frankly, the endless montage of video clips featuring a rather skeletal, blonde lady adorned in a tradition Indian lenga being twirled around by a plump, older gentleman were becoming rather nauseating. Even Michaele Salahi's hairstylist milked her fifteen minutes of fame, discussing the entire process involved in the preparation for making an entrance at such a grand event. She detailed how long the hair took to be flat-ironed, as well as how she dressed in her Indian outfit at the salon. Although a detailed investigation of why the Secret Service failed to provide the appropriate barrier, where was the White House Social secretary, how did they get to shake President Obama's hand, etc., there is a basic breakdown. Obviously, the secret service agent's penis played an important role in who was able to enter the State Dinner without an invitation, and who wasn't. When a skinny, blonde chick flirts, manipulates, and persuades, the penis responds. However, if an Indian woman, like myself, dressed in my best sari, attempted such a feat, I would be in Guantanamo Bay, under investigation by the F.B.I, C.I.A., and Interpol (unfortunately, not the band). It never ceases to amaze me how quickly penises respond to blonde chicks, regardless of how high-pitched the voice may be, how demanding or needy, or even entitled. I would have thought that an overwhelming support for a President who is of different background from the moral majority would change these things. Yet, it's not ever really going to change. . .the skinny, blonde chick will always have power over the penis.

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

I recently began a new job in a different city. Before I started, I took one month off between jobs, to have time to move and get settled into my new home. It was almost like summer vacation, in October. The Sunday night before my first day, I had difficulty sleeping and I even coordinated my clothes and shoes for the next day. Of course, I wore a new outfit with matching boots. I also wore my lucky earrings, lucky necklace, and lucky eye makeup. I arrived promptly before 7:00 am, and of course, I had to wait by the door for twenty minutes until an employee arrived to let me in. My office currently is occupied by the previous resident, so I am sitting at a cubicle, in a painfully quiet portion of the area.

Although I am an adult with some work experience, I still felt as though I entered my first day of high school, where everyone seemed to know each other and I was the new kid, yearning for friends. Later in the morning, I did encounter a friend of mine who also relocated and was on her first day. It was like seeing that one friend from my old school who was also starting my new school. Fortunately, I had someone with whom I could eat lunch, and I wasn't struggling to find a table of seemingly friendly new acquaintances. All in all, I had a pleasant first day and did get to make some new friends. There is some validation that I am not a complete loser.

You're in America, Please Speak English

Public restrooms frighten me. Lord only knows what actually happens in there. I'm sure that someday, there will be a "Caught on Tape" involving lewd acts in these cesspools of filth. Even those spreadsheets that mark how often an employee assesses the level of grossness and do absolutely nothing about it. I will actually suck it up, and venture into one, especially if my bladder is on the verge of exploding within my abdominal cavity.

So today, I was in Target, and, of course, I was on the verge of having an accident. I was tempted by Starbucks, so I needed to empty the tank. I entered, and was greeted by the vision of a woman changing her baby's diaper. Now, I know that baby's diapers need changing every so often. However, they are actually human beings, and this woman was speaking in "goo goo ga ga" language to this infant. Now, on first glance, for that split second, I assumed the kid must be no more than five months old. Therefore, it is prudent to actually speak in a normal, human vernacular, and not this annoying jibberish. When you tell your infant, "No more stinkies in public" multiple times, with the goo's and ga's placed ever so stealthily. I am completely perturbed when parents talk to a baby in this "baby talk". They may smile back at you, but, don't worry, they are actually making fun. Babies need to hear actual words, with proper inflection, and vocal tone. But, when parents do this "boo boo boo" and crap, they are annoyed, as am I.

The Eye of the Beholder

Yesterday, I decided to wear a new dress, which was short, various shades of pink, and a wrap style. I even accessorized with simple jewelry and a pair of black pumps, to add some icing to this sexy look I was attempting It was comfortable and many of my friends complimented me at work and it did look nice. So, in the evening, I was walking to the gym from my parking space, and I happened to walk behind these two women. I would comfortably categorize these women as bimbos, as they wore the tight, revealing gym clothes, with faux booty and breasts bulging out of the synthetic material. Their highlighted hair extensions blew through the wind, and every guy who passed noticed. Literally, men would turn their heads to these two bimbos. I also happened to come across another woman, traveling solo, who had chosen limited attire to cover her various implants.

Honestly, I know that these women are not better looking than me. They are not even more desirable than me. However, what they have that I don't is a blatant neon billboard that says, "I will do you in an alley or public restroom now", "I will give you a blow job now", "You can do it to me in the anus", and/or "My friend can join us, and I will make out with her for your viewing pleasure." For some reason, men fantasize about these chicks, who are caricatures of what real women are, because they represent this wild, sexually free being who will perform on command, especially to make themselves seem desirable. However, these women cannot sustain a meaningful relationship, provide emotional support, be a partner with whom to enjoy life experiences, or raise a family. They can scream and shout in bed and seem really animalistic. But, it is women like me, who carry ourselves with dignity, self-respect, as well as sensuality. We, also, are very, very good at engaging in intimate relations--I can make a guy feel good while taking pleasure in what he has to offer me. In other words, I can totally screw a guy like a porn star, talk with him about politics and religion, cook him a good meal, and make him feel like a man. Those bimbos, they are only good for a disappointing one-night stand and an inevitable STD.

I am Officially a . . .Cougar?

I have always been open to dating men who are younger than me. When I go out, I usually only meet men who are in their 20's, because they are the ones who are actually out. Most men in their 30's are married with children or would rather sleep with 20-year-old bimbos. I recently began dating a guy who is cute, funny, nice, intelligent, and sweet. . .and, is also ten years younger than me.

The generational difference is rather striking. After all, I am one who prefers to have an actual spoken conversation. He is a big texter/emailer. In fact, I think I have perfected my text-flirting skills. We have had multiple conversations over the texting, and I may need to update my plan a little to accommodate that. Also, he has the capacity to stay awake and alert past midnight. I, on the other hand, require a certain amount of sleep to be functional the following day. However, he is the most attentive, appreciative man I have ever dated. For someone in his mid-20's, he has confidence, character, and a sense of humor beyond his years. So, for all single ladies in their 30's-40's, I highly recommend dating someone who is younger. The ego, insecurity, and lack of personality is absent, and frankly, if men can do it, why can't we?

BEST. . .CONCERT. . .EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My friend and I made the trek to Austin, Texas to fulfill my Nine Inch Nails-Groupie requirement for the month.  The closest show to where I live was here, which was a two-hour drive.  I ditched work, put on my skinny jeans, and we left.  When we arrived in Austin, there was parking right in front of the venue.  The meters didn't work, and my friend was quite anxious about getting a parking ticket.  I personally could have cared less, so I left the car, and left her to walk to CVS by herself to get her earplugs, while I went inside and sat with the other presale ticket holders.  I wanted to be at the stage again for the Nine Inch Nails/Jane's Addiction concert.  

Street Sweeper Social Club, consisting of Tom Morrello from Rage Against the Machine/Audioslave/Nightwatchman and Boots Riley, along with a couple of white guys, opened the show with a rocking set.  They played many songs that have been previewed for us.  They also busted out a riveting cover of M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes".  SSSC's set was only 30 minutes, and frankly, I would have loved to see more of them.  They were so energetic and a great choice for an opening act.  Then, Nine Inch Nails exploded into "Mr. Self Destruct", with thunderous vocals, percussion, and bass.  Of course, Nine Inch Nails rocked.  Their set was very The Downward Spiral-heavy, an homage to the old folks, like myself.  TDS is my favorite of their albums, and every song is repeatable, for multiple plays.  They also played "Dead Souls", a Joy Division cover from The Crow soundtrack, which was such a pleasant surprise.  Interestingly, there were no tracks from the most recent album, The Slip.  I think the newest song was "Survivalism", from Year Zero.  Trent, Robin, Ilan, and Justin all looked fantastic, and they played their asses off.  I would see them again, and again, and again, and again, times infinity.  It was an amazing show, and I loved being in the pit, close to the stage again.

After about ten-fifteen minutes, the beginning chords of "Three Days" resonated through the air, the curtains dropped, and Jane's Addiction appeared.  Dave Navarro's Barbie doll also made her appearance, from Twitter update fame.  Since Jane's hasn't released any new music in like, twenty years, they banged out hit after hit, with "Mountain Song", "Ocean Size", "Been Caught Stealing", etc., taking me back to high school/college.  The '90's kick ass, as proven tonight.  By this time, the young folk who came for Nine Inch Nails left, and I was able to move closer to the stage.  I was stationed immediately in front of Eric Avery and right next to Pee Wee Herman and his multi-ethnic harem.  PW had several non-Caucasian women with him, hanging on the rail.  Now, that I think about it, they probably had no idea why they were at a NIN/JA concert.  But, PW needed his harem around, I suppose.  Anyway, I must say, Dave Navarro is a beautiful man.  I am all about the tattoos, piercings, and tight, designer jeans that accented the contour of his shapely ass.  Very, very nice.  However, towards the end, some dumbass pushed his way up to the front, and proceeded to hang on me, with his crotch on my ass.  I wasn't sure what to do, but, the visual of Dave Navarro helped distract me.