everybody hush
I bought some new work pants because I have somehow lost several inches off my waist, probably from a few solid weeks of shivering and daily climbs over snowdrifts, and also maybe because I have lately developed a slightly wild idée fixe about chemicals and toxins in processed food and have been making a huge effort to eat differently. I don’t want to talk about that because it may make me sound crazy. Also, it’s boring. Man am I sick of people blathering on about food. Paleo, vegan, clean, whatever. Just eat it. Be quiet. Sorry I even mentioned it but at least I spared you my many crazy thoughts on the topic.
The pants are fine. However, the inside of the waistband says, “Banish the blah and bring on the wow.” Now THAT’S a message I need to hear every time I unbutton my pants to pee. That’s totally helpful. So inspiring in the workplace bathroom, I tell you. I read that and start doing fist pumps and karate-kicking the stall walls while screaming, “Banish the blah and bring on the wow!”
Fuck you, Dockers. Quit making pants that talk to me. Things need to quit talking to me in general, really: my Yogi-brand teabag tag said, “You are infinite” and a square of Dove dark chocolate (what was that about eating healthier? oh never mind) had the words “Discover yourself” printed on the foil. Discover myself? Already did, chocolate: and I am infinite, as it turns out. Also, I have been ordered to banish the blah and bring on the wow, and I will get right on that as soon as I finish my snack.
SPEAKING OF SIGNS AND SIGNIFIERS
As the El stopped at Fullerton, a guy with a tipped hat and puffy jacket threw a gang sign at the train as the doors were closing. It was a Black Disciples sign (yes, I’ve looked it up) but he did it upside down—does that mean he was dissing the BDN? Oh hell no! Well, come to think of it I really don’t care.
Although I am pretty sure the criminal hand signal was directed at the fine young man sitting across from me and not at myself, I did copy the gesture (right side up) and throw it back to Puffy Jacket as the train pulled away. It was nice to see a surprised look on such a tough-guy face.
PEOPLE PAY MONEY FOR THAT
Another in a long line of Semi-Awkward Conversations With My Kid. All of the same-sex-parent families that we know have adopted their children, and Nora thought that was the way it had to be. I have no idea why I decided to expand her universe. And I don’t remember why the topic came up in the first place.
Nora: If a girl marries a boy, they just…sperm plus egg: baby. But if a girl marries a girl, and they want a baby, they adopt the baby.
Me: Sure, they can adopt, or they can get some sperm and one of the girls can grow the baby in her uterus.
Nora: Wait. GET some SPERM? From a boy?
Me: Well, uh, from a man. But yeah.
Nora: They just ask for it?
Me: Sometimes. But also, and, uh, more likely, is that they go to a sperm bank and buy it.
Nora: BUY IT? Sperm BANK?
Me: Yes.
Nora: From men? Who sell it?
Me: Yeah.
Nora: How much does it cost?
Me: I don’t know. Kind of a lot, I guess. Since it’s half of making a baby, and a lot of people want babies.
Nora: That’s SO WEIRD. It should be free! Men have it anyway!
Me: …
Nora: Okay, so two girls can do that sperm thing or adopt. But two boys, they have to adopt.
Me [deciding not to get into surrogacy right now]: That’s more usual, yes.
IT IS BETTER FOR THE EARTH
In another of a long line of business-oriented dreams, yesterday I woke up from a very detailed dream in which I was showing LT a huge binder for a fast-food franchise. I had attended one of those buy-your-own-franchise seminars and I was trying to convince him to invest ten thousand dollars in a restaurant franchise called GAIA WALRUS, which sold “sustainably farmed walrus meat,” presumably made into sandwiches or burgers or something. I remember the logo, which was a sort of hippie mandala incorporating a cartoon walrus, and I remember some of the details about structure and pricing from the franchise informational materials, but not much else. Ever since I told LT this dream he has been trying to work out the details, such as how walrus meat can ever be “sustainable,” or even the logistics of “farming” something that lives in water and weighs three thousand pounds, and then I patiently explain that all those issues are upstream, man, all we have to do is run the place. Order the supplies from headquarters, hire the employees to wear the little paper hats with the little paper tusks, rake in the money.
—mimi smartypants wants penguin fries with that.