Whew. I’m in a better mood this afternoon, with a belly full of good Chinese food and a shared hour of griping with Angela. I no longer think the world is in a conspiracy to piss me off. Angela has had a similar experience this week — she said that the planets were in alignment to bring stinky evil into our lives. After seeing the way Richmonders drive, I’d almost agree with her…but not quite. “My Prerogative” by Bobby Brown was playing on the radio on my way back to the office, and that song always cracks me up, so the grouchiness is receding.
Angela has more reason to be upset, though. Her boyfriend called her a bitch yesterday. In his “apology” letter, he wrote (paraphrased): “I’m sorry I used that word but you really were being one, and I didn’t know if you are always one when you get mad”. To me, that’s grounds not only for cleaning the toilet with his favorite t-shirt a la “Singles”, but for dumping him altogether. Unless it’s being used jokingly between girlfriends, there’s no excuse for using that word. Two guy friends of mine once referred to a girl (who wasn’t present) as a bitch in my hearing, and defended themselves by saying, “But girls call each other that.” It’s different, okay? The only thing I can compare it to is the use of the “n-word” among African Americans (I know this metaphor is on very thin ice, but hear me out). They can call each other that, if they so choose, but no white person should ever say that word. Period. (I’m reminded of the old “Racist Word Association Interview” skit from Saturday Night Live where white and black executives were trading racial slurs: “Jungle bunny!” “Honky!” “Spade!” “Honky honky! “Nigger!” “Dead honky!”) Basically, unless you belong to that group, you don’t have the right to say that word. It’s a respect issue on the most fundamental level. Plus, no one calls my girl a bitch!
That’s probably the least-well-thought-out diatribe ever against name-calling, but it’s the best I can do on a Friday afternoon. Concentration powers are at their lowest ebb…as Soul Coughing says, “My capacities are dwindling till they’re gone, gone, gone”.
Busy weekend ahead. Debbie and I are throwing a party at the farm tomorrow for her boyfriend Bruce’s 30th birthday, and on Sunday I’m hosting a cookout for the J2A from church. All in all, fun is around the corner, the hoary-headed workweek is shaking its gray locks at me in defeat, and it’s a beautiful day…
If anyone’s in Chicago anytime soon, bring me back a pizza from Giordano’s, will you? 12″ stuffed spinach, please.