Man, I have tried five times to write about something other than work tonight and each and every story turns into a work story, so I delete it and start over. It’s all good, they’re happy, funny stories, and I love my work, but I’m pretty tetchy about discussing work too specifically here.
But apparently it’s all I can think about right now! Work! And the possibility of it being awesome!
What do other people do at times like this, when they are stumped for wry, insightful stories to tell? Oh, I know, I can post pictures of my cat:
OK, nevermind, there’s one story I think I can tell.
I was on the phone today with someone who I know is a vocal activist of the super-ultra-right-wing stripe, someone who is vehemently against just about everything I think is true and good. Like my right to not have to submit to the will of my husband as my lord and master. Like the right of my lesbian best friend to get married, never mind the right for her not to be considered a vile sinner in the Eyes of Gawd. Like the right to determine for myself whether or not I want to have a kid. Like the free exchange of good, honest porn. Really. This guy is a real Falwell.
Which reminds me, you should totally read this.
And I couldn’t help but think, as I took down his message, about how much he thinks I am wrong, wrong, unholy and wrong, and am going to hell hell hell. Like I’ve been in the real-life version of every single room of those Fundy Christian “House of Horrors” they have at Halloween, and LIKED it.
Which, of course, I have.
Of course I didn’t declare myself, didn’t interrupt our perfectly innocuous conversation to let him know that I am totally a commie pinko queer leftist. I may be evil, but I am a professional, for crying out loud.
But I did try to think particularly perverse thoughts while I took down his number, and then I doodled lesbian symbols and pentagrams next to his name.
Then I transferred the information to a fresh post-it note, sans doodles, and went on with my day.