This is my entry for Week Eight of The Real LJ Idol competition, where the topic is "Sit Down and Shut Up - Ranting LJ style. I'll post an update about voting later in the week. If you haven't already, you may want to join therealljidol, since some voting will be restricted to community members. Thanks so much to everyone who has voted for me so far!
In college, I knew a guy who was nearly seven feet tall (about 2.1 meters). He carried around cards containing funny responses to the questions asked of him regularly. The card gave his exact height and informed the reader that, no, he does not play basketball and yes, the weather is fine up here.
This got me thinking about some cards I should probably carry.
To Nosey People: I am 38 years old, and my husband and I just celebrated our first wedding anniversary. Yes, we plan to have a baby. Yes, we know the longer we wait, the more likely my eggs will dry up and blow away like a burst packet of desiccant. Reminding me is as helpful as telling me that, when I do give birth, my uterus might explode, or that I will end up with scars that would make Frankenstein cry, or that my baby will enact a complete brain-ectomy, leaving behind a sweatsuit-wearing, diaper-changing automaton.
Not that it's any of your business, but my grandmothers were both 40 when they had my parents, both of whom are completely normal, if a bit geeky (where did you think I came from?). I already have a fine set of stretch marks, thanks to gaining and losing 80 pounds, and I look forward to augmenting my collection, this time for a better reason. As far as my daily routine changing, I've always juggled a lot of balls. I'll simply add some new ones and drop a few. Maybe I'll even add a bowling ball and a chainsaw. My problem, not yours.
Thank you for your concern, but please shut up.
To Telemarketers: No, I am not interested in your credit card service, charity solicitation, political message, or love telegram from Zorg on the planet Krieg. I work second shift, and when you wake me at 9 in the morning, I am not only less inclined to listen attentively but also more inclined to go to your headquarters and launch a cream-pie offensive that would leave Laurel and Hardy speechless. So go ahead, keep calling me, and you will be scraping lemon curd off your phone bank for months.
Thank you for calling. Please shut up.
To My Elderly Neighbors: While I am interested in your stories about our neighborhood, I don't want to hear how much worse it is now that (and here, you whisper) blacks live here. Don't assume, just because my eyes are blue and my skin pale, that I agree with your racist point-of-view. I do not believe Mexicans have stolen your job anymore than I believe they stole your tomatoes. Besides, you're retired.
My Quaker ancestors ran a station on the Underground Railroad. They were braver than I (at least, they looked stern in photographs) and would have challenged your statements, rather than mumbling, "I have to go," and dragging their dogs away. Even if I don't share their moxie, I share their beliefs. If you cannot restrict yourself to such topics as the weather, gardening tips, and my adorable dog, please shut up.
To People I've Just Met: Wonderland is fine; the Mad Hatter says hi. My restaurant is going well. Yes, Alice Cooper is cool. And I'll answer anything you want, when I'm 10 feet tall. You get one and only one freebie. The next time, I shall ask you to shut up.
To Door-to-Door Evangelists: First, let me refer you to the section on telemarketers. Secondly, I am quite happy with my current spiritual beliefs. Thirdly, I will gladly take one of your religious tracts, but if it is not snark-worthy, it is going in the trash. Finally, I would be happy to hear where your services are held. Also, what is your favorite type of cream pie? Oh, and shut up.
To All the Haters on the Internets: If you are incapable of civil dialogue and insist on lambasting me with your divisive, ill-informed, malicious rhetoric, I have only this to say. <ahem> Shut up!!! Shut up!!! SHUT .... UUUUUP!!!!! Get off my lawn; get out of my ether, you brain-washed goons! You wouldn't know a reasoned argument if it bit you on your over-developed middle finger, which apparently compensates for your atrophied brain. Of course, I don't expect YOU to understand the value of a well-reasoned argument, considering you have the thinking capacity of a premature hummingbird. Don't you know this kind of rhetoric leads to the worst kind of vile name-calling and achieves nothing but continued bad will and...? Right. I'm shutting up now.
Ah, I feel so much better. Anyone know the name of a good printer?
Catharsis is good for the soul.