Par-Tay hey

My. What an unusal breed of friends I have. There was drinking and eating and dart playing. There was a spat. There was vomiting. There were overnight guests. There was Placenta soap given. There was conversation about what spices we would each be if in a cabinet. There was a marathon poker game (winner? Killer. Second place? Liz. Second place pays DICK). There was a recreation of prom portraits. There were six bags of trash hauled to the street. There was a 3:30 AM bedtime. There were great new art pieces and there was the after party at German Fest. It’s been a long weekend. But a long weekend in that good way. Below, you’ll see what I mean.

Killer has alluded to something that I don’t think actually happened, but he’s promised to post about it. I’m just as eager as you are to see what he remembers that I might just be satisfied forgetting.

I wish you could have been there. It was a good time. Enjoy the pix and have a great week.

src="http://www.killerrants.com/images/uploads/DSCN1369_thumb.JPG" style="border: 0;" alt="image" width="400" height="533" />

•   Comments(7)    Posted by liz on 09/30 at 05:57 PM
•   Digg   del.icio.us   Fark   StumbleUpon

What if I just Want to Vent?

Right now, I just want to bitch. I don’t want to cry, I don’t want anybody telling me to view the glass half full, and I don’t want any advice. I just want someone to listen to me rant. In person. Someone who could take this heap of foul language without being shocked at my talent for streaming together profane sentences. Someone that would sympathize and tell me how right and justified my feelings are, even if I am overreacting. Someone to mix my cocktails and make sure the conversation didn’t end before I had a strong buzz working.

Or a massage. A massage would be nice.

I’ve never been a “kick the dog” kind of person. I usually handle my frustrations with maturity. But today I want to throw a full-fledged 3-year-old tantrum. I’ve had it! I’m tired of cum-crusted assholes invading my personal space and infringing their idiot rituals on me or even NEAR me. I want to see them burst into flames before my very eyes. Remember the scene from the Indiana Jones flick where the dude melted? I have a list. You know how little league ball players form the high five line after every game? I want a slap line, where I line them up and run past them all, knocking the shit out of them as I pass. THEN they catch fire and then they melt. The only thing left is their wallets, which I will collect and loot from. I will run insane charges up on their credit cards so that their descendants will be burdened with their debts for many years to come. Anyone with their genes deserves to be reminded that they are descended from rancid, odiforus, chunky smegma.

I guess you could say it’s been a stressful day.

The good news is that I’m having a party this weekend. Yay parties! I plan on having the camera ready so I can lay down some images one day next week. Killer will be in attendance, which automatically means it will be an entertaining gathering. The pressure is off him, though, as many of those coming are more like characters from the best book ever written than real live people. These are my friends. And I love them.

In other, sad news, I guy I work (not too closely) with was killed in a motorcycle wreck last night. This has been upsetting at a degree I find a little surprising. We were more than acquaintances, but not really ‘friends’. He was always very nice to me, and he appreciated some things I’ve done for him in the past. He always called me ‘pretty lady’ and he was protective. If he was around and anyone even challenged something I said, he would, inappropriately, step in. In other words, I knew this guy fairly well but we weren’t hanging out on weekends or even seeing each other daily. I’ve watched him struggle to make himself a better man for his daughter and throw all of his passion and heart into his work. He was rough on the exterior, but really did have a very generous heart. The thing that hit so hard was when I read the account of the accident and it said he quit breathing on the stretcher. The accident was gruesome, and he knew it- he knew he was broken, he knew he wouldn’t make it, he knew that his breaths were numbered. And he had to know it for at least 15 minutes. Man. That’s tough.

Isn’t it strange? Those people in your world who are mostly background, yet when something happens to them you feel like there was something you should have said that you’ll never get the chance to say? To a degree, it’s like our little blogging community. We know things about each other- we know some of each other’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities as well as the good stuff. As much as it sort of creeps me out to think of you guys as ‘friends’ I do have to acknowledge that the regular commenters mean something to me. I check in at your blogs and keep tabs of who is doing what. It makes connections- voyeuristic to be certain, but still relevant. We’re each other’s background.

So, I’ll say thanks. Thanks for continuing to check in at Killer Rants and supporting us through your well wishes, contributions, and funny comments.

When I form my slap line, you will be spared.

•   Comments(6)    Posted by liz on 09/26 at 04:23 PM
•   Digg   del.icio.us   Fark   StumbleUpon

“Nigger Hank” and the “Cracker”

Please. Let me explain.

A friend of mine, the modern yet old-school white boy that he is, recently traveled on business and took an extra day or two off work to explore the country side of the northern west coast region. He was in a rural area, enjoying a part of the world he had never seen. He told me that where he was, “there are no niggers except 1- and that’s Nigger Hank. Nigger Hank who introduces himself that way.” Much like a character out of Blazing Saddles might.

We were in a public place when he was telling me this story. Now you tell me, is it just me, or is this NOT a way to be discrete when using a racial slur?

HIM: (loudly) Out there, they just don’t have any (whispers) niggers. (loudly) I mean, they have some Mexicans and a few Asians and lots of white people, but you can’t find a (whispers) nigger (loudly) out there to save your life. Except for Nigger Hank. But Nigger Hank calls himself that. Can you believe that? He’s the only (whispers) nigger (loudly) in Washington State and he knows it. And he calls himself that. Don’t that beat all? But I met him in a bar. And he was drunk. So maybe he doesn’t call himself that all the time.

Ok. It would take me all night to explain MY view of using the word “nigger”, and I’m going to avoid doing that here. But I will say that I don’t think my friend’s comments, even though they were not meant to be derogatory toward anyone specifically, were, at the very minimum, inappropriate for lunch conversation in a public place. To tell the story, he had to use the word- much like I have to use the word as I relay the story to you- but he never distinguished between ‘Nigger’ as part of Hank’s self-selected name and ‘nigger’ as a reference to the man. It shows a lot of insensitivity to use that word and he knows it, or else he wouldn’t have lowered his voice during select parts of the conversation.

I do not approve.

Now, here’s the flip side of this issue.

A friend of mine’s sister, Karen, is a white lady living in Pennsylvania although she’s from Mississippi and lived in Mississippi for the first 40 years of her life. She’s single and is involved with a lot of dating programs- meaning she uses Match.com and goes on blind dates, and is in some sort of singles club. She’s extremely nice and intelligent and, at 50, has seen and done a lot with her life.

She had a blind date with a guy who kept referring to her as a ‘cracker’. He would say things like, ”I can’t believe I’m meeting a real, honest to God cracker and I’m out on a date with her!” and “The waiter brought bread, but I’m sure I could get you some crackers, if you’d like!” He’d laugh at his wit. She would fume. She told him that she didn’t appreciate being called a “cracker” and asked him to stop. He made several more references and she told him that she wasn’t a ‘cracker’ just because she was from the south. Again, she asked him to stop. He wouldn’t believe that she wasn’t a racist- after all, she had a southern accent.

Lumping people into a “derogatory” group simply because of the color of their skin or the accent in their voice only shows your ignorance. Guess what? All gay men don’t want to have sex with 12 year old boys! All black people are not uneducated thieves! All Christians aren’t holy-rolling nut jobs! All people from Mississippi aren’t illiterate racists! As challenging as I find it to believe, all Nascar fans aren’t idiots and all politicians aren’t evil!

I’m really lucky to have some diversity in my life. Two of my best friends are black. Two of my best friends are gay. One of my best friends is an ‘extreme’ Christian. I also have a 72-year old Buddhist friend. I have several friends that watch Nascar. And almost all of my friends are from Mississippi- and very few of those friends are ‘crackers’. They’re nuts, but not crackers!

I don’t know what it’s going to take to get the flavors in the melting pot to merge, but I’m happily doing my part.

Your thoughts? :D

•   Comments(10)    Posted by liz on 09/24 at 10:25 AM
•   Digg   del.icio.us   Fark   StumbleUpon