Yesterday afternoon at work, I was speaking on the phone with a gentleman in Tampa, walking through various procedures on the computer with him, when suddenly there was a HUMONGOUS BOOOOOM!!!!!!!!! Then my monitor went sort of tie-died bluish purple and the phone went dead.
We had been struck by lightening. As I am writing this, the hardware for the phone system is a melted heap on the roof. For someone who does the majority of her work over the phone, this means one thing:
PARTAH!!!
Strangely enough, I ended up staying extra late last night, simply because I was getting so much software testing done because I wasn’t getting a million phone calls. It’s amazing how smart you get when you’re not constantly being distracted.
Thus, this morning, I am phone-free. It’s nice. I’m thinking about leaving and coming back. Technically, I should be able to do that, as I am salaried, but I have a feeling that would be frowned upon. I should bend over and pull down my pants and say ‘Kiss my huge white butt, bureaucratic tools!’ but I’m too much of a sheep.
Then I had volleyball after work. Nary two hours after our building gets struck by lightening, and not even twenty-four hours after an athlete perishes due to the oppressive heat. And we played in the rain. The referee put a plastic bread bag over his hat to keep his head dry. The sand had the consistency of cow poo. We kicked their butts. The referee, at one point, tried to demoralize the opposing team so that they’d give up faster and the game would be over quicker. One of their team members made a sand sculpture instead of playing. She announced, ‘I’m making a portrait of our ref’ and proceeded to sculpt a very large and scary reproduction of male genitalia. I then said, in all innocence ‘That’s not our ref. I’ve SEEN our ref and THAT’S not our ref.’ Which sounded as though I was commenting on the size of the sand penis and inferring that I had seen his penis. I was not. I was simply stating that the sand penis bore no resemblance to our ref. I felt that he looked more like a bag of Jiffy Pop with that strange headgear. Strangely, he was more upset with me than he was the sculptor. Doesn’t matter. We kicked their butts just the same. Our losing streak has ended!
Scientists have developed an implant which gives women an orgasm at the touch of a button.
Oh. My. God.
At first read, my internal hairy-legged feminist got her dander up. I mean, what the hell? A woman’s partner no longer needs to devote time to foreplay? Must everything be remote-controlled in our society? Is this somehow a female counterpart to Viagra? Will this only serve to further the objectification of the woman as a sexual object to society? I can already see the marketing–‘Turn your little lady from a proper librarian to a drooling nymphomaniac with just the flick of a switch’. And then I started to be all sorts of disgruntled. Our medical insurance did not always cover birth control pills on our plan, because they were ‘optional’ and they were a Health Management plan. From a business aspect, that doesn’t even make sense, as I would think that a $25 pack of pills each month would cost them far less than a pregnancy and a baby! Suddenly, Viagra was released and they covered Viagra. Women complained and they grudgingly covered the birth control pills because they no longer had the ‘optional’ argument. That whole deal just speaks to how subtlety sexist the world continues to be. Also, it seems like the epitome of a male invention. A remote control that gives a woman an orgasm. From the same scientists who brought you the remote that automatically brings you a beer, with customizable buttons for domestic, imports, draft and frosty mugs.
At that point, I had worked myself so far away from the topic of ‘Instant Orgasms’ that I had to tell myself to walk it off and get a grip. Then the Hedonist side of me elbowed the Hairy-Legged Feminist out of the way and said ‘Wait a minute. Think this through, woman! Instant Orgasms!‘ And I rethought that whole thing and came to a conclusion.
Where I can get me one of those things?
Think of it!
Sitting at an interminably long meeting: ‘And you can clearly see from this chart that the Marketing Effectiveness of the competitor’s product shows clear gains in the Hispanic demographic—– Weetabix? You have a strange look on your face’.’
Grocery checkout lines would no longer need to be a bore. If you ever needed to pretend that you were excited about something, now it wouldn’t be as difficult! My drive to work would definitely be more fun.
Would this remote get lost, just like the one to our VCR in our bedroom? Would it get shoved down between the bed and the bed frame, making the button continuously pressed down? Would I even care? I’d be willing to bet that I’d have a virtual warehouse of extra batteries around the house, because, damn, that thing should NEVER have dead batteries!
The possibilities are endless. Sign me up!
If you get a chance, stop down and visit a brand new Diarylander, Roadiepig and put a little friendly “Welcome to Online Journaling” on his guestbook while you’re at it?
The Guestbook gets a little tingly when you sign it!
Have you read these?
Remote? I’d hate to see it with a cord!
Yea, though I walk through the valley of sleepiness, I feel no grogginess. My Diet Coke comforts me.
Do they make caffeinated air???
How ’bout if I just cut back on onions, olives and liver instead?
Prithee, fine squire, shut the hell up?
Sort of like “A Star is Born”, but with Dirk Diggler
Now with 45% more RIBOFLAVIN!!!
