SuperGurl

San Francisco. I landed the day after the election. Not the best place for a conservative to spend the apocalypse, but you know, no one embraces the suck like I can. So I went and enjoyed every minute of it.

Never had been there before. And it was a whirlwind. I went there for work. It was in no way a junket. It was among the most stressful experiences of my career, actually. A lot of things were made clear for me. Things that, looking back, I’d rather have languished in denial a little longer. Hindsight’s 20/20, and all that.

And the Golden Gate made for interesting background noise for all of it. I don’t remember knowing anything about it before, but I got an interesting history lesson while waiting for the sun to peek into the pacific time zone.

He told me that the bridge was designed prior to the great crash of 1929, and how the economy entering the Great Depression had thrown even more cold water on the idea of building “the bridge that could not be built.”

The guy that was telling me was there from New York. His foreign dialect rang familiar in my ears and intensified my interest in the tale. And he’s explaining the hard times, the protests, all led by the Ferries, because before the bridge of course, the only way across the Golden Gate was by riding a ferry… F-E-R-R-Y.”

And he actually spelled it. I said, “I know, I’m from Texas, but did you really just spell “ferry” at me?” Which of course made me think about riding a fairy across the bay. How could I not? I freaking detest when I find myself drowning in gutter thoughts like that. Honestly, I blame you people.

But it cost me the end of the Ferry showdown story. And a real life drama that enveloped the same time period as the Great Depression. I love the Great Depression. My narrator said their were books on the subject, and I intended to buy one, but alas, this is all I learned. Maybe I’ll hit a book store this weekend.

Or, you could make up some history for me in the comments? C’mon. Finish the story for me, would ya? Let’s play some mad libs history, can we? It’s the weekend, make up something meaningful. It’s good exercise for a dull world. Thanks for your historical perversions in advance. I dig your madness.

What a fun weekend! Where?

Being a single parent can be lonely business a lot of the time. Once you try coupling up with a loser or two, you may become inclined to live the hermit’s life. Trust me, even perfectly commonplace brushes with society can lend themselves naturally towards a life of seclusion, not to mention those of a more personal nature. And those? If the situation is bad enough, you can easily start to set yourself apart at quite a distance, as well as, dig trenches.

Eremiticism–it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Who doesn’t dream of having more time to focus on their dreams? Besides being a nice destination for those wanting to flee the world upside down, thoughtfulness as a core virtue would make a nice anchor weight for the throngs of unwashed masses, our adulation nation. Consumed with self yet somehow absent any true reflection or meaning. Just gazing longingly into the circus mirrors. A moron monsoon of sorts. Actually, sharing any common core virtues would be a marked improvement. What is it our entire society values these days? Anyone?

Let me know, ok? It may become important to me should I decide to check back in.

You see, forced societal seclusion is another story. Welcome to my world. I really can’t help it. I think I have a leak or something. My innermost drives are coming out, and I’m walling off the world. People just don’t want to quantify the damage they inflict on innocents in the environment. What a crying shame! I am merely a vulnerable human being beneath my steel blue suit. Contain your freakness, folks. For real, it is getting out of hand.

Which brings me to my current predicament, my loner van. My car was mortally wounded a week or so ago and ever since, I’ve been on borrowed wheels.

The first week of the affliction, I spent in a mechanic’s loaner van. It was the atrocity you see pictured above, a club van, with room enough for a dozen adults. The kids drove me crazy in that thing, and I felt incredibly dangerous. Not to mention, a major unforseen life hazzard. I found myself singing made-up tunes incessantly like, “You won’t know who I am, in my big red van.” Something of a loneliness forcefield, this thing was a social plague all by itself. Ironic, since it had room enough for everyone.

Sigh.

Lately it’s been nice because I’ve been in swank dealer demos. They were trying to ease me into the debt pool, jacuzzi style, I guess. And it was working, I flew down there Saturday afternoon beaming with excitement over my soon to be new car. But early Saturday evening, the whole desperate situation actually devolved. In the first round of negotiations, I had a car salesman tell me maybe I should just go on down the road. Stunned me, I could not believe it. How freaking gank do you have to be to shut down a car salesman? Seriously? Do you really think I’m built to take all this? On the end of my rope, the last of my hope, I asked for the keys to my beloved, albeit sick, baby and drove her all the way home. She was happy to see me.

Maybe sometimes it just takes a desperate situation to put an out-of-whack perspective in check. I didn’t mind being alone until I was given the isolationmobile. Then, I voluntarily and eagerly put myself through a car salesman’s probing, 48 hours worth, and in the end, did not get a car but still feel dirty all over from the process. I can NOT believe the low class tactical bullshit that these people get away with in the sales end of the automobile industry. Where is the regulation on those assholes? How can they be allowed to sell people into 30k dollar holes without being required to tell the truth even once? Unbelievable.

But because I love you, I will save you the final tear-jerking guilt trip the owner’s son laid on me as I exited the probing station. Believe me, you would most assuredly lose your dinner and find people as repulsive as I do now.

Alone but not lonely, and for the time being, more content with what I have than my desires for what I don’t.

I need a category denoting Only in Texas for this one…

Took the Scientist to the Donut Palace this morning. The Architect’s friend called and invited him to the woods to run around earlier in the morning, so it was just the two of us for breakfast.

Sitting there, he says, “Do you think in my lifetime, they will ever get around to creating a steak donut?

Me, “A steak donut?”

Scientist, “Yes. A steak donut.”

Me, ” ? ”

Scientist, “I don’t know why they don’t have them already.”

Me, “Where would you put the steak?”

Scientist, “England? NO! Kentucky, right?”

It’s become the chant of our house ever since the Architect added the Robot Servant quarters to our dream space station schematics. Not every family dreams of a mansion in space, but we do.

Absolutely not, not in my space station, no way. Free the Robots! I insist. I meant no harm, but I might have stunted my kids’ imaginations with my recurring commitment to us remaining an anti-enslavement family. It’s just so last century, right? But the kids don’t get me. How do we even get to space without robots? Everywhere there’s technology, they see robots. They are baffled by my seemingly backward stroke of applying human rights to technology.

And somehow, I’m content with it all. Yes. When the kids think I’m crazy, I feel like I’m gaining mastery of my mothership skills. Teaching concepts through the abstract, perhaps, but at least they may recognize utter bullshit when they experience it in real life. I guarantee you they have never questioned my reasoning so intently before.

Perhaps, my left wing one act plays don’t properly portray the horror I intend. That of liberal government intervention and over-regulation that potentially saps innovation and motivation from all life support. Moreover, how all of these government programs created with our tax dollars to supposedly do what is in our best interest have extremely long reaching consequences. You know, government bureacracies historically outlive childhood innocence at a rate of a hundred to one. My goodness! It’s a wonder we get up in the morning at all.

No. The kids aren’t getting any of this, I realize. But I’m planting deeply troubling seeds and hey, I’m entertained. Most days, that’s all I need.