SuperGurl

It all started a week or so ago, and oddly enough, intersected exactly at the onset of the plague that has currently befallen me. I think it’s an allergy, but I have had a severe headache everyday now since Wednesday. Which makes sense, everything is in bloom down here and absolutely beautiful. I’m allergic to beauty.

So one night, after I’d exceeded the daily dosage of nearly every over-the-counter pain remedy I own, I found myself in my chair shutting down in front of the tube, when like a nightmare I heard the words ring out, “one in every five adults has genital herpes.” Um, the hell you say?

And I have no idea why this commercial hurt me so bad at the time, but it did (maybe the fever?). I stewed in my chair, as I was in no mood for wandering elsewhere. I was as thankful as I could be for my herpes free state. I should have filed it under useless information and incinerated it immediately but the whole thought process was dark and cruel and it stuck with me for days. Look, I couldn’t get laid if I hid gold up my cooch right now. Just ain’t going to happen. But knowing that every fifth person has freaking genital herpes? Sheesh, I don’t want to know that. Seriously. Imagine how uncomfortable any gathering will be from here on out? With ratios like that, I don’t want leave the house.

And it was during the same general confluence of personal tragedies that my workwife, the frothing middle-aged sorority queen, Red, approached me with shock and awe one day and said, “Whoa! What happened? You look so….feminine.” Thank goodness I was so dehydrated from all the daylong drugging or I might have cried. Instead, I shot her my glazen evil eye and asked, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” knowing full well that it was.

I do have some standards left despite my newly engaged defeatist attitude. I refuse to defile my children here, even though during this five day rough patch they have served up a principal-teacher conference, an in-car puke, and a repulsive yet typically obnoxious outbreak in front of one of my clients. Yep. One of those “Oh, why can’t I be stricken dead now in this moment rather than persist in this shameful state” affairs. I nearly cooked my brain alive with all the blushing. Humiliation is hot like that. Kids are fun.

But persisting in a humiliated state is kind of becoming my schtick. After all, I put the severe in persevere. It hurts to go on. This world is cold comfort to a forlorn and forgotton superhero. You have some pain in your world, friend? Well, don’t hold it in. By all means, let me have it. I was made for this shit.

This episode is brazenly brought to you by the letters F & U.

Those who know me on the outside, know I’m not a lover of technology. Wait. I take that back. I’m slow to embrace new technology, I should say. I’m comfy cozy in my cocoon of ignorance, do not disturb! Yes. A technological shut-in. Truth hurts, but all this increased freedom through communication keeps tying me down.

I was the last hold out I knew to get a cell phone. Now, I should clarify for full disclosure: I do appreciate what functionality has been added via the cell phone. Namely all the safety features, I am a single parent. Still, should I need my phone for a true emergency, chances are I won’t have it. Or the battery will be dead. Or I can’t get a signal. That’s just the way that works.

And it’s odd, because my secondary schooling was all in communication. Maybe that’s why I resist. All the ease and the instantaneous brevity of the beast, it’s killing the art. At least it is for me. I suppose that’s why I bribed my way into the family of blown-eyes. A beautifully expressive pack of communicators, with a long lineage of enjoying the telling of a story, the expression of an idea.

Sigh. I know it gets redundant, but I truly love what all of you add to my life. Thanks for stopping by once in a while and posting much more regularly than I.

Back to the topic at hand, butchering the artform with brevity. I’ve recently had three relationships destroyed by text messaging. Dictionary.com defines con as an abuse of confidence or a trick. Which I find super ironic, because in case after case, some context surely would have improved the communication.

Examples? Surely. First there was a romantic interest. A super cute cop. However, due to our conflict in schedules (both of us have kids) he took to texting me as his main avenue of communication. They were all bad. They were all too brief and too familiar. Later gaters and sleepy tights littered through all of them. But the last one, the death knell, “No expectations, just good conversation.” What? No expectations? Sounds dull to me. Was I supposed to get excited about dating a beer advertisement?

The second was a married friend. He sent me hyper sexual threats through sms. He doesn’t have the balls to actually put a move on me in real life. But by text, he communicates almost purely in provocative cliches. He likes to tell me I’m hot and he wants to rock my world, it’s awful. It’s always uncomfortable to be around him, but I have to say, way more threatening feeling via text message. Maybe it’s seeing the jackassery in print. I’m not sure.

And the third has really got me a little dejected this weekend, my pocket pal boyfriend. He’s reduced me to text messaging. We used to talk, we used to yammer on the phone for hours. No more. Now I’m lucky if I get a text a week. I don’t get it. I’ve never been dumped by siphoned off communication before. It would feel better to get an honest “get lost” as opposed to reducing me to a “how ya doing?” every week or so. Does he think I don’t notice the change? I don’t know how to deal with it. The urgency of nothingness? I end up in text conversations, trying to take the higher road, when in fact, it doesn’t feel any better to fake like I don’t know what’s happening. Especially, in real time.

In the interest of furthering my work portraying myself as a non-psychotic, I could really use a little communal advice and support at this time. You are all so wise. Could you explain the necessity for traumatizing any human being in this way? It’s excruciating. If you have the time to type on a hand held device an entire conversation, then you have the time to call or email.

And I ran out of ideas along with sense years ago. Obviously, what I’ve been doing is not working. What would you do? Please, all ye who speak the abbreviated nonspeak of SMS, to the comments with you. I need ideas. How can we together stop this tidal wave of abusive conversation? Can you give me some ideas of some standard responses I could use the next time one of these manfolk idiots accost me in this way? Something sensible. Please help. Surely I’m not the only one suffering. Your direction is appreciated. Thanks in advance.

Are you like me, friend? Tired of finally turning off your television set only to hear the same lunacy parroted back at you from all directions? Do you sometimes feel uncomfortable in conversations about the economy simply because you haven’t spent a lifetime mired in it’s minutiae? Well, fret no longer, mon frere. SuperGurl, however absentminded, is here.

For today, and today only, I am prepared to offer you a challenge. In five paragraphs or less, I believe I can arm you with some new tools and complex sounding verbage which will elevate you easily to the top of the heap among your know-it-all friends. And why would I do such a thing, you ask? A sick, deranged, drooling capitalist like myself? Surely, you’re wondering already, “Yeah, but what’s in it for SG?” Right? It’s cool, I’ll get there. And while everyone loves a skeptic, let’s have some fun before we start talking compensation, shall we?

First, it’s important to recognize and assess your threat as soon as possible. Since ten times out of ten, the person you’ll be facing off with has no basis in fact, relax. Second, I find it very disarming to double down on depression. No matter how bad they say it’s going to be, make your prediction worse. Much worse. It’s a fantastic way to win over the terminal pessimist. Generally, they are the most depressing person they’ve ever been around, so you will really endear yourself to them if you employ my patented “double down on depression” move.

You are such a quick study! Now, memorize some nonsensical financial chatter that you can inject into any conversation. These are safe topics, much like bridge building in the sales culture, you know, when you find common ground with your subject that you can retreat to when the conversation gets beyond your control. Now if you were trying to sell them something, you would want to build that bridge out of benign and comfortable materials, a verbal respite for a conversation gone awry. But we aren’t selling, kids, we’re winning and the rules are totally different.

Nah, this needs to be a dilapidated bridge. Build it of refuse and as much catastrophic imagery as you can cram into as few words. If inventing fictional financial analogies eludes you, try these mad libs style practice phrases until you find one that’s uniquely you:

[any industry/commodity]+[any natural disaster] of [any year]
You follow? It should sound something like the corn epidemic of ‘74 or the currency avalanche of ‘68, you see? Or add a competing G7 locale for extra flavor, like the Italian gelato drought of 1945, that was a bad one. Diabetes almost completely eradicated from the earth. Now you can really cripple your cryptic foe. Play with it. Add a disdained president. Change up the order. Stretch out the enunciation of the fictitious year. Most of all have fun, remember, this bridge should self-combust on delivery. That is the point. Now, to say it with a straight face, that is the art. You want to use these as comparative studies, like, “reminds me of,” or “yeah, just like..” and sprinkle them heavily throughout the conversation.

Never hurts to throw in a, “Hey, I thought if we made it through that we could make it through anything. Now, I’m not so sure.”

You ready to draw blood? Cool, cause here comes the kill…

Once you and your foe have worked your way into a frothing nothing-left-to-live-for existence, affirm his depression with my favorite, “You’re right, it’s kind of a death spiral.”

The longer you are able to keep the fiction flowing with relative sobriety, the more confident you should become with this exercise. End it with something that sounds ugly, but rings true. Something like “You remind me of everything that’s wrong with this country. Which reminds me, I need to put some more hay in the barn.” Because seriously folks, the time to invest is when there is blood running through the streets and Nostradami springing up on every corner to predict the future. I’d venture to guess if you can carry a conversation using only made up bs like I’ve given you here, an alarm should sound in your head. A deafening alarm to remind you the future is now, Prosperity Now.

Prosperity Now to you, pal. Are you disappointed? I know it sucks to hear the truth sometimes, but e.s.p. has no place in your long term investment plans. When you find yourself battling about how bad the future will be, or find yourself faced with someone who claims they know the future, run thee with haste and throw a few extra bricks on your foundation. Refocus your priorities, be vigilant and don’t forget to put extra hay in the barn.

Finally, compensation. As far as compensating you goes, I’d like to see your best financial analogies in the comments. Anything I can slip by my peers in conversation with relative believability will earn a dedicated post, to you on your topic of choice. Now go out there and strive to beat these crazy coots to death at their own game. That will be compensation enough for me.

I did it. I actually did it. Today I cast my vote. Today I made my mark, however minor.

I crossed over. I voted Hillary. There, I said it. I voted Hillary Clinton because I think she is the most divisive force in the Democrap Party, and as a good republican, I’d hate to see her go.

First, can I say that if she wins in November, I will be devastated knowing I played any part. I detest her. I hate her ways. I’m repulsed by all the class warfare. But she’s easy to hate. That’s why I crossed over folks, I did it for you. For the greater good. You’re welcome.

It was traumatizing for me though. I ran into several of the Republican Ladies whom I know quite well. They looked at me as though I were pulling bong hits in a federal courtroom, mouths agape and everything. I said, “I’m being the best conservative I know how to be,” and I meant it, but it felt so wrong. Like, I was begging them for forgiveness. The peer pressure unimaginable, I’m not one of them. I’m not!

I shared my talking points with anyone who would listen. It was like an open mic confessional, if you will. One, screw you, Republican party, for dictating that it all be done, decided, settled before half the country got to vote. Makes me jealous of the Democrats for having a real race. Two, since it’s McCain, I’ll do my part in expressing my disgust by pretending to be a defector this round. So, you don’t want to act like Republicans anymore, well neither do I. You had better get to work on winning me back.

And after they checked my voter registration card and let me pick my ballot vegas style, this bitch behind the table reaches down and stamps “Democrat” on my registration card. Whoa, now, Nelly, you have just really screwed up.

“How dare you?” I asked.

“What?”

“You heard me, how dare you? It’s just a primary, lady, and you can’t call me that.”

“You can cross through it”

“Yes. I can and I will. But please don’t do this to other people, it’s hateful. I thought it was illegal to deface federal documents and you are stamping obscenities all over them? What is wrong with you?”

And with my crazy lady aura still hanging in mid-air, I turned, I voted, and I exited as quickly as possible. But it hurt, it cut me deep. I think Democrats are the most foul, unintelligent folks on the planet. Today, I impersonated one.

I have seen the dark side, people. Please, forgive me.

Hat tip to Reuters for providing a first rate gate for SuperGurl’s world. I needed a gate and a vicious dog, but the gate will more than do for now. Eeees nice, no? I thought so. French too. I do so admire French architecture.

Anyway, I picked it up yesterday morning in the fire sale over at Societe Generale. They were looking to raise some cash since they just suffered some seven billion dollars in losses. Interesting story of fraud though, if you have the time. Don’t want to spoil the climax, but it’s yet another tale of exploiting structure, using someone’s framework against them. Regulation jihad. Phenomenal money drama, I couldn’t put it down.

Had me daydreaming for another hour or so about how we (in the corporate world) build our fortresses. The safety mechanisms. The perspective dead-ends. The initiative sieve, straining us into watery remnants of real people. It is it’s own cirque fantastique. And although it’s taken me years to learn the language, I do so love it. Truly, I do.

If we treated our country with the same stern standards for profitability, security, marketability, personal responsibility, brand pride, inclusion, as well as many other attributes common in the corporate world, the news would sound so different. No one would question our leadership in the world, certainly. Face it, what we’re doing now isn’t working. Our government currently functions as a ten thousand tittied monster, pacifying the bawling howls of the colic-infested invisible masses.

Perhaps what we need is a little incorporation. Let’s start with a gate. And I’m open for suggestions on a slogan. In the comments, pretty please.