I see I was doing a little red-arsing yesterday. That’s good, everyone should vent once in a while. More encouraging news from Mars, I totally underestimated the size of this new rover, and I usually follow these things rather closely. The thing is huge, about the size of a compact car.
I contacted Mt. Sinai about the appointment they want to follow up on my heart. I’m running smack into that Florida ten years behind the times problem again. Did you know, they still communicate using fax machines in this state? They still write checks and assume you read any mail they send you. Well, I don’t own a phone. The doctor’s office can’t make an appointment unless they call me back. So I give them my pager number and they can’t deal with it. To get sick in Florida, they want you to live in Florida and live exactly the way it is convenient for them. Primitive.
It is worse elsewhere. Some people up north are arguing over a lottery ticket. One lady says she lost it, another says she found it. It is hard to understand the problem, because I know the difference between finding and stealing. If she stole it, prove it or shut up. But I’ll tell you if I find something, in the street or anywhere, anything impersonal of value, say cash or a winning ticket, it is finders-keepers in my world and you are out of luck. Totally. Then, the value here was 162 million dollars, and the most I ever found in my life was $88.00 back in 1980, in a phone booth.
Britney Spears in the news, some kind of whirlwind wedding. Just a few weeks back a few people I knew were noting that Spears first album made a fortune, the second made less, and the third even less. Makes sense to me, I said, she’s getting older. That got some dirty looks, but it is true. Spears is trying the luscious virgin thing, and that doesn’t work for long. Like Rusty quoted, “At 20 virginity passes from an asset to a liability.” What gets me is what she married. Take one look, the guy has a sloping forehead and no ears. His eyes are too far apart and apparently he is a bartender.
This shores up my contention that women, for all the guidance and advice they get that most men do not, just cannot tell a good man from a bad man. Women are told to marry a good man, which means good men should basically be able to pick and choose. I think they do, but there aren’t many good women after 24, you see. Colin had a theory about what would change if women could judge men accurately, it went like this:
Women would not want their daughter’s first time to be like their own, half drunk in the back seat of a second hand Pontiac. No sir, a woman with good judgement would bring her daughter to Colin. She would have a hotel room and bottle of wine in the best part of town. She would hand Collin the hotel key and a hundred dollars for his trouble. She would then hand over her daughter and say, “Here is my virgin daughter. She is a girl. Bring her back tomorrow a woman.” He would say it slowly, with a gleaming eye, “A Wooo-man.”
Snicker as much as you want. I think the theory has some merit. You ask these abused women what on Earth they were thinking when you see the obvious criminal types they slept with, and you get answers like he had such a deep voice on the phone, or he made me laugh. Gag! I myself had one lady refuse to let her daughter date me because there was a seven year difference in all our ages. The mother was seven years older than I and the daughter seven years younger 17-24-31. This condemned the talentless but sexy daughter to a series of skid road encounters, oh how they came around, a gimped and undisciplined brat of a kid and permanent welfare. But Bobbie “protected” her from me. For the record, the guy that got her pregnant was 23, so six years seemed to be the artificial limit, and I was seven years older. Great parenting, there.
