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Meanwhile, back at the Ranch...
Aug. 12th, 2009 01:33 pmYou, my poor mortals, have been without my boundless wit and deathless blogging prose, at least mostly, for a month, therefore I feel I owe you to catch you up with at least some of what is happening, which is lucky, because it's summer, and being as I'm not the most social of people, it took a full month to collect enough amusing anecdotes to present to you to make a blog post worthwhile.
Alright, I lie. I've been working as an intern at my US senator's office, and the people who call certainly provide enough sheer lunacy to fill a whole blog (and do regularly, methinks), but I'm of the opinion that if anyone calls their elected representative to voice their thoughts (I use that word loosely) on how they should be represented, should have the freedom of knowing those words are private and not being snarked over in a blog by one irritable intern.
Alright, I lie again. But really, you got to understand, the people likely to call their senators are just plain full of crazy sauce. They might be sane, and living on a parallel but opposite dimensions with very good phone coverage if it weren't for... Well. I at least won't give the political comments of these people, just the other crazy. Likewise, my oxygen concentrator is just too out of the norm for them.
Fish: Yes Ma’am, I’ll tell the senator about your comments.
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Constituent: What is that sound? Is this phone being tapped? Is the federal government listening in on our every word?
Fish: Um, Ma’am, you called a US Senator’s office. I kind of am the federal government.
Being a disabled bisexual intern is at times really difficult, because I have to listen to a huge amount of hatred spewed, and since most (but God, not all) are shy of showing overt racism and religious intolerance in front of someone else (unless it’s hatred of immigrants), usually that hatred is homophobia or hatred of the disabled or sick, always with the caveat:
Constituent: But you know what I mean, right? I mean, I’ve never been sick a day in my life. Those “disabled” people are just lying leaches...
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Fish: Well, I’ve never been Black or Latina a day in my life and I know they exist.
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Constituent: What is that sound? Is there something wrong with the phone?
Fish: that would be my oxygen consentrator.
Um... Well.
Also, my sister, both my brothers, my sister-in-law, and my nephews all invaded us at once by prior agreement. Even had I an intact computer, I wouldn’t have gotten any writing done.
My nephews, two-year-old twins, chased us around the house with squirt guns and kidnapped my whipped cream, and lived up to their mother’s nicknames for them; Thing One and Thing Two. They talk all the time, and likely it’s all very clever and erudite, but we can’t understand a word of it.
Thing One: *Babbles incomprehensibly*
Thing Two: *gasp* I’m going to tell my mommy!
Apparently he knew what his brother was saying.
To get away from it all for a bit, us ladies went down to the trendy university shopping district, and I might not be a big shopper, but I never get to see these people, and our genes are close, and it was a nice day, so when they had to leave me outside scented stores, I got to sit in the sun. That part of town’s really relaxed. College students who had a bit too much chemical assistance with their good moods fall asleep right there on the sidewalk and no one minds and no one hassles them. Of course, the sidewalks were empty because of summer, but you, my dear readers, get the picture. So I wasn’t exactly upset to be sitting on the curb for a few minutes while my mom and sisters gushed over jewelry. Now picture me, looking very middle class, expensive medical equipment in my hand, and clean.
Man: *throws coins down in front of me*
Fish: Um, sir, you dropped some money.
Man: No, no, I’m giving it to you.
Fish: Huh? Why?
Man: *understanding, compassionate, and really really condescending voice* You look like you need it.
Fish: Wait, you think I’m homeless, don’t you.
Fish’s Sister: So, I’m bored with jewelry, what’re you up to?
Fish: I’m feeling very homeless today, you?
Alright, I lie. I've been working as an intern at my US senator's office, and the people who call certainly provide enough sheer lunacy to fill a whole blog (and do regularly, methinks), but I'm of the opinion that if anyone calls their elected representative to voice their thoughts (I use that word loosely) on how they should be represented, should have the freedom of knowing those words are private and not being snarked over in a blog by one irritable intern.
Alright, I lie again. But really, you got to understand, the people likely to call their senators are just plain full of crazy sauce. They might be sane, and living on a parallel but opposite dimensions with very good phone coverage if it weren't for... Well. I at least won't give the political comments of these people, just the other crazy. Likewise, my oxygen concentrator is just too out of the norm for them.
Fish: Yes Ma’am, I’ll tell the senator about your comments.
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Constituent: What is that sound? Is this phone being tapped? Is the federal government listening in on our every word?
Fish: Um, Ma’am, you called a US Senator’s office. I kind of am the federal government.
Being a disabled bisexual intern is at times really difficult, because I have to listen to a huge amount of hatred spewed, and since most (but God, not all) are shy of showing overt racism and religious intolerance in front of someone else (unless it’s hatred of immigrants), usually that hatred is homophobia or hatred of the disabled or sick, always with the caveat:
Constituent: But you know what I mean, right? I mean, I’ve never been sick a day in my life. Those “disabled” people are just lying leaches...
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Fish: Well, I’ve never been Black or Latina a day in my life and I know they exist.
Oxygen Concentrator: Click hiss
Constituent: What is that sound? Is there something wrong with the phone?
Fish: that would be my oxygen consentrator.
Um... Well.
Also, my sister, both my brothers, my sister-in-law, and my nephews all invaded us at once by prior agreement. Even had I an intact computer, I wouldn’t have gotten any writing done.
My nephews, two-year-old twins, chased us around the house with squirt guns and kidnapped my whipped cream, and lived up to their mother’s nicknames for them; Thing One and Thing Two. They talk all the time, and likely it’s all very clever and erudite, but we can’t understand a word of it.
Thing One: *Babbles incomprehensibly*
Thing Two: *gasp* I’m going to tell my mommy!
Apparently he knew what his brother was saying.
To get away from it all for a bit, us ladies went down to the trendy university shopping district, and I might not be a big shopper, but I never get to see these people, and our genes are close, and it was a nice day, so when they had to leave me outside scented stores, I got to sit in the sun. That part of town’s really relaxed. College students who had a bit too much chemical assistance with their good moods fall asleep right there on the sidewalk and no one minds and no one hassles them. Of course, the sidewalks were empty because of summer, but you, my dear readers, get the picture. So I wasn’t exactly upset to be sitting on the curb for a few minutes while my mom and sisters gushed over jewelry. Now picture me, looking very middle class, expensive medical equipment in my hand, and clean.
Man: *throws coins down in front of me*
Fish: Um, sir, you dropped some money.
Man: No, no, I’m giving it to you.
Fish: Huh? Why?
Man: *understanding, compassionate, and really really condescending voice* You look like you need it.
Fish: Wait, you think I’m homeless, don’t you.
Fish’s Sister: So, I’m bored with jewelry, what’re you up to?
Fish: I’m feeling very homeless today, you?
