Thank you, Come Again!

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

…or not.

What is it about a snotty cashier that can totally ruin an otherwise good mood?

Today, I had to run to local mega-mart (not Mao-Mart) for a quasi-industrial rubbish bin. Our current set-up is beginning to work against us and I needed something metal, dog proof, cat proof and bullet proof. This, alone, would put me in a bit of a snit, since I hate spending money on practical things. Alas, I bit the bullet and spent the $70.00 for a RUBBISH BIN (for that amount of cabbage, it should be in capitals).

I also managed to load the cart up with a new toaster/convection oven (which I’m not sure I like), a dog food mat (since I have to rearrange the kitchen around the RUBBISH BIN, coffee filters, a bottle of coke, a wall rack for the keys and a bag of cookies (See…I have my priorities in check). I drag the buggy to the check out which had no line. w00t!!!

No matter what my mood is, I will always plaster a smile on my face at a check out and perkily chirp at the cashier since, having been one for three weeks during one summer holiday, I can appreciate the misery of hearing the beep, dealing with assholes, etc…

I chirp at the cashier: Hello! How are you today?

Cashier: *grunt* I’m here.

Great. I see this transaction is going to go rather smoothly.

The cashier is in no mood to help, let alone move one inch. Therefore, little Miss Kang with her bad back, bends over and hauls the toaster oven on the conveyor belt. Naturally, cashier was not about to move the box to find the barcode, leaving me to turn it eighty ways until next week until she found the barcode that she needed.

Next up, the 10 gallon RUBBISH BIN. The damn thing barely fit in the cart and is half my height. Cashier watches me turn the beast of a box around, identify the barcode and dump it on the conveyor. She turns to me and snarls, “That’s not the right barcode.” Again, I maneuver the box, locate the, “right” code and slide it to her so she can use her magic scanning wand.

I figured I was probably done with being her employee when I noticed that the wench had failed to load the buggy, let alone bag everything. So, I begin to do her job. No problem. She’s a cunt and I am not going to let it impact me.

Cashier (in a very smarmy tone): CREDIT OR DEBIT?

Kang: Um…how ’bout you wait a second until I’m done loading the buggy.

Cashier (huffier): Well, I’m just trying to keep moving.

Kang: Yes. That I understand as you refuse to actually do your job and have put the entire burden on me. You can either load the cart, as is your job or you can wait a damn minute for my debit, got it?

Now…I’m pissed. Not only am I pissed off, I have managed to make those in the queue behind me quite uncomfortable.

This is when I noticed she’s scowling my purse and wallet. My…erm…expensive purse and wallet. Is this woman, this cashier trying to put me in my place because I own fine leather goods? Are the owners of fine leather goods banned from shopping at the local Mega-Mart? Is there some gilded palace where I should be buying my RUBBISH BINS so as not to mix with the bourgeoisie? Hmmm?

*sighs*

I don’t ask for much from humanity. I typically go out of my way to be polite to anyone in a, “Service” position. And…I typically shrug off someone else’s negativity. Not sure why I allowed myself to be riled by this haglet. Perhaps it’s because I spent a good portion of the transaction doing her job to be treated like shit in return because I didn’t do it efficiently enough.?.

Who the phuck knows? Who the phuck cares? She’s still standing at her register, whilst I’m sitting on my bum in my den. With my precious leather goods downstairs, gleaming in the sunlight room of the new, home office.

Pissing Contest

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

The smoking patio is a great place for gossip, general blather and people observation. One really can learn a lot from hanging with the social pariahs. Then, there are times when getting one’s nicotine on can end up in discussion where all participants would be better off whipping out a ruler and the respective member to determine who has the bigger c0ck.

The heat over North Carolina has been oppressive for weeks. We are entering week three of 100 plus temperatures. People are becoming testy, bitchy and a vast majority of us are entirely miserable.

Most of my colleagues at Canuckian Ltd are not from the Raleigh area (as is the case with most large corporations). Many of us hail from the frigid North. Therefore, we’re not exactly equipped to handle the heat (having Yankee blood). It’s a rude awakening, no matter how many years you have lived down South. While most of us find this heat to be beyond tolerable limits, many are grateful for not having to endure the long, dark, freezing winters to which we are accustomed.

Personally, I find it a lot easier to warm up than cool down. Therefore, I’m ready for the cooler temperatures. When it’s cold, one can simply done the appropriate clothing and survive. When it’s hot, there is only so many layers one can shed without being arrested for public indecency. When I pointed this out to those who say, “Hot weather is better than cold” an argument generally ensues. Then comes the pissing contest:

Canadian: I grew up in Canada! Boy was it cold. You don’t know what cold is (directed at me for saying I prefer the colder option)!!!

Mid-Westerner: I grew up in Minnesota! You really don’t know what cold is.

Me: Ummm…ok. I went to college and lived in the snow belt for seven years. Granted, the coldest temperature I have experienced is 60 below zero, but I think I understand cold. Then there are the trips home to Maine I take with my husband, who grew up on the Atlantic coast. I suppose that’s cold, as well.

That usually shuts everyone up for a moment. I am not sure why it comes as a surprise to people to discover I grew up in the North. My accent, according to Dock, is still rather prominent. Yet, everyone seems to be shocked to discover that I, High Priestess Kang, have experienced the joys of unpleasant winter weather.

I love how people immediately assume that you cannot substantiate your hypotheses and arguments. I find it very amusing that a simple conversation about weather can evolve into a pissing contest. Particularly, and I hate to make a harsh generalization, when men are involved. *Everything* is a pissing contest. Everything.

I certainly do not profess to know everything. As a matter of fact, the only thing I know for certain is that I don’t know a whole lot about much. It, however, amuses me to no end to stand around, engaged in idle chatter with people who think they have something to prove.

I suppose I’m at fault for not recognizing that everyone is special and unique. Even if they’re not.

Fatally Flawed

Posted by High Priestess Kang as News, Observations, Op/Ed

…to borrow a term from Turdblossom, himself.

Finally!  It appears that the brain of the average, American worker-bee is showing signs of life.  Them synapses are a firin’, y’all!

I am thrilled to see a backlash against corporations who are making mandates on employee health.  This setting of standards is not only entirely unrealistic (how, exactly, are you going to ensure that someone who collected her $150.00 incentive for quitting smoking isn’t going to run out, cash the check and buy a carton of fags, after all), it invades privacy and puts limitations on how people can live their lives.

I appreciate an employer’s concern regarding skyrocketing healthcare costs.  The average is, at minimum, an increase of 7% annually.  Acting like big brother isn’t necessarily the answer.

What is?  Haven’t really a clue at this point (other than my typical, beat up the source of the cost, the supplier).  At least the workforce is beginning to take umbrage at corporations’ attempts to legislate off-duty hours and activities, though.

Privacy is true price of healthy worker discounts
Even fit folks should resist the temptation of lower deductibles

The latest fad in American health care is to give discounts to workers who are healthy. Many corporate CEOs and their benefits department managers are showing enthusiasm for the idea that workers who don’t take care of themselves ought to pay more for health insurance.

Like a lot of temptations, this one is attractive. Why should you pay the same rate for insurance as that bloated, pasty oaf of a co-worker down the hall?

But cupcakes, beer and cheeseburgers are not the only temptations you should try to resist. Paying less for being healthy is an enticement you ought to oppose as well.

The plan just announced by the giant HMO UnitedHealthcare is a good example of why some bosses are licking their chops at the fad. Workers can lower their annual deductible (the amount you pay each year for health care or drugs before insurance kicks in) if they take company-administered tests every year to check blood pressure, cholesterol levels, and weight and to see if they smoke. For each health goal employees meet, $500 is knocked off their deductible.

This bright idea comes all dressed up in the attractive language of personal responsibility. Who could possibly be against that? If your boss wants to pay you to stop unhealthy behavior, how could that be bad? You win, the boss wins, the insurance company wins. So what’s the problem?

A dumb idea
The idea that your boss or insurance company wants you healthy just because they care is, upon serious reflection, dumb. What your boss cares about is that you get to work, work hard, stay late and don’t jack up the price of the health plan. And the insurers may just be looking for a way to shift exploding health care costs.

Sure, it’s great that companies are starting to jump on board the movement for a fitter workforce. Access to fitness equipment, a less stressful workplace and an office that is designed to protect your health would help employees meet important health goals. But you may ask, “Wouldn’t that require turning the workplace into a health club?” My point exactly. So unless employers offer you time to get to the gym, forget it.

It’s also unlikely that your boss will tell you to stop working through lunch or to quit moving heavy objects to protect your back. And it is also pretty doubtful that you want your boss to hire people to poke and prod you and to find out what you’re doing when you’re not at work.

Think about it. Do you really want your bosses and the insurance company giving you physicals and snooping around in your health care records to find out the most intimate details of your mental, sexual and physical health? It’s a pretty high price in terms of privacy to pay for a discount.

No end to policing
The emerging movement toward corporate health fascism is no friend to the chubby and wheezy among us. But, if allowed, corporate health policing won’t stop there.

How long will it be before slackers will be told that discounts are over, and instead, surcharges on them will begin? Who will be next? The guy who skis on the weekends? The woman who wears high heels? What about the family that decides to have a baby, knowing the child may have sickle-cell disease or cystic fibrosis? Will companies be willing to put up with that sort of personal “irresponsibility”?

At least one employer is already headed down the punishment path.  Clarian Health, an Indianapolis-based hospital system, recently announced that starting in 2009 it will fine employees $10 per paycheck if their body mass index, blood pressure or glucose levels are too high.

HMOs and insurance companies have proven completely unable to contain rising health care costs. This is mainly due to the fact that costs are fueled by an aging population using more services, an increased reliance on technologies and drugs whose prices are out of control, topped off by a massive dose of error, fraud and administrative waste.

Unless we address those problems, it is only a matter of time before the smiling hand of management takes away the discounts and starts raising deductibles and issuing fines on the grounds that no employee who is sick or has a sick spouse or kid is blameless.

If you ski, fly a private airplane, drive go-karts, ride a motorcycle without a helmet, engage in risky sexual behavior, forgo a flu shot, sunbathe, eat rare meat, kayak, scuba dive or own a gun, you are defying medical wisdom and choosing to engage in unhealthy behavior.

Admittedly, no HMO or corporate health plan is going after those behaviors — yet.

So lose weight. Stay active. Get enough rest. Wear your seatbelt. Don’t do drugs. Don’t drink too much. Stop smoking. Do these things not because your employer is ready to slap a higher deductible on you if you don’t. Do them because you and your doctor know these are the healthy things to do.

Humanmetrics…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Personal

There is a thread on The Local regarding Humanmetrics/Meyers-Briggs psychobabble. Having a few minutes to spare, I decided to take the test.  Generally, I do not much put much stock into these tests.  However, each time I take the test my results are pretty much the same.

Your type is: INFJ

Strength of the preferences %
22% Introverted
38% Intuitive
38% Feeling
22% Judging

You are:

~ slightly expressed introvert
~ moderately expressed intuitive personality
~ moderately expressed feeling personality
~ slightly expressed judging personality

The actual description:

The Portrait of the Counselor Idealist (iNFj)

The Counselor Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in reaching their goals, and enterprising and attentive in their interpersonal roles. Counselors focus on human potentials, think in terms of ethical values, and come easily to decisions. The small number of this type (little more than 2 percent) is regrettable, since Counselors have an unusually strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others and genuinely enjoy helping their companions. Although Counsleors tend to be private, sensitive people, and are not generally visible leaders, they nevertheless work quite intensely with those close to them, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes with their families, friends, and colleagues. This type has great depth of personality; they are themselves complicated, and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.

Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, Counselors are not reluctant to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions, but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, Counselors can be hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same time, friends who have known a Counselor for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; Counselors value their integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Counselors have strong empathic abilities and can become aware of another’s emotions or intentions — good or evil — even before that person is conscious of them. This “mind-reading” can take the form of feeling the hidden distress or illnesses of others to an extent which is difficult for other types to comprehend. Even Counselors can seldom tell how they came to penetrate others’ feelings so keenly. Furthermore, the Counselor is most likely of all the types to demonstrate an ability to understand psychic phenomena and to have visions of human events, past, present, or future. What is known as ESP may well be exceptional intuitive ability-in both its forms, projection and introjection. Such supernormal intuition is found frequently in the Counselor, and can extend to people, things, and often events, taking the form of visions, episodes of foreknowledge, premonitions, auditory and visual images of things to come, as well as uncanny communications with certain individuals at a distance.

Given that I’m returning to school, I decided to take a peek at the suggested careers. Oddly enough, the results say I should be a librarian. It appears that I have picked the appropriate major after all. Hmmmmm.

Go Miss Kitten!

Posted by High Priestess Kang as LOL Swedes, News, Observations, Swedish Stuff

Our resident Kitten and birthday girl received a very nice pressie today.  A published article!

Go Miss Kitten!  Go!  Go!  Go!!!

The House of Sweden: More than Just Free T-Shirts
An IKEA furniture wonderland, and oh-so-much more

After a visit to the House of Sweden at the Swedish Institute, you’ll take away much more than just a fancy fashion statement. The cultural gifts here are varied and plentiful too.

The word “Sweden” might conjure up images of blonde girls named Inga or cheap, easy-to-assemble furniture, but one can deduct very little in the way of expectations from the name “House of Sweden.” Would all of Sweden be enclosed in one house? Would I be intruding on some modest family’s day to day? Would they offer me a choice of t-shirts? And would they serve meatballs?

All of these insights were waiting at the House of Sweden, which not only houses the Swedish Embassy but offers visitors a variety of ways to experience some of what this unique culture has to offer.

…read on…

Time Travel

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

For shits and grins, I took a look at a blog post from one year ago, today. 

Interesting…

I happened upon something very interesting earlier today. One of my pals posted a musing on the price of friendship on her blog. It is a deeply profound observation and I strongly urge everyone to take a gander at it. Look at it. Chew on it. Digest it. Remember that our harshest critics are those that care about us. And they are harsh for a reason. We all need someone to reach through time and space and drag our asses back to reality. If we cannot do that (for ourselves) because our own judgment is so clouded, should we not rely on our friends for help? If you cannot appreciate a friend sticking out their neck for you…well…I guess the question is, “what the hell is wrong with you, anyhow???”

Lately, I have found myself in the position of trying to help a non-friend, though. Why on earth would I help a non-friend, an un-person you may ask? Generally because I feel, deep down inside, that it is the right thing to do. It would be so much easier to walk away and glance over my shoulder at the train wreck. It would. And the energy it would save me would certainly help me get over the two-week fever I have been running.

For whatever reason, I seem to have been “blessed” with a soul and a conscience. It is that part of my moral fibre that keeps me from shutting the phuck up and keeps me plugging away at something that is becoming more and more futile as the moments pass.

Alas, my efforts of kindness are being turned back on me. My decent intentions are being deflected and the angst of the person in question is being projected on me as if I were a movie theatre screen. I suppose this is the time where you cut your losses, duck for cover and pray that the universe does not collapse.

Sometimes…people, friends or un-friends, do not want help. Sometimes, they just may want to implode on their own. The difference between the friend and the un-friend is that you stay around to pick up the pieces of your broken friend. The un-friend, you just need to keep walking. Far and fast from the mess. And don’t forget your kevlar and numpty deflect-o shield when the implosion happens. You will need to keep yourself as safe as possible from the shrapnel.

Ouches!  Talk about being one hurt, little camper.

There are a few ways I can approach the above.  First, I could reflect on the exact situation and explore how I have handled it.  Second, I could think about how I would manage a situation, having learned some fantastic lessons.

It’s rather funny reading how torn I was over a personal dilemma.  A personal dilemma that faded into the background within a couple of months.  It is entirely odd thinking of how overwhelmed I was over what turned out to be one of the most minor melodramas in my life.

Then again…through that inner turmoil, I learned a lot.  I have learned that the non-person really shouldn’t be a factor in one’s life and one’s decisions.  People shouldn’t concern themselves with excess baggage.  Heaven only knows how much legitimate crap we must deal with on a daily basis.  Why must we force feed ourselves a second serving of shit if we don’t need to?

There is no doubt in my mind that I have been hardened and wizened by my experiences.  One year ago today, wide eyed Kang would say, “I don’t want to be hardened.  I like being sensitive.  That’s what makes me…me.”  Then Kang would have jumped under the sofa and burst into tears.

Today…not so much.  I rather like my hardened shell.  My newly found cynicism and my ability to shrug shit off and go on with my day.  Had I not experienced the dilemma of the non-person, I would have never known that I would be capable of such strength.

Non-people are exactly that.  Non-people.  They should be non-issues and non-problems.  They should be, ultimately, non-existent.

Dock & Kang’s big day out

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

Dock is home on a very short break for a few days.  After that, it’s back on the road for the poor guy until the end of the month.  After sleeping away most of the day, we decided to pile into the car and venture into town.  A trip back to our old stomping ground and days of our youth, if you wish.

We nibbled on sandwiches at Conti’s and then opted for a drive.  My how things have changed!

Dock and I moved from Inside the Beltline in 2000 when the slumlord put our bungalow on the market.  We settled in North Raleigh where we have been isolated from the more urbane way of life ever since.  Being the product of the North East and a major metropolitan area, I miss living in the city.  Even if it’s a sleepy, southern city like Raleigh.  I miss being able to walk to the store, a bar, a restaurant and anything else that might tickle my fancy.  I miss being around businesses which aren’t nationwide chains.  I miss having a neighborhood feeling.

Driving down our old street, one could not help but notice the “urban renewal.”  When I moved into the bungalow on Sunrise, it was right at the time when Five Points was beginning the renaissance.  Most of the houses on my street were nice.  There were a few abandoned bungalows and overgrown city lots, though.  Now, the small homes are gone.  Knocked over, making way for, “progress.”  For those of you unaware, progress comes in the form of a 3,000 square foot, multi-level home on a city lot (no more than .25 acres…if you’re lucky). 

Progress is ugly.

Progress ruined a beautiful neighborhood.

Driving down Sunrise, the quaint feeling is lost.  SUVs and upscale sedans have replaced the compact cars, beaters and vans.  Funky painted houses are replaced with visions of beiges and browns.  Yards are no longer charmingly overrun with wildflowers and random cityscaping.  Sunrise Avenue has become so common, so bland…it has the aura of any suburban subdivision littered with the McMansion.  Sunrise Avenue mimics my current hood, albeit with higher property values.

What a shame.

My sister lives in a home that is on the National Historic Register of something or other.  She and her husband are limited to modifications to the home as it appears from the front.  The gingerbread shingles must remain.  If memory serves me correctly, they need to submit any plans for changes to a board of sorts (Henry, please correct any misinformation).  I like that.  I think there is merit in that. 

I long to move back into town and live in the urban environment which stimulates me so.  Sadly, “progress” usually demolishes the charm and ambiance that lends itself to urban living.  Urban living should be funky, fun, creative and stimulating.  It should drip of architectural integrity and variety.  It should not look like North Raleigh.

Progress ruined a lovely neighborhood. 

Fortunately, progress cannot take away the memories of taking long walks on a steamy, June evening with Dock.  Progress cannot erase the memory of Scott Phillips appearing on our front porch, like a little boy wanting to play, when two feet of snow fell over night.  Progress will not deny me my mid-twenties, with goofy roommates, a silly looking house and long nights drinking beer on the front porch.

New memories are being cemented in the minds of the current residents.  I don’t challenge the legitimacy of those memories.  I simply question them.  For they do not reflect the joys of living in a once precious, bohemian neighborhood where the neighbors cared about more than square footage.

Finding solace…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Personal

…in PopTarts.

Dock’s away. 

The house is a mess.

I haven’t unpacked from my jaunt to Chicago.

I have PMS.

I have a huge job interview tomorrow which is causing me enormous anxiety.

Given all of the above, given that I hate cooking for myself, I have turned to my trusty, comfort food…the PopTart.  I don’t care what the ingredients are.  I don’t care about calorie content, fat content, sodium content, -ose content, frankenfood content or anything else.  All I care about is the comfort that Chocolate Vanilla Creme PopTarts bring me.

They are yum.

And full of win.

And in my KangGut.

And someday, I’ll deal with the rest.  After I wash the sugary goodness down with a glass of water and some pills.  Because that is what High Priestesses do best.

So…that’s your idea of inspiration, eh?

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Personal

I have a muse.  When entirely uninspired and utterly unable to come up with anything to write about, I visit a G-d awful website visited by a G-d awful woman.  Her words make my skin crawl.  My hair stands on end.  It’s train-wreck intarwebbing.  And…like People Magazine, has me hooked like a street urchin to crack pipe.

There are currently four thoughts (that I will share) dancing with the dust, fluff and foam in my skull right now.

1. If a stranger stumbled upon KangWorld, would they hate me as much as I hate this person?
2. Do I sound *that* negative when rambling?  Or can I pull off the sardonic funny?
3. Why are people so ungrateful?
4. Whatever happened to doing something for someone else and not necessarily doing something for personal gain?

A few weeks ago, I rambled on like the smug, self-righteous twat that I am about my job and Shrill.  I had intended it to be quasi-funny.  After all…who could honestly sit there and be told, as a 35 year-old adult, that they must only write in red pen because, “that’s the way it is” and not erupt in a fit of laughter?  Or a temper tantrum.  Yeah…I wrote it when I was in a horribly foul mood.  Some of my funnier works are crafted when I’m ill.  I think that’s because frothing like a rabid dog over minutiae is actually funny to an observer.  Rather along the lines of, “you’re hopped up over this???” (note:  it’s imperative to hear the voice of HenrythePenguin when that enters the psyche.  She is the ultimate voice of reason.)

Alas, my whinge was not funny.  I failed.

But does that, to the outsider who does not know me, make me sound like a twat?  Do I sound like shrew?  I started questioning this when I happened upon my muse’s website.  Sometimes, those adept at writing convey the message too well.  I realize that.  And my muse may not be the asshole I have created her to be in my imagination.  Chances are, however, she is.  She’s probably an asshole covered in bitch icing and sprinkled with venomous jimmies, served up on a dirty plate with a glass of curdled milk and a soiled, linen napkin.

I don’t like the muse.  But reading her screed validates me as a person in some sick fashion.  I walk away thinking, “Thank G-d I’m not her.  Thank G-d I don’t have to interact with her.”  Then I thank my lucky stars for the good people in my life and in the world. 

In summary:  either the muse is an incredibly gifted writer who should be published for all the world to hate or she really is a cunt.  Only time will tell, I suppose.  Until that day, I remain in the shadows, lurking and rifling off emails to Madame Cyberfluffy, Miss Kitten and Lady Kate to share the horror.

This brings me to my next thought(s)…

Why are people so entirely ungrateful?  And why can’t people simply put up and shut up for the benefit of others?

Yeah…there are a lot of unpleasant things one must do in life.  I believe HenrythePenguin calls that, “sucking it up.”  (again…one needs to hear Henry say this because her voice is such that one would never imagine such expressions flowing from an ethereal sounding voice) 

In the process of sucking it up, how much do you let a situation eat you alive?  When does one say, “phuck it” and go along to get along because that is the most painless way to deal with something?

I have to participate in a ridiculous event in the near future.  I don’t want to.  I cannot be arsed to.  However, I must.  After throwing countless tantrums and expending unnecessary energy, I have realized the correct path is the path of least resistance.  I’m going to do what I have to do to be the best High Priestess I can be.  Then, I’m going to laugh my ass off and cherish the memories of my mortal suffering.

In the grand scheme of things, life is relatively short.  It’s all too apparent on a day when my recently departed friend, Rich, is memorialized and sent to his eternal rest.  Even the larger dramas are rather small in scale when you step back and manage to remove yourself from your personal quagmire for a second.  There’s no bloodshed in 90% of the challenges that we encounter.  So…if you’re not bleeding, not dying and no one is shooting at you, is life really that terrible?  Are the problems that insuperable?  Not really.  Some call this method of thought, “perspective.”

So for now, I’m going to continue following my muse’s antics because the greatest source of amusement for me is that this individual brought her private hell on herself, by herself, bred in arrogance, selfishness and an overly inflated sense of self that would rival any self-help author featured in Oprah Magazine.  That…and I cannot wait for the day when this wretch, this vile creature reads her own words and wants to choke.  For I shall withhold the Heimlich and bask in the glories of schadenfreude.

I suppose that makes me sound mean, after all.  Although, I should prefer delightfully devilish.

Thoughts of a Royal Visit

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Op/Ed

*le sigh*

Most of us Americans expect very little in the way of decorum from our President.  This is a man who has done his best to shun his New England, preparatory school upbringing in favor of acting like a loud mouthed Texan, knuckle dragging, grass chewing, snus spitting ignoramus.  He finds this charming.  I find it grating.  And insulting to anyone who walks upright.

Alas…George Bush inserts his foot in his mouth with reckless aplomb this afternoon, insinuating the dear Queen is well over 200 years old.  Yay us.

Watching Scarborough Country this evening, Joe chats it up with a stuffed shirt British subject who decides to remind the colonial turkeys (former colonial turkeys I hasten to add) exactly how uncouth and void of manners we are.  SSBS also takes the opportunity to remind us of our poor diction and rhetoric, along with the hours of amusement Yanks offer to “subjects.”

*spits chicken bone from mouth*

Now…don’t get me wrong.  I do not lump all of Her Majesty’s subjects in a wooden, barrel bathtub.  Some of her subjects are enchanting and delightful.  That said…I have met some of her subjects who are not fit to lick the piss off a bum’s tattered boots.  I have encountered garish, boorish, bingo-winged sows, snaggle-toothed Carling swilling dole-dwelling deadbeat dads and SOCCER (because I’m American, dammit) hooligans.

It’s cute that the British cling to their monarchy. Rather darling, I must say.  In the United States, those who marry and phuck their cousins and hunt for pleasure are typically…um…of a lower class.  Not in Europe.  These exalted in-breds are featured on currency (ok…those who do not use the Euro).

There is one thing Her Majesty’s subjects will fail to understand.  Americans do not care.  Really.  We don’t.  If you think we do, think of that bullshit, mounted Royal Brigade Nixon suggested in the 70s.  We revolted for a reason.  Not only did we loathe your tea tax but we found your wigs to be quite foppish and dandy, as well.

Please do not expect us to roll out the red carpet, lock our jaws, sip tea with our pinkies at an angle and crave dry scones and boiled meat.  This is not our society.  It is yours.  And for phuck’s sake, before laughing at your American cousin, think of your own crass members of society.  I should prefer an obnoxious redneck to a boorish lout who fancies cross dressing (Eddie Izzard excluded) as a main form of amusement. 

*so sayeth the girl with the distinctive Mid-Atlantic, upper-middle class suburban accent.*

Grrrrr…and lastly…at least our men remove their socks before engaging in the deed.