Osama Loves Lefties

"Something is going ON in here."
"I know. I can't figure it out. It's like..."
"It's gross. God. What's in that? Is that a banana? Seriously? I've never seen one that...."
"Old? I took it for an after-practice snack."
"In 1997?
Ohmygod! What's THAT?"
"It's a sock. Give it."
"No. You're driving, you can't pass out."
"Lemme have it." (inhales deeply.) "That's not it. This is Downy-fresh. I bet it fell out of the laundry."
"Sarah it really isn't okay in here."
"I know. Hey! Do you think it could be my skate gear, like my pads and stuff? If I throw that all in the trunk between practices would that smell up here? I mean, would it smell, like.. THIS?"

I have a zit the size of Ontario on the side of my face. It's not cool. It's so not cool that I am thinking I might be able pick it and then to play it off like it's a spider bite. This would mean that I would get sympathy AND be off the hook for having the World's Crappiest Skin.

I have to make a tee-shirt for Saturday night. For Derby. It has to be cute and it has to say FRESH MEAT. I am screwed because my clothes look much cuter if I purchase them and then leave them the hell alone. I'm not crafty.
I mean...
I'm not crafty like scrap-booking and Bedazzling and glitter-gluing crafty, not at all and not for lack of trying.
Sadly, I have this adorable idea in my head of how I am going to make this tee shirt but I say "sadly" because it NEVER turns out the way I want it to.
Also, in order to have enough time to have a sufficient melt-down over fucking up the iron letters and wasting ANOTHER tee-shirt when I am SO BROKE, I have to start this project yesterday.

And yesterday?
I was busy flipping off the assholes on the corner who held up signs saying, "Osama loves lefties!"

What are you talking about?
Do you even know how offensive that is?
Obviously not.
Clearly, this cavalcade of shitheadery didn't get that what they were saying on a major intersection near my home, is that because I am a liberal, crazy terrorists love me. This implies that because I have the power to make a crazy terrorist so overwhelmed by love for me, he might try to take advantage of me and try to blow up several thousand Americans.

I become enraged when I see things like this.
I also become enraged that every single year, I am forced to listen to people relive their personal trauma, or try to relive trauma that wasn't even personal to them.
It doesn't make sense to me to do this every year and to point fingers at people for the fact that they voted for a party that believes in, rather than tries to undermine the formerly American values of diplomacy and partnership.
It hurts my head that every year, I have to listen to shaky voices reading off names and listen to bells toll and see my flag being used to put me down (Of course those people on the corner were draped in red, white, and blue).

It hurts my head that we're reminded every year to be distrustful, to be afraid, to be angry, and to seek revenge.
For how long can we seek revenge?
My vote for John Kerry didn't result in Osama Bin Laden's continued elusion of capture.
My secret wish to hold Barak Obama's hands with both of mine while I gaze lovingly into his eyes isn't the reason why the Taliban hasn't been able to be ousted and it isn't why the Marines have had to resort to sending guys who've already served back into Iraq.
My Howard Dean poster didn't cause a radical, political Islamist movement to begin to rise in the Middle East.
My favorite administration of all time was involved and was committed to listening. It didn't tell the Middle East to fuck off and leave us alone, that we would no longer help to keep a lid on things.

And now look.
This is better?
The fear that we are all told to live with in the post 9/11 America?
I don't want to be reminded of it and I don't want to be subjugated to nimrods who don't think for themselves; I don't want to be forced to hear them tell me that this is somehow my fault because I voted Democrat.

This is a culture's fault, not a political party's.

In Rollerderby, it's not "if" you fall down, it's "how fast do you get up."

I've been thinking about that and how it applies to my life, you know?
And here's how: If someone wants to get you, he or she will. The only control you have over that is "how do you react when they get you?"

Same thing applies to civilization.
Historically, all great empires are attacked. It's never "if", it's "when."
How fast does that civilization get up?

You tell me.
I think that by reliving the 9/11 attack every year like this, we've not gotten up from the track. We're still rolling around down there and the pack is coming up fast.

That's what I think.

arizonasarah at 11:51 a.m.

previous | next