Questions And Observations

I know, I know. I've been an absentee blogger for the past few days. Shame on me for neglecting this little space. "Why so incognito?" you ask. Or maybe you aren't asking that and you've actually been thinking, "Good, she's finally given up this blogging thing. I hate reading what she writes!"

First off, my youngest son got diagnosed with impetigo. Don't know what it is? Yeah, neither did I. He had a cold last weekend and I thought the rash above his lip was just skin irritation due to me wiping his runny nose. Then it began turning into something else and spreading at a pretty rapid rate. Curious to see what it looks like? Go ahead and do a Google image search on "impetigo" if you feel a desire to lose the contents of your stomach. How'd he get it? I don't know but he was quarantined at home for a few days and I stayed home with him, praying that no one else caught it...well, I'll be honest: I was praying that I wouldn't get it. What can I say, I live in LA and I'm a teensy bit vain.

On the days I wasn't quarantined, I saw and heard lots of things I wanted to write about but I was too busy trying to catch up on work, etc., so, here's a few of my accumulated questions and observations:

  1. Sexist perverts are everywhere: I went to the Vons grocery store on Sunset Blvd. and got stalked through three aisles by some weirdo who, it turns out, used to work with the guy running my checkout lane. Mr. Stalker came and chatted with the cashier while my stuff was being rung up, staring and winking at me the whole time. Oh they were all smiles and laughs. The checker was so busy chatting up his pervert buddy that I bagged my own groceries so I wouldn't have to stand there waiting for the cashier to do that. "Thanks, babe for bagging those. Do you need help out to your car?"

    I sooo wanted to say, "No, I don't need help out to my car, you sexist, punk-ass pervert mother-f&*%#6!" But, instead I smiled and said, "No, thank you. Have a great night!" I then went to put my stuff in the car and then came back and tracked down the manager. The manager was apologetic. "I'll be sure to speak with them about that. I'm so sorry." Yeah right. Bet I see the same checker there again next time I'm in there and bet he breaks my eggs. Should I boycott Vons and start going to Albertsons or Ralphs?

  2. I could be a cure for alcoholism if I was cuter and had darker skin: On Thursday, the guy behind the counter in the Kenneth Hahn Plaza Rite-Aid suggested me as an alternative to getting drunk. As he's scanning my stuff, he starts talking to the grizzled man standing behind me in line. "You know, all you need to do is get this sista's number instead of drinking that liquor. She's so pretty, I'll bet she could make you feel better than drinking that whiskey ever could. Come on, ask her for her number."

    The man behind me, obviously a hard-drinking, pickled-liver kind of guy, reeking like he'd been dipped in a vat of grain alcohol, was very matter of fact in his reply, which he addressed to me, "Naw, I don't think so. Heh heh. You ok lookin' but I ain't into you light-skinned gals. I'll just stick with what I got right here. Heh heh." Then he hoisted his big bottle of liquor up on the counter, gazing at it like he was staring a lover in the eyes.

    Alrighty then.

  3. No, it's not a weave, but I'm still not interested in you: Hey trifling males of the world, I'm just in Starbucks to get some tea, not to hear your lame pickup lines. Most women don't really respond to, "Hey shawty, what your name is?" being yelled across the room at them while they're ordering their tea. (Or do they? Ladies, you tell me.) Really, any woman would have to be crazy to check for that crap. Then, when I walked past the guy without begging him to take me somewhere and have his wicked way with me, he says, "Fuck you then, you ugly ass bitch! Probably a weave anyway." Yeah, um, dude, it's not a weave but I sort of hope you burn in hell.

  4. Drop off your kids, pick up a prostitute: I'm just so tired of driving past the hookers on Figueroa Street standing on the corner a block from an elementary school. I'm tired of seeing all the boo-tay hanging out for all to see. But why does it always seem like they have less cellulite than me? Is it all the standing? Do the pimps get them personal trainers? I don't get it. And by the way, when I get to this same school, I'm tired of seeing the four huge signs warning me not to bring weapons on campus or make threats. Yet we wonder why kids aren't quite so innocent nowadays.

  5. What if Tara Connor was black? Being quarantined this week meant I was home to catch Miss USA, Tara Connor, discussing her cocaine use with Matt Lauer on the Today Show. All I could think of was, "Would this heffa still have her crown if she was black?" Then Matt asked her if the rumors of her sleeping around are true. She completely denied it. Hmm. Tara, you're an underage drinker, you have "dabbled" in cocaine (What does it mean to "dabble" with cocaine?) but you claim you are celibate? Yeah. Sure.

  6. Today I bought a new San Martin de Porres candle. Why? Well, Martin de Porres was the first black saint in the New World and is the patron saint of black people. He's also the patron saint of race relations and racial harmony. Maybe I should send a candle to Joe Biden. I wonder if Joe would consider me clean and articulate. And I should also send two candles to whoever that clown was in Virginia that said black people "should get over" slavery. Reparations isn't only about giving someone money. Reparations is a change of heart, a change of the soul, a change in the way black people are viewed, treated, educated, loved and respected. Think of it this way: Black people have only been able to vote in the United States since 1965. That's 42 years ago. How many people do you know that are 42 years old? My brother would be 43 years old this July and my mom couldn't vote when she gave birth to him. Her father worked for Studebaker's for most of his life, paid taxes his entire life, and was only able to vote for five years of those years. Sigh.

    And lastly, the biggest question of all, will the Bears win tonight? My fingers are crossed and the game is about to start! Go Bears!!! (please!)


Liz: I'm sure this post was interesting and insightful and all, but to be honest, I was looking at your chest the whole time instead of reading attentively. Something about shopping? For liquor and candles?

Can you post this again? I promise to pay better attention this time.


Representative Male
Dena said…
dang, liz! sometimes i'm just appalled with the random rude people you meet, but i guess it makes for good blog-storytelling. thanks for being a good teller of stories!

and thanks for taking one for the team! (however, i think you're a little too nice :-)

poor bears....i guess the bad grossman showed up yesterday!
Liz Dwyer said…
I guess this is a sign that the implants are just too distracting, even through cyberspace. Sigh.

I know, I am too nice...I guess because I'm too scared to not be nice. Or maybe a better word is neutral. I'm very neutral in these situations because being too nice makes the situation worse.

I hope Grossman gets fired.
Dena said…
actually, i think back to situations that i've been in and i wish that i could have come up with something mean or smart to say back, but my quick wit usually fails me under pressure!
Thanks for not posting and being all over the place in the first blog of yours that I get an opportunity to read.

Makes me wanna come back and get some more...
velvet said…
I'll have to say that you run into some interesting people, Liz! Do guys really think that pick up lines like that work?! Also, interesting intervention technique by the guy at Rite-Aid. Geez.


PS Tara should have been booted. Period.
Ingrid said…
Liz, I think I'm going to have to hold off on reading your blog until the end of the day. I don't think releasing such a hearty laugh in the middle of this conservative office is beneficial to me keeping my job;-p

Thanks for sharing a few experiences in the life of the sistas! I can't go a day without encountering at least one pervy guy. Hopefully, the subzero chicago weather will keep some of them indoors;-p
the last noel said…
Sorry about the impe...ipreg...whatever that thing is. Does it clear on its own? Oh, I guess I should stop yelling pick up lines across Starbucks.
Liz Dwyer said…
I never think of smart things to say...not till three days later when I'm writing about it. Of course, as a woman, I'm always worried about what the reaction might be.

Sometimes I am all over the place, but I hope you come back and visit. I'm a fan of your blog, by the way.

I think guys do think those lines work, but I think it's more an expression of power than anything. They say it because they can. And I wish Tara had gotten the boot.

I know that feeling, where folks are looking at you like, "What's so darn funny!" I love that, but when you tell them, half the time they don't get what's humorous. Stay warm if you can!

No, impetigo doesn't clear up on it's own...I wish! I have to put a topical antibiotic on his face, which means I've been kicked in the head a couple of times. It heals quickly so he does look fairly normal now. We're not calling him "Scabbers" anymore. And I just can't believe you yell pickup lines across the Starbucks. I'll beleive that when I see it.

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