The Rolling Stone Surprise

Three months ago, a copy of Rolling Stone mysteriously arrived in my mailbox. Kid Rock and some gross looking scantily clad women were on the cover.

Boo!

A few days later, a copy of Glamour also arrived.

Double Boo!

Needless to say, I was a little puzzled by these magazines coming to my home. Sure, they had my name on the address labels, but I have never been a regular reader of Rolling Stone or Glamour. I never sent in one of those 3x5 "Yes! I want 12 issues!" cards for either and no one told me they'd decided to bestow a gift subscription on me.

I rang up the subscriptions department of Glamour and found out that my receiving the issue with America Ferrera on the cover was, thankfully, some sort of mistake.

Whew. There is a God!

I expected to hear a similar story from Rolling Stone but kept forgetting to contact them.

A month into this mystery subscription, I sat down to read the Rolling Stone 40th Anniversary issue. I briefly wondered if the subscription was the "gift" of some sort of online stalker. I love y'all and all that, but you never know.

Putting my paranoia aside, I cracked open the issue and found that it featured "Twenty-five Interviews on the Future of America and the World." There were only three women interviewed, and out of the men, let's just say they were a very undiverse group. It annoyed me so much to think that the magazine could ask the usual suspects like Bono, Bill Maher and Al Gore to talk about the future of this country but not query women and people from diverse backgrounds who are really doing amazing things.

Of course, this got me thinking about how I honestly don't really know who the women who are doing amazing things are. What do I see or hear about the real things women are doing in the world? Well, the majority of stories about women are concerned with whether they were best or worst dressed, whether they had plastic surgery or not. Whether they got dumped or are dating and whether they are too fat or too thin.

Who could they interview? Angelina Jolie? Nancy Pelosi? Condoleeza Rice? Meredith Viera? Heck, I don't know. They interviewed a lot of old school male rock musicians so surely they could have asked Pat Benatar or Tina Turner to chime in on what they think about George Bush and Iraq. Debbie Harry, anybody?

But no such luck.

My irritation reminded me that I needed to contact their customer service. They had an 800 number listed in the "Contact Us" section, but it was after business hours so I shot an email off to them and asked if they could tell me how I got the subscription.

Today, as I perused a very photo-shopped looking cover of Led Zeppelin, I realized I hadn't heard back from their customer service.

I checked my watch and saw that it was well before the end of business hours. So I dialed the 800 number. I immediately got connected with "Brian" --who totally sounded like a woman, but whatever.

I felt like an idiot as I explained to "Brian" that I'd been getting the magazine for a whole three months and I had no idea how this had happened.

Brian very patiently told me that I subscribed when I purchased some concert tickets through Live Nation earlier in the summer.

"Um, huh? I don't remember that."

"The subscription came free with the tickets you purchased."
"So it didn't cost me anything extra?" I'm sure my voice conveyed all the skepticism I was feeling.

"No. Not at all," Brian reassured me.

And this is where I am sure I must have sounded like a complete moron to Brian.

"Oh, that's good because I wondered for a second if some weird blog stalker had decided to give me a gift subscription."

Brian could only say, "Um, well, no. Okay, umm....You have a subscription till October 2, 2008." I'm sure he was thinking, "What is this crazy heffa talking about?" Or at least, if I were Brian, that's what I would have been thinking.

I rescued him from the awkward "too much information" moment and said, "Well, thanks for the info, Brian. Bye!"

So now I am left with the realization that I have a whole year of Rolling Stone to enjoy. That is a surprise indeed.

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!)