Great Mysteries of Our Time

When you write a blog, sometimes stories just fall into your lap and sometimes you have a rough time coming up with something to write about. One of the great things about people knowing you write a blog is that they often come up with ideas for you. Today’s post is a conglomerate of my own observations and stories suggested to me by others. They all fit into one nice, neat topic: The Great Mysteries of Our Time.

Mystery One – Cross Dressing Bunny

My cousin, Judy, actually suggested this one.

Before I begin this mystery, I should probably point out that Judy is neither my cousin, nor a female named Judy, but that’s the pseudonym he chose, so we’ll just roll with it.

Why the cousin, then? It’s because even though he’s from Louisiana and I’m from Texas, we’ve noted so many similarities between our families that we’ve determined we must be related somehow. He is my Louisiana cousin and I’m his Texas cousin. Cousin Judy and Cousin Kat Kat.

I guess you had to be there to understand.

Anyway, back to the topic. Judy approached me one day at work and told me he had a great topic for my blog. It’s something he used to debate back in the day and it kind of blew my mind because I never looked at it that way.

Are you ready?

Bugs Bunny was our first exposure to Drag Queens as kids.

You may be wondering where in the world that came from? Seems out of left field, until you examine the evidence.

Some would say that back in the day, dressing a male character in drag was just comedy. Look at Milton Berle. He dressed in drag all the time for the sake of comedy.

But was it really JUST for comedy? Hmmmm…we will never know. That’s why it’s a mystery.

Let’s mull it over while we watch RuPaul’s Drag Race…

Mystery Two – Old People And Plastic Flowers

This next mystery came to me courtesy of another coworker who told me she didn’t understand why old people feel the need to adorn dead tree stumps with plastic flowers.

And I was like:

 

And she said that apparently a relative of hers has dead stumps on his property and he drills holes in them and sticks plastic flowers in them. So I requested proof and she did not disappoint.

I’m not quite sure why you would chop down a dead tree and then adorn it with a non-living flower, but apparently this is a thing.

While we’re on this topic, I’ve never quite understood the concept of plastic flowers anyway. I mean, I understand that fresh flowers are expensive and they’re kind of a waste because they wilt so quickly, but there are better alternatives to plastic, like silk.

There’s nothing realistic looking about plastic flowers. You’re not fooling anyone, especially if it’s a flower in a color that doesn’t happen in nature.

When The Husband Dude and I were getting married the second time, I really wanted blue hydrangeas for my bouquet because blue is my favorite color and I love hydrangeas. But I made the mistake of Googling blue flowers and went down a rabbit hole of really poor fake flower choices.

Roses are not supposed to be blue, people. It’s wrong. Just wrong.

So there’s the second mystery for you to ponder. Plastic flowers in tree stumps.

Mystery Three – Old Drunk Ladies Doing Interpretive Dance

This one came to me when we were out at one of our Halloween celebrations but I’ve observed it nearly every time we’ve ever gone out to a bar or casino playing live music.

It usually happens toward the end of the evening. You always have the younger women who have got their buzz on and feel like dancing, regardless of what the music is. They can always find a way to gyrate to the beat. It’s fun to watch people have a good time.

Then, there’s the older lady. There’s one in every crowd. She isn’t buzzed. She’s drunk. She’s so drunk that she doesn’t know where she is or how she got there, but she knows there’s a band and she knows she can still stand up well enough to dance.

Except she couldn’t dance when she was sober and now she’s drunk.

The dancing is not so much dancing as it is doing some high kicks like Molly Shannon on SNL proclaiming “I’m Sally O’Malley and I’m Fifty!”

The other night, we were at a bar listening to one of our favorite local bands and this particular lady was doing high kicks and spinning in circles and finally was doing push ups like Jack Palance at the 1992 Academy Awards. Then she just kind of laid down on the dance floor and rested for a while.

I don’t get this. It’s a mystery.

Mystery Four – Some People Don’t Like Halloween

With this week being Halloween, there were all kinds of things all over Social Media. One of the most bizarre things I read, though, was how someone can no longer celebrate Halloween when so many real people are suffering in the world.

And I was like

Then someone else commented that they don’t understand why people say “Happy Halloween” because Halloween isn’t a holiday and I was like

The mystery here is two-fold.

First, why take the joy out of something that’s supposed to be fun? You’re pissed off because I say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas” (and actually, I say both because I believe that any kind greeting to someone is a good greeting and I’m not particular about wording) but I can’t say Happy Halloween? On Halloween? So you don’t appreciate me saying something nice? DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS FOR ME TO BE NICE TO PEOPLE? I don’t even like people. But have it your way. The next time I see you, you’ll get this

The second layer to this mystery is how celebrating Halloween and watching horror movies has anything to do with all the suffering in the world. Does watching some big dude chase Jamie Lee Curtis while wearing a William Shatner mask remind you of starving children in Africa? Because if it does, I really want to pick your brain. That’s fascinating.

There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t. This is proof that I DO have a filter in my brain and sometimes it works.

Mystery Five – Bitches Who Don’t Greet You Back

Speaking of greetings, if I make eye contact with you and either smile or nod and say “Hi” or “Hey” and you don’t acknowledge me, then you, Sir or Madam, are a douche.

I was raised in Texas by a long line of Southern women. I can’t speak for the cultural norms in other parts of the country, but in the south, people greet each other upon entering a room or encountering them in a close setting.

A close setting can be anything within a one hundred foot radius.

Believe me, when I’m walking down the hall at work or down the aisle of a grocery store, I’d much rather be alone in my thoughts and not even acknowledge that there are any other humans anywhere on the planet. But my upbringing has been seared into my brain and it’s more of a physical response than a conscious one to smile and nod or say “Hi”.

Worse, are the people who don’t acknowledge you when you hold a door open for them. And yes, I’m one of those people that will loudly say, “You’re welcome!” even if I don’t get a thank you first.

It’s one thing if you don’t see me. I totally get it when you’ve got a lot on your mind and you’re kind of walking in that zombie-like fog we all get into sometimes. You get a pass.

But if I see you make eye contact with me and you SEE my greeting, and don’t bother to give a little nod, smile, or fuck you bitch, then you’re just a savage and as my cousin, Judy, would say, “Ya weren’t raised right!”

Speaking of Judy, I came back to my desk in a huff the other day because one particularly bad offender had failed to acknowledge my greeting for the nine-hundred-fifty-thousandth time.

“Oh does she do that to you too?” Judy asked. “I thought it was just me.”

“No, she’s just a bitch and she needs to march her ass back to her desk and stay there if she can’t act decent.”

And then Judy laughed, and we discussed probable reasons for her bitchiness, which I will omit here to protect the guilty.

In any case, the next time I see her, I’m giving her my best Resting Bitch Face.