Welcome To Arizona! Come For The Weather, Stay For The Xenophobia!

Okay, so for those of you who watch ANY news whatsoever, it should come as no shock that my beloved Arizona has gotten a reputation as being…shall we say…flamingly racist.  While I understand why it looks like we’re all a bunch of backwoods hillbilly cretins most of the time, I feel I must defend my state’s honor.

To begin, it is a fact that almost no one over the age of 30 is actually FROM Arizona, and we are almost entirely populated by transplants from colder states, who came here for the weather, and promptly started complaining because our golf courses were too close to Mexico.  You know how everyone has that ONE embarrassing racist uncle, who screams about immigrants and thinks that Obama was born in Kenya?  Well, that guy got sick of Wisconsin winters or shoveling snow in Michigan, and moved his ass to Phoenix.  So the problem isn’t actually Arizonans, per se…it’s that we have a HUGE population of older, conservative transplants, who unfortunately vote religiously, and who are magnetically attracted to the candidate wearing the fanciest tinfoil hat.

Now, recently, we’ve gotten some attention, AGAIN, for yet another idiot who has taken to leading armed (and I’m talking automatic weapons, here) protests against Muslims at local mosques while wearing (and selling, because we can’t miss a sales opportunity) t-shirts that say things that I won’t repeat, but involve expletives that aren’t, shall we say, neighborly.  Once again, we get bad press, but what the national news doesn’t mention, is that he JUST moved here from California, so once again we get credit for a village idiot who wandered off from another state.  I do not want to give this asshole any MORE attention by mentioning his name, but Ryan and I call him, ‘The Ritz’.

Shockingly, as it turns out, pissing off one of Earth’s largest religions has consequences.  First it means that you will get thoroughly spanked, on national TV, by both Anderson Cooper and Philip Mudd, a former senior official with the FBI and CIA. Secondly, it means your family will have to go into hiding until things cool down.

Well, as it turns out, this idiot lives down the street from Ryan’s sister, Susan, so her entire block was curiously populated with a lot of unmarked paneled vans and dark windowed American sedans.  Because we’re naturally fascinated by this insanity, we have Susan sending us daily updates.

**And, yes, this conversation took place BEFORE Donald Trump’s asinine remarks about McCain.

 

Ryan: She just texted. The Ritz’ wife came back!  SHE ACTUALLY CAME BACK!

Me: There is no way she did that of her own volition. He must be blackmailing her.  She must have killed a drifter or a United States Senator, or something.

Ryan: Has anyone actually seen John McCain lately?

Me: Real McCain?  Or amazingly lifelike, animatronic McCain?

Ryan: I’m pretty sure The Ritz is keeping that McCain in his garage.

Me: What’s he doing with it!?

Ryan: Well, you know how lonely he must have been when he was in hiding with his wife gone…robot McCain was his only comfort.

Me: I wonder what robot McCain’s O-Face looks like.

Ryan: …

Me: What?

Ryan: That’s the sound of me becoming impotent.

When I’m about to remove my pants, It’s not a good time to try and make me solve your fucking riddles, Dan Brown.

Okay, here’s the deal.  I really am (SWEAR!) a reasonably intelligent human being.  I graduated from college with honors, and I, like, read and shit.  Furthermore, I have a really good sense of humor (SWEAR!), and I can laugh at just about anything (maybe that just makes me easy?).  That having been said, I have zero intelligence or humor when it comes to taking a public piss.

Okay, so, yes, I am not a superfan of dropping my pants in public (shaddup those of you who have seen me drunk), and touching flesh to porcelain without 5 layers of tissue between my tender haunches and the seat of ten-thousand asses.  And, yes, I do always flush with my feet (Hey, if you’re touching that thing after me, you’re the idiot, for a variety of reasons.), and turn on the faucets with one piece of paper towel, and then open the door to leave with a different one.  And, YES, I do usually follow this up with some sanitizer from my purse, but that stuff saves lives AND smells good.

Christ, now that I’m reading this…I need serious help.  Anyhoooo…

My real argument with public restrooms is when some joint, usually a restaurant, decides to cutely label their bathrooms with something other than “Men” and “Women”.  For reasons that are beyond me, and that completely refute any claims I make on being either smart and/or a good-time-girl, this shit completely freaks me out.

It doesn’t matter that I lived in friggin’ Germany, I will stand in the restroom hallway, panicked, second guessing myself like a motherfucker about whether I am, in fact, a Damen or Herren, and wondering why in the hell I wanted to eat schnitzel in the first place.  I don’t even care if they’ve included a picture of an actual senorita, with a Senorita sign, I will enter that room, slowly as all hell, eyes peeled for a urinal.

Worse…the VERY WORST…are the pithy, bullshit signs, usually at theme restaurants, that aren’t as obvious, and then I’m in a full-blown panic, trying to guess whether I’m a “Captain” or a “First Mate”, and whether they’re assessing me for gender or for actual leadership capacity, and all I wanted to do was fucking pee.  And who said I can’t be a “Caballero”?  I like horses…I’m good with a sword…frankly, this is Goddamned 2013, and if I want to defend Mexico or my hacienda, I think I should be afforded the same opportunity as any other person.

I think at this point, the best bet would be if someone just posted a sign that said, “Hey…you…yeah, the one with the red hair…this is the one you’re looking for,” but let’s be honest, even if they did…that would freak me out for completely different reasons.  *sigh*