We had a good day on the saving puppies front.
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I was driving today. I do that occasionally. And while I am driving and not texting and putting on lip gloss, I am usually thinking. About stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Some of it was personal. Most of it was not. But I got to thinking about sensitivity. And imperfection.
My father used to say the last perfect person was nailed to a cross. That would seem to be an ugly way to go. I know they did not nail him to the torture stake because he was insensitive. From what I have read of that perfect guy, he was much more sensitive than me. Being sensitive may result in a torturous death. I do not think I want to figure out if I am right on that count.
Yesterday, I did go to the doctor. Doctors are not too sensitive. Maybe if they determine you are dying, they may be more sensitive. I do not know. I am thankful that I do not know. Doctors also have horrendous handwriting. So do I…I should be a doctor…. However, if this blog were hand written, it would be unreadable. Well, even more unreadable than it already is. Maybe the word I am looking for is illegible. Again, not perfect.
I was not far from my friend Marci’s house. Unfortunately, I had to work and then do an estimate. But I really needed a cup of coffee. She does make a good cup of coffee. Well, now that she knows the secret recipe of how to make a coffee. I personally had no problem with her coffee before she learned the secret recipe. But I am not a coffee snob.
Some days I am just too lazy to make a fresh pot so I nuke the old stuff and add an extra splashola of flavored cream and voy-la, coffee in an instant. Not to be confused with instant coffee. Only REALLY old people drink instant coffee. Or people more lazy than me…
On one job I was on, an older lady asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee. I said sure, in an effort to not be insensitive. The little old lady then said that she would have it for me in an instant. RED FLAG!!! She just had to boil the water. Ugghhh! I wanted to say no thanks and that instant coffee is the devil, but I said sure I could wait. I was being sensitive.
I was on that job for about two more weeks and every day I got another cup of grossness known as instant coffee. See what sensitivity gets you. Crappy coffee…(maybe I am a coffee snob…) or nailed to a cross… either way I will pass…Jus’ sayin’…
The coffee with Marci would have to wait. While I could use some fresh Marciisms to write another blog about something, I could not squeeze a hour or so to stop by unannounced, swill some coffee, and catch up on some stuff. Alas, her starring in another blog would also be down the road some time. (Sorry Marci)
Anyway, as I was driving, fresh lip gloss and all, the epiphany ball struck me. And so I decided to share the findings. I am not sensitive. Sooner or later I offend someone. Yeah, I cuss like a drunken sailor. I am not overly polished, and I am definitely not easily offended, and that fact definitely skews the reality bubble on my sensitivity stick.
That does not mean I am not easily outraged. On the contrary, I am outraged by many things. I could just rant about them all the time, but then it sounds whiny and petulant. I prefer to rant only occasionally about outrageousness. Moderation is the key to life.
In the past, I think it was in the eighties, (but I really do not care when it was) someone got the grand idea that men should be more sensitive. Fine. It seems like it has trickled down to all facets of life. Making a face at someone is now considered bullying. Fine. It seems a bit ridstupidous to me, but to each there own.
As I said before I am not sensitive. I liked it better when the only thing that happened when you made a face at someone was running the risk of having your face stay that way. It was a much more simple time…
As I was writing this blog in my head I happened to glance down and see a note, hastily scribbled on my blognotes pad I keep in my truck for capturing the truth as I am driving on the road of life, 131, I-96 or some other exotic locale in my greater western Michigan stomping grounds.
Apparently, Floyd Mayweather, Jr. said some racist remarks about Manny Pacquiao, the Filipino boxer. And insulted his masculinity as well, with some homophobic diatribe. Stupid.stupid.stupid. Racism exists because we let it exist. The media gobbles up the racist stupidity of foolish things people say and blast us over.andover.andover. with the insanity of stupid humans and their inability to think before they speak.
The media would like us to believe we all have a vested interest in this stupidity. We do not. The two people that do have a vested interest in this are Pacquiao and Mayweather. The rest of us need to chink up our thin skin and move on. We all have our own bouts of stupidity and insensitivity to worry about...
Unfortunately, people are stupid. Not all the time but some of the time. And some people are stupid most of the time. Stupidity is not a disease it is a fact of life.
Sooner or later I may offend you. I am imperfect. I make mistakes. But they are my mistakes and I own them. I would apologize, but I am insensitive, so unless you tell me I am offensive, I may not know. As imperfect as I am, I may think I am being funny. Things hit home to different people different ways.
All of humankind is very similar, irrelevant of our skin color, race, religion, or sexual orientation. We are human. We all bleed blood of the same color. Some of us are more sensitive than others. Biologically we are nearly the same.
I have said racist things. I have said stupid things. I am not perfect. Far from it. I am not a good judge of what is funny all the time. In my head it may be absof ckinglutley hilarious, but in reality not so much…
This picture I found funny. My mind’s eye camera that I keep did capture this little tidbit….
I zoomed past this Lamborghini. Kicked his sorry ass I did. It was white. Why would anyone drive a white Lamborghini?
why do you have to bring race into it? And on 28th street to boot? Although, I airbrushed out the other traffic because there was not much to airbrush out, I still passed the sporty car and took the checkered flag.
I believe the driver of the Lamborghini was crying, after our little race, but being insensitive as I am I just laughed in his face…and drove off to where ever I was going. feeling all smug and winnerish and all…
Sensitivity, while leading to instant coffee, and getting hung from a cross, it also leads to thin skin. And then who knows what else. I am not a doctor. And I did not stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night. But I do know I am not sensitive. And I do not like instant coffee. Or torture stakes.
For those of you that may think I could stand for some sensitivity training, I will call bullshit on that. I will not learn from sensitivity training. I may have to attend, but I would spend the whole time day-dreaming. Just like I used to do when I was required to attend school. You can only hope that something would sink in….Mebbe that is why I am not a doctor…
I am, however, very caring. I care about a lot of things. I just am not sensitive. I do not mean to be as brusque, most times. I cry at funerals. I cry when I win awards. I cry at weddings. Actually I DO NOT cry at weddings, but if I did I would be crying for the loss of another guy’s bachelor freedom. I am not sensitive.
I am not perfect. I am not always very smart. But I do care. And I do not get awards so the crying jury is still on this one. When I win an award we will find out if I do cry or not. Prolly not. I am not sensitive.