Or rather, MY brain. My ride of the Burke-Gilman today (see earlier snarky post) was about three hours long. In three hours, my brain can cover a great deal of territory. I came home and enlightened The Handsome Guy on my thoughts and as usual, he had to finally kiss me to shut me up. There was so much time to think! It was crazy!
Here are some of the topics I pondered:
1. Was the crew of the Titanic really capable of performing an intensive evacuation of all the women and children on the boat in less than two hours, even if their leadership had been better organized?
2. Can anyone really be prepared enough for a catastrophic event? Is there a test that would tell an employer ahead of time? Would we really want to try out such a test? How does one replicate life-altering fear?
3. Why did my old employers never really like me? Was it because they sensed I could handle emergencies and they couldn’t? Or was it because I was just annoying?
4. Why, in almost 30 years of being a sexually-aware human being, has a lesbian never hit on me? Am I that obviously heterosexual? What gives it away? (can one of my lesbian friends please explain this to me?). Is there an opposite of gaydar at play here?
5. When someone says: “Ever since I met my wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend, I haven’t even noticed other women/men,” they are clearly lying. Is this driven by the same guilt that makes closeted evangelist preachers rail endlessly against gay marriage, then slip out for a quick bj in the neighborhood park’s bathroom?
6. When are Hugh Jackman, Eric Bana and Sam Worthington going to get together and make the sexy Australian stripper comedy I so know they are capable of?
7. When did I become old enough to be unattractive to the hot 20 year-old guys running by me bare-chested and in short shorts? Does this mean I will someday be unattractive to 30 year-old guys? Then 40? Eventually, does this mean that the only men who will find me attractive will be… dead?
8. Why do I feel so disappointed by the fact that hot young men no longer objectify my body, when I spent most of my 20’s protesting this very thing in earnest late-night dorm room talk orgies? Being a woman in America is a study in contradiction: “Don’t objectify me, you sexist pig frat boys! Where are my damn skinny jeans and red six-inch high heels again? How can I go to the club and meet guys if I can’t find my f**k-me heels?”
9. No longer being a teacher has clearly released in me a desire to make up for lost swearing time.
10. I might have to admit that the guy I criticized for the $20 bike seat oiling actually made my bike seat comfortable for the first time since I bought it two years ago. Crap.
This is just a fraction of what went on in there. And my doctor wonders why I have insomnia!