It’s the End of the World as We Know It–And I Feel Like Looting!

According to an ancient Mayan prophecy, the world is ending one week from today.

I am here today to tell you that this is absolutely, unequivocally true.

How do I know?

Duh, I’m psychic, I know everything.

No, I won’t help you pick winning lottery numbers.

And I’m not really THAT psychic. Even though Madam Marie’s granddaughter told me that I am.

I’m relying on cold, hard facts this time.

Fact #1: The Mayans said it’s happening. Clearly a civilization that disappeared over a thousand years ago was AWESOME at predicting the future.

The best theory out there about their disappearance was that they were kidnapped by aliens. It’s true. Google it. Of course, the Wikipedia page on the Mayans says that they never disappeared, they just left their main cities due to a drought and were assimilated into other local cultures, but that’s Wikipedia. Everyone knows that ANYONE can edit Wikipedia. Even the aliens that abducted the Mayans.

But the Mayans clearly knew that was coming because they disappeared without a trace, implying that they knew it was coming and had time to pack. See? If they say the world is ending, it’s ending.

Fact #2: There’s a movie about it. It’s called 2012. I mean, I didn’t see it, because the premise of the movie is that neutrinos are heating the Earth’s core and ending the world, and my dad is one of the world’s leading neutrino physicists and that premise was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life because that’s NOT what neutrinos are or what they do.

  Like literally. My dad was one of the head scientists who discovered that neutrinos have mass. He’d know if they were heating the Earth’s core. And he’d tell me. Because he’s my daddy.

 But the fact that there’s a movie about it means it’s happening. Clearly.

Fact #3: It’ll be 2015 in just over two years and hoverboard technology isn’t close. We’ve just created a paradox in the space-time continuum big enough to destroy the whole universe. And the world is part of the universe. So it’s ending too.

Fact #4: The Redskins aren’t terrible this year. We have RGIII. We beat the Giants, the Eagles, AND the Cowboys. And even after RGIII got injured in the last game, we STILL won. If this isn’t a sign of an impending apocalypse, I don’t know what is.

See? Indisputable evidence that that world will be ending in exactly one week.

So what should you do?

That depends. If you’re planning to survive the apocalypse, you should probably stock up on all the apocalypse essentials: shotguns, bottled water, Leonardo DiCaprio dvds, a generator (to run whatever you’re going to watch the dvds on), non-perishable food items, and a zombie-English dictionary.

And, most importantly, Will Smith.  Because if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that no matter what the cause of the end of the world, Will Smith can not only survive it, he can also save the fractured remnants of society.

But if you’re willing to throw in the towel and embrace the end of the world, as I am (I don’t do well with zombies. And the only bottled water that my boyfriend will drink costs like $15 for a six pack. Seriously? It’s water. It comes out of the tap AND the sky for free. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of it my life. Yet another sign that the world is ending: people will spend that much money on WATER. Bring on the apocalypse please, I’m done), your preparations can be a lot more fun.

For example, you know the Ten Days of Repentance in Judaism, when you’re supposed to go around apologizing for all the wrongs that you’ve done to people? I plan to spend the next seven doing the opposite: I’m going to go around telling people EXACTLY what I think of them. I mean, the world is ending, there won’t be any consequences. And I have a few people who I’ve been holding back on for YEARS. This will be awesome. Unless you’re one of the people who has wronged me. In which case I’m about to use the present that I got my father for Hanukkah to tell you what an [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] you are.

And all that dieting and exercising I’ve been doing this year? To hell with that! You can’t undo a year’s worth of effort in one week, so I’m eating whatever I want this week.

A whole pizza? Sure! Eighty-seven cookies? Why not! As long as my jeans still fit on Friday when the world ends, it’s all good.

Time to max out those credit cards too. There’s no way you’ll have to pay that debt off, so buy whatever you want. It’s your America folks!

What’s the only thing more fun than spending money you don’t have? That’s right! It’s looting! Go crazy! Take what you want! Why yes, I WOULD like to help myself to a Maserati! Thank you for asking. Oh, it was yours? That’s a shame, it’s mine now. And the beauty of this plan is that when EVERYONE starts looting, the cops will be too busy to do much about it. So yeah, a few unlucky souls might get caught and spend their last week locked up, but in this case, the odds are ever in your favor.

Then it’s time to mess with peoples’ heads. Because really, that’s my primary joy in life anyway as a teacher. All you really need to do it this time is a good pair of wire cutters. Grab those suckers and start cutting any wires you see. Power? Gone. Cable and internet? Gone. Phones? No one uses a landline anyway, that won’t really do anything. But if you can knock down a cell tower, you’ll terrify EVERYONE. And without the ability to check Twitter to see what’s happening, everyone will descend into mass panic and you can laugh at them for the last few minutes before the world actually ends.

Goodbye world, it’s been fun.

Unless of course, the Mayans were somehow wrong, and you follow this advice, in which case my lawyer would like me to publicly state that I am not responsible for anything that happens to you as a result of your own actions.

Happy looting!

Dirty mouth? Sorry, Orbit lady, but gum isn’t strong enough to clean up MY language…

You’d never know it to look at me, but I have a ridiculously dirty mouth.

Did you hear that?

It was the sound of everyone who knows me collectively saying, “Duh!”

I know, I know, it’s bad.  In fact, I realized I might have a problem when I started watching Dexter and instead of being shocked by how filthy Deb’s mouth is, I thought, “Hey!  She talks like me!”

While I take full responsibility for the profanity that I use on a daily basis now, I started extremely young and THAT was my father’s fault. When I was two, I was playing a game and, when I lost, I let out a massive string of profane language.

My mother immediately turned on my father because she knew EXACTLY where I had learned the particular phrase that I used: it was his favorite expression to shout in traffic. And as an impressionable two year old, I thought that was what you were SUPPOSED to say when you were upset.

For a while, at my mother’s urging I’m sure, my dad switched to Yiddish curses when he was upset in traffic so that my brother and I wouldn’t know what he was saying. But that didn’t work either, because when he wouldn’t tell us what words meant, we would turn to his mother, Grandma Selma. Dad always described Grandma Selma as speaking three languages (English, Yiddish, and Romanian), but none of them well. We would ask her what the word meant and she would immediately yell at us for saying whatever the particular word was, then ask where we had heard it. Then she would tell us what it meant.

To this day, ninety-five percent of the Yiddish that I know is the profanity. So if you need to know how to tell an old Jew to go defecate in the ocean or to stick their head someplace where it doesn’t belong, I’m your girl.

My parents never got on the same page about whether profanity was okay in the house. And I don’t think they ever discussed it with each other either. When my brother and I were kids, our dad told us that he didn’t care what kind of language we used, as long as we understood that some people wouldn’t approve of what we said. His example? Don’t tell the principal to go do something that isn’t anatomically possible to himself. (Although when dad gives an example, he skips the euphemisms.)

I love you, dad. Really. You’re awesome.

My mom, on the other hand, pretends to be shocked when I say anything vulgar, especially in public, but to a lesser degree when it’s just the two of us. For example when I referred to someone I don’t like as a feminine hygiene product in front of her one day, she lectured me for about twenty minutes on using appropriate language. Yet two days later, she called the same person the very same feminine hygiene product. I called her out on this hypocrisy and she said that the difference was that I said it in public and she said it over the phone to me.  I’m firmly of the belief that there is no one on the planet who hasn’t heard any of the words that I use, but that excuse doesn’t get me anywhere with my mother.

As I’ve gotten older though, my dad has encouraged my cursing more and more, which I find hilarious. I was on the phone with him while driving on 495 one day, when someone cut me off. I let out a resulting string of profanity that would have changed an R-rating to NC-17, telling the driver in great detail what he could go to do himself AND his mother. My mom would have yelled at me. My dad, however, cheered me on. He proudly yelled, “That’s my girl! Give him the finger! Give him the finger!”

Again, dad, I totally love you.

What I don’t understand though is why profanity is such a big deal to some people. Especially because the people who argue against it the most are usually the ones who like to repeat the cliché about sticks and stones breaking bones, but words not having the power to hurt (which is SUCH crap and everyone with half a brain knows it–words can leave far more long-lasting damage than sticks or stones).

Words, in and of themselves, aren’t dirty. I mean, honestly, no one is going to argue that the word “poop” is an inappropriate term for defecation, yet substitute a different four-letter word that means the same thing, and people will go nuts. But I hate to break it to you, a LOT more adults would buy the book Everyone Poops if you changed the word choice. I’m just saying.

At school, I run into problems because, as a teacher, I DEFINITELY cannot curse in class. I would wind up in my principal’s office immediately if I did, and I already get in so much trouble over running the school newspaper that the sofa in his office has a permanent imprint of my butt.

So I HAVE to keep my language under control at school.

In general, I do a really good job of this.  I’ve had a few accidental slipups over the years, which tend to make the kids laugh hysterically. But because I just correct them when THEY slip up, (with gems like, “I must have heard you wrong, you said, ‘shoot,’ right?”) instead of turning it into a battle, they usually don’t go running home and say, “Mommy, mommy, guess what Miss Goodman said in class today!” (Thank God I teach high school!)

The biggest problem that I’ve found though has come with my car. With my old car, if I screamed obscenities at someone in traffic, unless they could read lips, what happened in the car stayed in the car. Now that I drive a convertible, when I tell someone to go do something that isn’t anatomically possible to themselves (special thanks to my high school journalism teacher for that particular clean way to express that sentiment), they can hear me.

Which is something I REALLY need to remember when I’m running late on my way to school in the morning and someone causes me to miss a light.

But I suppose I should be grateful that I don’t live in ancient times.  I clearly would have suffered the fate of the men who said “Jehovah” in Life of Brian.