"INSPIRATION"

Disclaimer: I began this post over two weeks ago, when things like bed bugs and Barack Obama were still relevant topics.

Is it me, or is life bleaker than ever?

I mean, I just can't understand how we are still expected to wake up every morning and say, "Gee, I sure am proud to be/wish I were an American" when the president of the United States is funneling all of our country's educational stimulus money into the smut industry.

How we are still expected to reconcile the opportunity cost of marriage when Tiger Woods' ex-womanthing is only getting away with $100 million.

How we are still expected to find joy in sex when we know that the beds we, ourselves, are fucking in are being shared with tiny, little creatures who are getting fucked - and to climax, as the ever-growing population would indicate - at 54,832,984,527,089,703,419,837,981 times the rate.

I find all these things increasingly difficult, and then...

There's that wrought iron wall hanging of mine, reminding me to "Dream" even when the president seems a little gay and I've got bugs squirming through my panties.

There's that inspiring message printed on my 100-calorie snack pack, reminding me to "light a scented candle and relax" when I'm not too busy reading other inspiring messages on bottle caps, or thinking about how fat I am.

There's that "Eat, Pray, Love" movie/dynasty, reminding me that all I need to do to start my quest for self-discovery is turn on the Home Shopping Network and order an embroidered tapestry/power bead bracelet/dream journal/spice blend collection/silk tunic/floor pillow/wooden elephant figurine. ( I own them all!)

And so I say.

Life really is beautiful, and if it takes a little reminding here and there - "NO TURN ON RED (Relax, you are a woman! Smell the flowers!)" - so be it.

"LOOPHOLE"

A 7-year-old girl selling lemonade at an Oregon craft fair was recently forced to close shop after failing to show a county inspector her restaurant license.

The inspector threatened the crying girl and her mother with a $500 fine, insisting that their business violated several health codes and that he wanted to "secure [his] position as the least fuckable man on the planet."

Well put, and well played.

EXCEPT.

In walked the chairman of Somewhere, OR, who was all like,

"Poisoning the masses through lemonade stands is a classic, iconic American kid thing to do, and I don't want to be in the business of shutting that down."

So, the health inspector had to lift the embargo, and now children are once again allowed to sell things without risking exorbitant fines and/or lifetime imprisonment.

Uh... Am I the only one who sees this as problematic!? A loophole, if you will?

Because here's the thing.

When I was around 7 years old, my best friend A____ and I went around her neighborhood selling all sorts of miscellanea. You know, shit we found around her house - packets of fruit snacks, a single Puppy Surprise puppy (that I actually pocketed for myself as soon as I ripped it out of its mommy's Velcro uterus), and all of her siblings' belongings - that we deemed to have great value.

And you know what? People bought it. ALL of it.

Maybe it was because we were rich kids selling to a neighborhood of rich McMansioners who didn't know any better ... or maybe [and probably] it was because A____ had really thick glasses and braces at a young age, and people probably thought she was a 'lil slow.'

But whatever the case, we made bank ... and for all the wrong reasons.

Children CAN'T be the answer to a failing formal economy. Just because they're CUTE, doesn't mean they should get paid for spiking your lemonade with iodine and Justin Beiber's pube trimmings.

And so where do we draw the line? If children can sell us all tainted lemonade just because they're cute, then why shouldn't they go ahead and maximize their profits with handguns, illegal drugs, and slaves!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Cuz at the end of the day, I'm not sure I could resist a bump of coke if it came from the hands of a young, innocent entrepreneur. And I'm not sure you could, either.