Ruth, Ruby and some hipsters

Hello all. So, as I sit down to write this, it is the morning after we learned about the passing of the incredible Ruth Bader Ginsburg. My heart is still racing, and I am worried as hell about what is to come. But can we, just for a moment, smile for the life she led.

She made a difference in all of our lives. She was a true American hero. She deserves statues; she deserves to be on our currency. Hell, let the phrase “You’ve been Ginsburged” be a thing, and let it be said every time someone opens up a can of whoop-ass and serves up some justice.

RBG’s lifelong fight for equality for all should be a template we should all follow. She was a beacon of light, and, even though she has passed, I hope we all feel her goodness in the universe.
Honor her life by voting, please. If you are not registered to vote, please hurry and get it done. You only have until Oct. 5. Ask your friends if they are registered to vote, and if they aren’t, fucking walk them through the process. Please.

In other shitty news, Miss Greg Abbott said basically that all businesses can be open up to 75 percent of capacity — unless that business is a bar. I get it; people drink and don’t care as much about social distancing and masks. But how is doing shots at a restaurant any different?

It doesn’t seem fair — like bars are the only reason for the spike in cases of COVID.

I live in constant fear of catching the Rona, but people that work in bars just want to go back to work. Give us the opportunity to follow the same rules as everyone else. JR.’s was doing a great job of following the rules before we were shut down — again.

Letting the rest of the state open up but singling out bars feels like a slap in the face. Having a food truck outside does not prevent anyone from getting corona.

Sorry y’all; I am just frustrated … and fat.

No joke y’all. Quarantine has turned me into a master chef. Why, God? Why am I such a good cook?! I know when I finally get back on the stage, instead of my usual hourglass figure, I’m gonna be shaped like a walrus — just an amorphous blob, inch-wormin’ my fat across the stage. I will have to roll onto my side and flap my flipper-fat arm to wave to the audience as I tell everyone in my best Lisa Simpson voice, “I wash myself with a rag on a stick.”

But the first one of you that calls me fat … Fuck a social distance! Ima sit on you!

In Ruby news — for those that don’t know, I have a 130-pound tortoise named Ruby, and I think she has decided to murder me. I am not joking, that bitch will walk up behind me and try to trip me. I don’t mean she just walks up, and I stumble over her, I mean she comes up behind me, rears back and launches herself into the back of my legs.

She is evil.

Luckily the weather is getting cooler. The only times she gets like that are days it is near 100 degrees. It’s like the heat gives her superpowers, and she is a supervillain. I kinda understand it; I get evil too on those hot-ass days. Yesterday she walked up to me and let me pet her on the head and tickle her neck, so it seems with the cooler weather the more chill she is.

For those of you thinking how cool it is having a big-ass tortoise, it is. But before you run out and get one, you should know there is a chance they can be possessed by an evil demon. They absolutely will destroy anything they hate. Ruby hates our gnomes and will knock down every single one she can.

And you will have to fortify your yard with strong fences or lots of long spikes driven far into the ground to keep them out of areas. They will eat most of your plants, and, of course, they might try to kill you.

Don’t get me wrong; I love my Ruby. I love to just watch her mosey around the yard eating grass. I love that she is nosey; if there is anything going on in the back yard, she has to check it out and be right in the middle of whatever is happening. I love that every time I walk out the back door, she leaves her hidey-hole to come greet me.

I love that she eats like Pac-Man, and I make the sounds in my head as she crunches through her veggies. I love that I have watched her grow from the size of a silver dollar to the behemoth that she is now.

I read somewhere a while back that hipsters get weird pets to seem interesting, and it got me thinking, am I a hipster? No, I am not. I like things or trends because I actually like them, not ironically.

I will drink a craft beer or cider, but I hate most IPAs. Most of them taste like some random fruit got fucked by a tire fire: “Oooh, this tastes like grapefruit and hops, then tire fire!” “This one has hints of passion fruit, then tire fire.” “Try this one; it tastes like unborn sea monkeys with hints of plum, then a tire fire.”

I can’t grow a beard and don’t have much plaid. I don’t have any tattoos yet. I like indie artists, but I like mainstream ones, too. I do try to take reusable bags with me to the grocery store, but I don’t look down on those that don’t. I have ugly socks, but I love them. Actually, I have lots of ugly things and not ironically.

Nope, I am not a hipster. But I am an asshole on occasion. Does that count?

Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova

Cassie Nova’s FreakShow airs every Monday at 8 p.m. on