I've had additional thoughts - and I'm too lazy to start from scratch so here's a reminder from last year. Feel free to print this blog entry. You or someone close to you needs it.
This time of year there are tons of articles about “etiquette” or being on your best behavior at an office party. And yet, which of us hasn’t woken up the morning after the night before wearing mistletoe for undies, a lampshade nightcap, and a very real sense of dread?
I'm really not judging you...yet. I have no intention of joining the legions of other writers who will remind you not to over-indulge in front of your boss, to definitely hire a taxi, nor will I whip out the tried-and-true adage, “minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” Though all of this is true, I’m going to assume you don’t need a reminder and head to a more practical, more realistic place.
RSVP
It should go without saying that when an invitation is extended, you will, within a reasonable time, respond to your host. Bear in mind that this isn’t a meeting invitation at work; you can’t just RSVP “Accept” then not show up; nor can you “Decline” then magically appear on someone’s doorstep. Though you should always RSVP and stick to it regardless of the time of year, at holiday time, this is particularly important. Most of these occasions are more formal. Your host/ess is doing a head count for food, booze, and maybe even place settings.
Don’t be a jackass. Your singular attendance, or lack thereof, is not going to make or break the party, so don’t act like issuing your RSVP is anything more than it actually is: a yes or a no.
Attire
Who doesn’t love an opportunity to get spiffed up a bit? Yeah… let’s talk about what that means.
It’s simple for men.
If the invitation says "cocktail" anywhere on it, wear a suit. Otherwise, you may assume this is a casual gathering and trousers and a button down will do.
No t-shirts, no sneakers, nothing with a hole no matter how “fashionable.”
Ladies, it’s almost easier for you.
Keep your tits, ass, and who-ha tucked out of view. Done! The holidays are not an opportunity to advertise your “assets” and lack of good breeding. It’s 100% possible to look sexy without dipping a nipple in the gravy boat as it passes.
You’ve heard of it: The Hostess Gift
And it's not a snack cake.
Whether it’s the holidays, or a mid-summer barbeque, it is never, ever acceptable to show up at a party empty-handed.
Never.
Ever.
Are we clear?
Do not call, text, or email your hostess with “What can I bring?” She is only going to say, “Nothing at all!" True as this may be, only half of you were actually considering bringing anything anyway; the other half were trying to appear gracious but secretly hoping to hear you’re off the hook. *glares knowingly*
Wine, beer, spirits:
All good unless your host is a Southern Baptist.
Do make an effort to ensure it’s something your host enjoys, and that you’re not treating the gathering as a BYOB unless the invitation specifically stated it as such. It’s incredibly rude to show up with a bottle of your favorite scotch as “gift,” then proceed to drink it yourself. FYI: Pinot Grigio. Just so you know…
Food: Unless it's a pot-luck, or your hostess specifically asked if you wouldn't mind bringing your special dish, just don't do it.
Liquor consumption: the root of your humiliation.
We all know I enjoy my wine and vodka as much as the next gal, and I’m always happy for a reason to gather with my friends and a few bottles. But People, you have got to learn to manage your consumption like a grown-up.
In addition to my day job and this blog, I’m also a bartender. It’s all false eyelashes, big hair, and fishnet stockings so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you, you are not funnier, more attractive or even slightly more interesting when you’re slurring your words or channeling your celebrity crush. You're even less attractive when performing a bump and grind cha-cha, or an impromptu table dance.
In a time of instant technology, consider how many hours you want to unknowingly be tagged in a photo – drunken and showing your bits – for the whole world including your employer and your father, to see. Where is your dignity? Where is your self-respect?
Gentlemen: a note to you on drunk and disorderly.
No. Just… no.
This is a time of joy and glad tidings! Every girl’s dating history includes some drunken, overly “amorous” or belligerent man with a singular focus on fondle or fight. Guys, dinner is not a claim stake. Your open bar office party is not unspoken permission to feel up your girl in public. Mind your manners this holiday season. You want to attract a girl? Try channeling Clark Gable or Sean Connery; not Yosemite Sam or Charlie Sheen.
Open Bar
And while we're on the subject of liquor, let's do talk about the open bar. Whether you've paid a set rate for an open bar package, you're a guest at a wedding, or attending a soiree in someone's home, IF THERE IS A BARTENDER, YOU WILL TIP!!! NO. MATTER. WHAT.
Got it???
You want another drink? Best of luck if you just turned your back after ordering four cocktails. Bartenders remember your face based on the face of the bills you handed over. Did you think I was a bitch because I didn't hop to it when you reappeared? Too bad. You're cheap, so I don't like you.
I suppose that covers it. In a nutshell, look pretty and don’t act like an ass. Try on a shade of elegance. Like lipstick and scotch, there really is one for everybody.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The Annual Black Friday Post
I don’t care what time of year it is, when I’m paying $7.50 for a cup of coffee, I want what I want, and I want it however I ask for it. Do not raise your eyebrows at me little Miss Barista, when I politely tell you that I would like a venti, non-fat, no foam, almond, gingerbread latte, with two extra shots. This is America and I’m perversely self-entitled. It’s my prerogative. Much like my un-American boycott of Black Friday.
Clarification: Said boycott actually has less to do with the long reaching, economic predictor holiday arm than it does with an early life discovery that the bars are open and the bartenders are bored. Holiday spending and gift-giving probably does induce pre- and post-seasonal depression. I say it’s kinder to keep that to yourself. It’s a different kind of holiday giving.
I think the whole Black Friday tradition of beating the hell out of people for 24 to 72 hours in an effort to procure bargains completely defies logic. What sane individual willingly leaves their home in a state of post-Thanksgiving lethargy, to get into a moving vehicle, negotiate traffic, circle endlessly in search of up front parking (because we don’t want to burn off any excess calories by parking any distance from the destination), elbow other mannerless shoppers out of the way, and wait on endless lines all for the possibility of saving a few dollars, only to return home exhausted and further financially burdened?
NEWSFLASH PEOPLE: These same deals are available online and I haven’t paid for shipping in years. There’s a code for that…
I learned a long time ago that the whole of holiday shopping is something best done in the seclusion of my home office with a strong toddy. It’s been and will remain a perfect arrangement and my own personal holiday tradition.
If it’s the “spirit of the season” that forces you out of the house, I have an idea. Remember that bartender? Take your fancy phone with its fancy applications and park yourself on a stool in front of him… or her. Now you not only have the comfort of a chair and a cocktail, you also have a shopping mate. Believe me when I say, some of my best and most unusual gift ideas have come from bartenders. Not only do they know stuff, they know people. They’re a wealth of information, from who hates what newest electronic gadget and why; to all the reasons you might reconsider purchasing that diamond solitaire based on last weekend’s shenanigans.
Disclaimer: If you have reason to believe that I know you were planning that diamond purchase and are now wondering what I know that you don’t – it's purely coincidental. I don’t know anything about anyone. Move along, People. There’s no show here.
OK. That’s all I have on this. Drink and shop responsibly.
Clarification: Said boycott actually has less to do with the long reaching, economic predictor holiday arm than it does with an early life discovery that the bars are open and the bartenders are bored. Holiday spending and gift-giving probably does induce pre- and post-seasonal depression. I say it’s kinder to keep that to yourself. It’s a different kind of holiday giving.
I think the whole Black Friday tradition of beating the hell out of people for 24 to 72 hours in an effort to procure bargains completely defies logic. What sane individual willingly leaves their home in a state of post-Thanksgiving lethargy, to get into a moving vehicle, negotiate traffic, circle endlessly in search of up front parking (because we don’t want to burn off any excess calories by parking any distance from the destination), elbow other mannerless shoppers out of the way, and wait on endless lines all for the possibility of saving a few dollars, only to return home exhausted and further financially burdened?
NEWSFLASH PEOPLE: These same deals are available online and I haven’t paid for shipping in years. There’s a code for that…
I learned a long time ago that the whole of holiday shopping is something best done in the seclusion of my home office with a strong toddy. It’s been and will remain a perfect arrangement and my own personal holiday tradition.
If it’s the “spirit of the season” that forces you out of the house, I have an idea. Remember that bartender? Take your fancy phone with its fancy applications and park yourself on a stool in front of him… or her. Now you not only have the comfort of a chair and a cocktail, you also have a shopping mate. Believe me when I say, some of my best and most unusual gift ideas have come from bartenders. Not only do they know stuff, they know people. They’re a wealth of information, from who hates what newest electronic gadget and why; to all the reasons you might reconsider purchasing that diamond solitaire based on last weekend’s shenanigans.
Disclaimer: If you have reason to believe that I know you were planning that diamond purchase and are now wondering what I know that you don’t – it's purely coincidental. I don’t know anything about anyone. Move along, People. There’s no show here.
OK. That’s all I have on this. Drink and shop responsibly.
Random Thoughts IV
I haven’t done one of these in awhile so the timing seems right since I can’t think of anything else.
Here’s how it works… I sit here and stare at the blinking cursor for a bit.
I panic.
I pace.
I refill my coffee.
I change my shoes.
I change the music.
I repeat.
Eventually, a club soda bubble pops, the vodka escapes, and I’m off on a tangent of completely unrelated thoughts.
So. Let the cursor staring commence…
*cue elevator music*
Regarding My Day Job
I have to swipe my security badge five times to get to my desk. Five. Is that really necessary? We’re not curing cancer up in this piece.
That’s all I have on that…
Regarding My Night Job
*blink*
*reconsiders original thought*
And that’s all I have on that!
On Hot, Yet Stupid Men
So pretty… but really, what’s the point? While I’m on about that, shall we pause for a moment over “men” trying to be “boys?” It’s embarrassing.
Where AM I?
I was taking a fill-up at what is arguably the slowest gas pump in the Universe in what is without question one of the worst neighborhoods ever, when I looked up and saw a road sign across the street. Baltimore Left Lane; Philadelphia Right Lane. It struck me then; I really am in the middle of nowhere. Please send lipstick.
Here’s your dictionary…
Facebook is killing me.
You are judged by how you speak and how you write. I didn’t make this rule up. That’s just how it is. So if you feel compelled to be snarky, at least have the wherewithal to be grammatically correct about it. Then, and only then, is it funny and not just embarrassing for you. Along that same line, if you’re going to use foreign language words or colloquialisms, how about you Google what they mean first. That way when you respond to a comment – purely for example – using the word touché, you don’t confirm stupidity by using it so incredibly wrong, wrong, wrong. On the upside, the rest of us do appreciate the laugh, so there’s that.
Holidays and Exercise
Yes we should. No, we don’t. Please stop telling everyone you are when you so obviously are not.
Annual Evaluations
I’m hard at “work” on this ridiculous annual self-evaluation that campaigns as a “significant part of the determination regarding your bonus,” but in truth, is just pages and pages of bullshit someone wants to put in our “permanent file” since bonuses were determined months ago. Knowing this, and at the prompting of a manger-who-is-not-mine, my first attempt consisted of writing “I AM AWESOME” in every field. It was rejected. Clearly my manager didn’t see how well-rounded that submission was. So now I’m forced to shamelessly spell it out. *eyeroll* Self-promotion is not my thing… clearly.
Apparently there’s some weird expectation that am willing to use my powers for good today, so that’s all the randomness, kids. Hope you enjoyed the show. Go ride the rides.
Here’s how it works… I sit here and stare at the blinking cursor for a bit.
I panic.
I pace.
I refill my coffee.
I change my shoes.
I change the music.
I repeat.
Eventually, a club soda bubble pops, the vodka escapes, and I’m off on a tangent of completely unrelated thoughts.
So. Let the cursor staring commence…
*cue elevator music*
Regarding My Day Job
I have to swipe my security badge five times to get to my desk. Five. Is that really necessary? We’re not curing cancer up in this piece.
That’s all I have on that…
Regarding My Night Job
*blink*
*reconsiders original thought*
And that’s all I have on that!
On Hot, Yet Stupid Men
So pretty… but really, what’s the point? While I’m on about that, shall we pause for a moment over “men” trying to be “boys?” It’s embarrassing.
Where AM I?
I was taking a fill-up at what is arguably the slowest gas pump in the Universe in what is without question one of the worst neighborhoods ever, when I looked up and saw a road sign across the street. Baltimore Left Lane; Philadelphia Right Lane. It struck me then; I really am in the middle of nowhere. Please send lipstick.
Here’s your dictionary…
Facebook is killing me.
You are judged by how you speak and how you write. I didn’t make this rule up. That’s just how it is. So if you feel compelled to be snarky, at least have the wherewithal to be grammatically correct about it. Then, and only then, is it funny and not just embarrassing for you. Along that same line, if you’re going to use foreign language words or colloquialisms, how about you Google what they mean first. That way when you respond to a comment – purely for example – using the word touché, you don’t confirm stupidity by using it so incredibly wrong, wrong, wrong. On the upside, the rest of us do appreciate the laugh, so there’s that.
Holidays and Exercise
Yes we should. No, we don’t. Please stop telling everyone you are when you so obviously are not.
Annual Evaluations
I’m hard at “work” on this ridiculous annual self-evaluation that campaigns as a “significant part of the determination regarding your bonus,” but in truth, is just pages and pages of bullshit someone wants to put in our “permanent file” since bonuses were determined months ago. Knowing this, and at the prompting of a manger-who-is-not-mine, my first attempt consisted of writing “I AM AWESOME” in every field. It was rejected. Clearly my manager didn’t see how well-rounded that submission was. So now I’m forced to shamelessly spell it out. *eyeroll* Self-promotion is not my thing… clearly.
Apparently there’s some weird expectation that am willing to use my powers for good today, so that’s all the randomness, kids. Hope you enjoyed the show. Go ride the rides.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
All Saint's Eve
I only just realized that the entire month went by without a word from me.
I'd like to say it was because I'm knee deep in the book... and I suppose I could since that doesn't necessarily mean I'm working on it. But that's not the reason. I actually have no reason other than I've been boring myself senseless and I see no point in sharing the misery.
A couple of random thoughts...
I spent three hours yesterday cleaning my office after which I looked around and could see no appreciable difference. So I stopped and chalked it up to another misguided, childish endeavor.
I drank a large bottle of rosé wine on Sunday. Yes. I'm ashamed. Not because I enjoyed the whole thing. There's no shame in that. But because in my heart-of-hearts I know that the people who drink rosés, are the same people who drink zinfandels. But the bottle was beautiful.
Just because they make skinny jeans in your size, does not mean you will look presentable in them. Even I don't wear them, and I'm a small girl. Let's all give Old Navy a big round of applause for ensuring that those who shouldn't, do.
Is it just me, or does it seem like there are a lot of young women in their 20s getting pregnant without the benefit of a husband? This isn't new, and I'm not judging - not even a little bit. It's just an observation. The number has clearly grown over the past couple of years. I 'd be interested in the "why" of this. It's obvious that the rise in teenage pregnancy is directly influenced by the romanticism imparted by television. But what's up with these beginning-of-your-professional-career pregnancies? Maybe I'll go check some stats on this...
I think the point right-to-lifers are missing is that a woman's Right to Choose extends well beyond termination. What's next? Will we all be forced to wear our hair in a bob because it's too dangerous to perform our household duties otherwise? After all, we could be killed by the garbage disposal, so in passing that piece of legislation, they'd be saving a life! I wish the men on that side would think a bit harder about what they're supporting. It's not unreasonable to think some obviously right-winged Catholic group could declare that masturbation is abortion. That a million possible children were just expelled into a Kleenex tissue? I know, I know... there's no fetus and blah, blah, blah. It's the point, People! How about DUIs? Do we take away the liquor (again!) or do we take away the vehicles? See where we're headed...?
*pops off soapbox*
And lastly... a pre-holiday season reminder.
Ann Landers agrees it is incredibly déclassé to send out a family "Year in Review" letter with your holiday cards. It's self-congratulatory and ego-driven. So what if little Suzie had a solo in her oboe recital, Timmy got a blue ribbon at the science fair, or Mommy ran her first half-marathon and clinched her age group. I don't care. Really. I don't. Oh, you need to share stories around your charitable works, and expound on your volunteerism? Hey, I think it's great that you have all of that free time. But let's keep it in perspective. At the end of the day, you write these letters so other people will admire you. That's embarrassing...
I'd like to say it was because I'm knee deep in the book... and I suppose I could since that doesn't necessarily mean I'm working on it. But that's not the reason. I actually have no reason other than I've been boring myself senseless and I see no point in sharing the misery.
A couple of random thoughts...
I spent three hours yesterday cleaning my office after which I looked around and could see no appreciable difference. So I stopped and chalked it up to another misguided, childish endeavor.
I drank a large bottle of rosé wine on Sunday. Yes. I'm ashamed. Not because I enjoyed the whole thing. There's no shame in that. But because in my heart-of-hearts I know that the people who drink rosés, are the same people who drink zinfandels. But the bottle was beautiful.
Just because they make skinny jeans in your size, does not mean you will look presentable in them. Even I don't wear them, and I'm a small girl. Let's all give Old Navy a big round of applause for ensuring that those who shouldn't, do.
Is it just me, or does it seem like there are a lot of young women in their 20s getting pregnant without the benefit of a husband? This isn't new, and I'm not judging - not even a little bit. It's just an observation. The number has clearly grown over the past couple of years. I 'd be interested in the "why" of this. It's obvious that the rise in teenage pregnancy is directly influenced by the romanticism imparted by television. But what's up with these beginning-of-your-professional-career pregnancies? Maybe I'll go check some stats on this...
I think the point right-to-lifers are missing is that a woman's Right to Choose extends well beyond termination. What's next? Will we all be forced to wear our hair in a bob because it's too dangerous to perform our household duties otherwise? After all, we could be killed by the garbage disposal, so in passing that piece of legislation, they'd be saving a life! I wish the men on that side would think a bit harder about what they're supporting. It's not unreasonable to think some obviously right-winged Catholic group could declare that masturbation is abortion. That a million possible children were just expelled into a Kleenex tissue? I know, I know... there's no fetus and blah, blah, blah. It's the point, People! How about DUIs? Do we take away the liquor (again!) or do we take away the vehicles? See where we're headed...?
*pops off soapbox*
And lastly... a pre-holiday season reminder.
Ann Landers agrees it is incredibly déclassé to send out a family "Year in Review" letter with your holiday cards. It's self-congratulatory and ego-driven. So what if little Suzie had a solo in her oboe recital, Timmy got a blue ribbon at the science fair, or Mommy ran her first half-marathon and clinched her age group. I don't care. Really. I don't. Oh, you need to share stories around your charitable works, and expound on your volunteerism? Hey, I think it's great that you have all of that free time. But let's keep it in perspective. At the end of the day, you write these letters so other people will admire you. That's embarrassing...
Friday, September 28, 2012
That Bitch Called Karma
She's late.
According to my time estimate - she's very late. And we all know how I feel about tardiness.
*glare*
There are few things in the world more aggravating than taking the high road thinking, "it'll pay off this time," only to discover that "time" may force you back down to the road more frequently travelled by those whose company is no longer worthy of your time.
We've all done it; checked our moral compass and grabbed control of our inner-child, but still gotten pissed when the offensive he/she/it didn't get his/her/its comeuppance as quickly as we felt reasonable. I recently found myself laying in the bed thinking about this. Would it be worth it to bring the ridiculous jealousy and pettiness of others back into my life, solely to satisfy my need to be publicly acknowledged for being right - thus wrecking my serene new life surrounded by truth, love, laughter, and wine without the whine?
*cue soft lighting and piano instrumental*
Yeah. No sooner did I decide, then undecide, then redecide my next imaginary course of action, I found myself in an "other-person-instigated" conversation whereby I learned a very important lesson about Karma.
She's here.
She just happens to move a bit like a snake on the stalk. Slowly, methodically, quietly, imperceptibly. How excited am I to settle in with my Orville Reddenbacher's Ultimate Butter popcorn and watch the house of cards collapse!?! That was rhetorical, people...
Think what you may about how brattish and immature it is. Just keep your mitts out of my bowl.
According to my time estimate - she's very late. And we all know how I feel about tardiness.
*glare*
There are few things in the world more aggravating than taking the high road thinking, "it'll pay off this time," only to discover that "time" may force you back down to the road more frequently travelled by those whose company is no longer worthy of your time.
We've all done it; checked our moral compass and grabbed control of our inner-child, but still gotten pissed when the offensive he/she/it didn't get his/her/its comeuppance as quickly as we felt reasonable. I recently found myself laying in the bed thinking about this. Would it be worth it to bring the ridiculous jealousy and pettiness of others back into my life, solely to satisfy my need to be publicly acknowledged for being right - thus wrecking my serene new life surrounded by truth, love, laughter, and wine without the whine?
*cue soft lighting and piano instrumental*
Yeah. No sooner did I decide, then undecide, then redecide my next imaginary course of action, I found myself in an "other-person-instigated" conversation whereby I learned a very important lesson about Karma.
She's here.
She just happens to move a bit like a snake on the stalk. Slowly, methodically, quietly, imperceptibly. How excited am I to settle in with my Orville Reddenbacher's Ultimate Butter popcorn and watch the house of cards collapse!?! That was rhetorical, people...
Think what you may about how brattish and immature it is. Just keep your mitts out of my bowl.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Wednesday... Yep. That's the Title.
A couple of things occurred to me on my drive into work this morning.
First, I did not comb my crazy hair. This is only of interest (though to whom, I've no idea) because I feel like it's becoming a weird work day habit. Clearly, the only thing to do was to root around in my glove box while waiting for an errant school bus to pick-up one screaming child, then shove the rat's nest into what I believe to be a very fashionable "messy pony." I suppose a woman of a certain age should probably start giving more thought to how she looks when spending nine hours surrounded by technology geeks just proud to make it in wearing matching shoes... *snicker* It's problematic.
Profile: not my best angle.
I give passive-aggressive people the silent treatment... because it never stops being funny!
*chortle*
*snort*
*spins in twirly chair*
Coffee should not have the same color density - or lack thereof - as tea. Good gawd, people! It's undrinkable and frankly, I don't know why you even bother. Save the prep time and go comb your hair.
"I cannot hear what you're saying, when who you are is screaming so loudly in my ear." I read that this morning and started to place it in a pointedly prominent online space. Then I didn't because the person who needs to hear it cannot possibly register anything except his own voice. And no, that snarky remark was not aimed at Mr. Man, for a change!
Lastly, I do entirely too many things I don't want to do because other people ask me to. I've never mastered the art of No Without Guilt. I suspect this is because my sibling's mother had no trouble whatsoever saying no. Might should consider maybe talking to my shrink about that... *shrug* Perhaps once he stops getting so rattled every time I say "fuck."
First, I did not comb my crazy hair. This is only of interest (though to whom, I've no idea) because I feel like it's becoming a weird work day habit. Clearly, the only thing to do was to root around in my glove box while waiting for an errant school bus to pick-up one screaming child, then shove the rat's nest into what I believe to be a very fashionable "messy pony." I suppose a woman of a certain age should probably start giving more thought to how she looks when spending nine hours surrounded by technology geeks just proud to make it in wearing matching shoes... *snicker* It's problematic.
Profile: not my best angle.
I give passive-aggressive people the silent treatment... because it never stops being funny!
*chortle*
*snort*
*spins in twirly chair*
Coffee should not have the same color density - or lack thereof - as tea. Good gawd, people! It's undrinkable and frankly, I don't know why you even bother. Save the prep time and go comb your hair.
"I cannot hear what you're saying, when who you are is screaming so loudly in my ear." I read that this morning and started to place it in a pointedly prominent online space. Then I didn't because the person who needs to hear it cannot possibly register anything except his own voice. And no, that snarky remark was not aimed at Mr. Man, for a change!
Lastly, I do entirely too many things I don't want to do because other people ask me to. I've never mastered the art of No Without Guilt. I suspect this is because my sibling's mother had no trouble whatsoever saying no. Might should consider maybe talking to my shrink about that... *shrug* Perhaps once he stops getting so rattled every time I say "fuck."
Monday, August 27, 2012
The One About School Starting
School started today. I know this because some jackass father in his Toyota Tundra literally tried to run me into oncoming traffic so he could “beat me” to the entrance of one of the many private schools I pass every day.
Asshole.
So I laid on the horn for about 300 yards, flipped him off as I passed, and hollered “see you tomorrow !”
I hate the “in school” year. For the next month every parent who is too afraid to allow their child to stand at the end of their own driveway – because there’s no such thing as a school bus stop anymore (shocking that kids are so fat) – will have forgotten what time they left the house five days a week for ten months during the last term, and make those of us with the sense not to have kids utterly miserable.
My summer drive is delightful, and clearly I’m bitter and resentful of its loss.
So, Dear Parents~
I’m so very sorry that your snotty-nosed, self-entitled, coddled brats are creating such havoc in your morning schedule that you’re forced to take your frustration out on everyone else on the road and will one day find yourself in a situation far worse than discovering that you’ve set your child up for failure by bestowing on him/her/it the idea that everyone deserves a ribbon, or trophy, or certificate and when they fail – and they will fail brilliantly – that YOU did this so you might as well settle in to the idea that you’re nothing more than a chauffeur and a wallet.
*takes breath*
Sincerely,
Peace.
Asshole.
So I laid on the horn for about 300 yards, flipped him off as I passed, and hollered “see you tomorrow !”
I hate the “in school” year. For the next month every parent who is too afraid to allow their child to stand at the end of their own driveway – because there’s no such thing as a school bus stop anymore (shocking that kids are so fat) – will have forgotten what time they left the house five days a week for ten months during the last term, and make those of us with the sense not to have kids utterly miserable.
My summer drive is delightful, and clearly I’m bitter and resentful of its loss.
So, Dear Parents~
I’m so very sorry that your snotty-nosed, self-entitled, coddled brats are creating such havoc in your morning schedule that you’re forced to take your frustration out on everyone else on the road and will one day find yourself in a situation far worse than discovering that you’ve set your child up for failure by bestowing on him/her/it the idea that everyone deserves a ribbon, or trophy, or certificate and when they fail – and they will fail brilliantly – that YOU did this so you might as well settle in to the idea that you’re nothing more than a chauffeur and a wallet.
*takes breath*
Sincerely,
Peace.
Friday, August 10, 2012
I Yam...
I’ve spent quite a lot of time lately thinking about “stuff.” My father would have said “contemplating my navel” because there’s almost as much use in it. But still, I’m thinking… and thinking… and thinking…
Here’s something that keeps resurfacing:
*in best Popeye voice*
“I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam.”
There have been a lot people traipsing through my life over the past several months. Some new, some returning, a couple I borrowed just to see if it could be done… and I’m wondering, where is the common thread? These things don’t just “happen.” Why are they here? What do they want? And am I attracting them or is The Universe sending them to me? And if The Universe is sending them, why? Should I be getting something from them, or are they here to take something away for themselves? I hope it’s the former and not the latter because it’s been a deluge of people, People!
Of all the "traipsters" who meandered through, one in particular made quite the quiet impression. Not for any untoward wink-and-a-smile smarminess, or random stalking. No, it’s because he’s oddly “present” all the time – a feat this ADHD kid has never mastered and finds freakishly unsettling.
This cat is like a character from a movie, so clearly I’m fascinated! And skeptical...
*squints*
He is disarmingly open. Ask him any question – and the more personal it is the more interesting his response, I’ve found. He thinks, then looks at you in a way that makes you know you’re being seen, before delivering a simple, honest, “oh-my-gawd-I-would-never-say-that-out-loud” response. It’s cool. And weird.
Recently, a group of us were out for a drinks session. After what I would consider an appropriate number of cocktails, I made some comment about heading off to “my real life.” With a face quizzically scrunched up and arms spread wide he said, “this, all of this, is your real life.” Okay, I know it sounds stupid but that seriously tossed me so far off balance, I sloshed my martini.
Have I so compartmentalized things to maintain order that I cannot reconcile all of the parts?
Can I see only the shoes boxes, not the closet?
So there I was, driving home… and thinking, thinking, thinking. Is this whirling dervish life what I want? Or is it just what I’ve created and understand? Could I learn to be present? Between you and me, I lie about being present during yoga practice. And frankly, I also lie about it during meditation. It’s really not my fault. Focus is just not my strong suit (what does that even mean? Anyone?).
Do I want to be one of those people who lives in every moment? Because that seems like a lot of work.
Maybe.
In the right company.
With vodka.
And figs…
Here’s something that keeps resurfacing:
*in best Popeye voice*
“I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam.”
There have been a lot people traipsing through my life over the past several months. Some new, some returning, a couple I borrowed just to see if it could be done… and I’m wondering, where is the common thread? These things don’t just “happen.” Why are they here? What do they want? And am I attracting them or is The Universe sending them to me? And if The Universe is sending them, why? Should I be getting something from them, or are they here to take something away for themselves? I hope it’s the former and not the latter because it’s been a deluge of people, People!
Of all the "traipsters" who meandered through, one in particular made quite the quiet impression. Not for any untoward wink-and-a-smile smarminess, or random stalking. No, it’s because he’s oddly “present” all the time – a feat this ADHD kid has never mastered and finds freakishly unsettling.
This cat is like a character from a movie, so clearly I’m fascinated! And skeptical...
*squints*
He is disarmingly open. Ask him any question – and the more personal it is the more interesting his response, I’ve found. He thinks, then looks at you in a way that makes you know you’re being seen, before delivering a simple, honest, “oh-my-gawd-I-would-never-say-that-out-loud” response. It’s cool. And weird.
Recently, a group of us were out for a drinks session. After what I would consider an appropriate number of cocktails, I made some comment about heading off to “my real life.” With a face quizzically scrunched up and arms spread wide he said, “this, all of this, is your real life.” Okay, I know it sounds stupid but that seriously tossed me so far off balance, I sloshed my martini.
Have I so compartmentalized things to maintain order that I cannot reconcile all of the parts?
Can I see only the shoes boxes, not the closet?
So there I was, driving home… and thinking, thinking, thinking. Is this whirling dervish life what I want? Or is it just what I’ve created and understand? Could I learn to be present? Between you and me, I lie about being present during yoga practice. And frankly, I also lie about it during meditation. It’s really not my fault. Focus is just not my strong suit (what does that even mean? Anyone?).
Do I want to be one of those people who lives in every moment? Because that seems like a lot of work.
Maybe.
In the right company.
With vodka.
And figs…
Friday, July 27, 2012
You Can't Always Get What You Want
I was standing barefoot in the grass last night watching this crazy storm blow in – the likes of which I haven’t seen since I left Texas – and I got to thinking about wanting what we don’t have. Yeah, there was a long procession of thoughts that lead me there, starting with the storm, but this is where I landed.
Why are we disappointed when we finally get something we think we really want?
Mr. Man #1 spent all the years I knew him and more looking for a particular out of print book. I can’t believe that I don’t recall the title now since we never passed a used bookstore without popping in to check. It was about Thomas Jefferson…
Maybe we were in Boston, maybe New Orleans, maybe it was NYC or Victoria, B.C. I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is the awe of finding a copy on a dusty bookshelf in some unexpected city. The only thing more unexpected was the half-sad expression on his face as he said, “Guess I need a new book to look for.” It broke my heart. Oh sure, it was his “thing,” but it felt a little bit like I’d been robbed of my joy by the bookstore owner.
This whole book remembrance, and the storm, and maybe the wine – all got me thinking about why we sometimes think we want something until we get it…As I see it, it ends up one of two ways:
We either get it, then no longer want anything to do with it; or we get it and we’re disappointed because, oh who knows why - we just are.
Expectations are at the bottom of all this, I just know it. We anticipate, fantasize, and project. We toy with the idea of what we want; dancing around it and building excitement – because that’s the fun part.
And then… the almost inevitable.
The moment of truth when you wonder why you ever thought you wanted it in the first place. I have this particular relationship with my house. The only real difference is that the house didn’t have a choice. Ever feel like the house?
I really don’t know where I was going with all of this. I have no words of wisdom, no snarky remarks about the weak-willed; not even a strong desire to mock those who can’t rein in their emotions. I have no intention of tossing out platitudes such as, “you need to learn to want and be happy with what you have,” and I will wholly ridicule anyone who tries. I find that sort of thinking short-sighted. Like mommy-haircuts.
At the end of the day, I suppose we all want something we can’t/shouldn’t/won’t ever have, so my new answer is not to become too invested. I do that – become overly invested in people, places, and things – your basic noun group. I think going forward my only investment will be in your basic liquid group. Yeah... you know what I'm sayin'.
*nods knowingly*
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Summertime, and the Livin' is... Over-exposed!
Yeah, I know some of y’all have been waiting for me
to get inspired enough to tell you, once again, how to steer away from the unsavory side of crazy town, or appropriately mock the embarrassingly clad. Well, as luck would have it, I was flipping through
my latest issue of
Lucky magazine, and BAM! There it was. Sweet, sweet inspiration.
I don’t talk a lot about fashion outside of the
topic of shoes. Mostly it's because if you're more interested in what's "in" than you are actually developing your own style, I feel that should be left to the magazine editors trying to sell advertising space. Nonetheless, I feel it my duty to "fashion direct" a
larger-than-acceptable portion of the general population based
on some recent sightings that nearly separated me from my vodka.
For the Boys:
Let’s just work on what's happening from the waist down,
shall we?
Flip-flops, Adidas slip-ons, or any other “footwear” that
exposes your feet should be avoided at all costs. There is no situation
whereby any woman wants to see your ugly toes and
calloused heels. Consider the boat shoe instead! It’s a timeless
classic, you know. If, for whatever grossly misguided reason, you cannot
possibly be separated from your $0.99 flaps of rubber, consider a
pedicure first. There are a surprising number of men
in the salons this time of year; it’s no longer strictly female domain.
Just a word of warning: stay the hell outta my salon. I have enough
trouble getting serviced since they continue to refuse implementing my
suggestion of only allowing clientele old enough
to buy their own martini.
Next. The Speedo.
One would think it’s commonly understood that the
men’s bikini is designed solely for the Channing Tatum’s and
professional underwear models of the world. Aside from the size factor,
there’s the hair factor. *shudder* No one needs to have
insult added to the gut-over-the-elastic injury by being exposed to
your hairy ass, inner thighs, or *shudder* pubic area. If you’re not 3%
body fat but still need some support for say, beach volleyball, consider
the “hamster shorts.” Same grooming rules apply,
but the look is a little gentler on the roving female eye. Do remember,
if you’re sporting more than a ten-speed tire around your middle, it
would be best to let your sister choose your swimwear.
Good grief. The Capri pant.
Guys, I do not care that men all over Europe wear
them as a matter of course. Capris are not a good look on women, and it
is not a style improved by your hairy legs over flip-flops. Unilaterally,
they make your legs look short and your ass
look… less than masculine. Not even Channing Tatum can wear these. I
promise. If you persist, I’m going to feel compelled to provide you with
lipgloss.
And now, just one for the ladies!
There are so many “fashion rules” available at the
supermarket checkout that I’m not about to bore you with a rehash.
However! As I said, I was flipping through my new Lucky magazine… and
there it was. The string bikini.
Oh no.
No. No.
No.
It’s not back.
It can’t be back…
I shall surely die if it’s back!
Whoever the female equivalent of Channing Tatum
is – Kate Upton, I hear – you need to be her to wear one of these. I was there the last time this bikini was “in” and frankly, we didn’t
eat after Thanksgiving Day in order to sport it.
If you're not willing to dedicate yourself to that sacrifice, bear in mind no one wants or needs to see those tiny little strings disappear into
your hip fat. Additionally, one should consider the very real fact that
this style does not “support” anything larger than an “A-cup.” So if
you’re not 14 years old or you haven’t reduced
your BMI to less than four percent, ignore what’s “in” in bikinis this
year.
Life is all about style, people! Get some. If you don't have any sense of self whatsoever, know that the rest of us are made hideously aware of this by the flip-flops you purchased specifically to wear with that cocktail dress.
Prepare to be mocked.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Who Are You? And Who Am I?
*blink*
*blink*
Well, this is awkward.
Is it possible, or reasonably plausible, that the things some classify as “fake” are really just “extensions” of who we really are?
Before we get off on the wrong foot here, I’m not about to advocate boob jobs for 14 year olds, or mani/pedis for the tween set. Christ, as far as I’m concerned, salons should have the same age requirement as a bar, and plastic surgery should wait until you or someone you’re sleeping with can pay for it.
What I’m really thinking about here are the non-invasive bits. Eyelashes, hair extensions, padded brassieres, “chicken cutlets,” Spanx, acrylic nails (*shudder*), colored contact lenses, that sort of thing.
I love and live in my false eyelashes – when I’m not at my geek-heavy day job that is (for all the obvious “I-read-fantasy-books-and-have-online-love-affairs-with-avatars” reasons). I think it’s a horrible shame that gone are the days when every woman could quickly and accurately apply both liquid eyeliner and a pair of those long, flirtatious lovelies. I feel so alone. *sniffle*
It’s a lost art, really, this business of “making” your face into a unique reflection of who you are. When did we decide that the likes of Anna Wintour got to determine whether or not I show off my baby green eyes to their best Salon Perfect #33 advantage? Perhaps Alessandra Ambrosio and Adriana Lima are listening, but Anna? I can’t hear you!
Seems lately many men have begun referring to these things we do when we play dress-up every day as “false advertising.” Oh sure, when a water bra hits the floor in the dark, it can be startling both in sound and revelation, but as men, are you really going to complain now that you’ve finally lured someone into your bed? Shuuuuuut up already and have an original thought. You’re about to get lucky.
I don’t think these non-invasive “upgrades” are false advertising at all. In fact, I think they’re actually “truth in advertising.” It takes creativity and a solid inner photo to take what we wake up with in the morning, and turn it into something that makes sense to us in the mirror. In my head, I’m a completely different person than the one who presents when I’m brushing my teeth, or racing naked to the laundry room. Admittedly, it’s a younger, less interesting version of me, but nonetheless… it’s who I AM, if we’re defining part of ourselves by how we look… which of course we are… because it’s what we do. Otherwise there would be no bestselling diet books, and no one would’ve called the infomercial operator for a special price on P90X. But I digress…
My point here is that we’re all more than the sum of our naked selves. That’s just the mannequin. We’re the personality in charge of dressing it for the window. There are no rules that say how you do that determines whether or not you’re presenting your most authentic self. There are rules about keeping your butt crack covered and other “social-awareness guidelines” the rest of us would wholly appreciate your adherence to, but after that, why shouldn’t you wear your inside on the outside?
In the spirit of full disclosure, I don’t own a brassiere that’s not underwired and engineered to push up; I rarely leave home without my “cutlets,” I have my natural hair color enhanced, wear ridiculously high heels every day in an effort to make my legs appear longer, and though I don’t own Spanx or colored contacts, I’ve given thought to both. Honestly, what’s the harm in all of it? If the fallout is that men want to do what men want to do at the end of all that production – so be it. Just be sure to keep your clothes in a neat, easily located pile near the door because unless you roam with a catch-all bag, you’re gonna wanna be outta there before he wakes.
*bats eyelashes*
*blink*
Well, this is awkward.
Is it possible, or reasonably plausible, that the things some classify as “fake” are really just “extensions” of who we really are?
Before we get off on the wrong foot here, I’m not about to advocate boob jobs for 14 year olds, or mani/pedis for the tween set. Christ, as far as I’m concerned, salons should have the same age requirement as a bar, and plastic surgery should wait until you or someone you’re sleeping with can pay for it.
What I’m really thinking about here are the non-invasive bits. Eyelashes, hair extensions, padded brassieres, “chicken cutlets,” Spanx, acrylic nails (*shudder*), colored contact lenses, that sort of thing.
I love and live in my false eyelashes – when I’m not at my geek-heavy day job that is (for all the obvious “I-read-fantasy-books-and-have-online-love-affairs-with-avatars” reasons). I think it’s a horrible shame that gone are the days when every woman could quickly and accurately apply both liquid eyeliner and a pair of those long, flirtatious lovelies. I feel so alone. *sniffle*
It’s a lost art, really, this business of “making” your face into a unique reflection of who you are. When did we decide that the likes of Anna Wintour got to determine whether or not I show off my baby green eyes to their best Salon Perfect #33 advantage? Perhaps Alessandra Ambrosio and Adriana Lima are listening, but Anna? I can’t hear you!
Seems lately many men have begun referring to these things we do when we play dress-up every day as “false advertising.” Oh sure, when a water bra hits the floor in the dark, it can be startling both in sound and revelation, but as men, are you really going to complain now that you’ve finally lured someone into your bed? Shuuuuuut up already and have an original thought. You’re about to get lucky.
I don’t think these non-invasive “upgrades” are false advertising at all. In fact, I think they’re actually “truth in advertising.” It takes creativity and a solid inner photo to take what we wake up with in the morning, and turn it into something that makes sense to us in the mirror. In my head, I’m a completely different person than the one who presents when I’m brushing my teeth, or racing naked to the laundry room. Admittedly, it’s a younger, less interesting version of me, but nonetheless… it’s who I AM, if we’re defining part of ourselves by how we look… which of course we are… because it’s what we do. Otherwise there would be no bestselling diet books, and no one would’ve called the infomercial operator for a special price on P90X. But I digress…
My point here is that we’re all more than the sum of our naked selves. That’s just the mannequin. We’re the personality in charge of dressing it for the window. There are no rules that say how you do that determines whether or not you’re presenting your most authentic self. There are rules about keeping your butt crack covered and other “social-awareness guidelines” the rest of us would wholly appreciate your adherence to, but after that, why shouldn’t you wear your inside on the outside?
In the spirit of full disclosure, I don’t own a brassiere that’s not underwired and engineered to push up; I rarely leave home without my “cutlets,” I have my natural hair color enhanced, wear ridiculously high heels every day in an effort to make my legs appear longer, and though I don’t own Spanx or colored contacts, I’ve given thought to both. Honestly, what’s the harm in all of it? If the fallout is that men want to do what men want to do at the end of all that production – so be it. Just be sure to keep your clothes in a neat, easily located pile near the door because unless you roam with a catch-all bag, you’re gonna wanna be outta there before he wakes.
*bats eyelashes*
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Another One for the Boys
From time to time, I dedicate a few words to the guys in the audience. My more dedicated readers might recall Foreplay: A Guide For Men, or my thoughts on online "relationships" in Weinergate. Well boys, here's another one composed espcially for you. Not all of you. Just the simple ones.
I don’t care how hot you are, I stop wanting to have sex with you the moment you say something stupid.
Or vapid.
Or – the worst yet – something you think I want to hear because I’m a woman.
When did conversation stop being interesting and start being slick? Conversation is foreplay, gentlemen! So, in my ongoing struggle for world betterment, fellas, write these down…
Don’t say things like, “Hey sexy!” It’s skeevy.
There is a time and place for, uh, “plain talk.” Try to remember that there are women who enjoy it, women who tolerate it, and women whose flesh crawls at the very thought of it. Know your audience.
Maybe it’s a generational thing, maybe it’s an social thing. Either way, poor grammar is a turn-off.
“Less is more” and “Keep them wanting” aren’t just old adages (that means sayings); they’re words to live by.
Contrary to popular belief, we don’t want to hear every thought that flies through your head – especially if we’re only tolerating you based on your physical appearance. (translation: puttin’ up wit u cause ur cute)
Do not – ever – think that sprinkling rose petals anywhere, but particularly on the bed, is romantic. It’s completely unoriginal, and adding insult to possible injury, the next morning it’s like waking up in a bowl of corn flakes.
Women like a man who works with his hands; a man who can fix, and do things. But dude, wash those filthy mitts before you come visiting. No one cares if you just finished work. There’s always time for appearances.
Women appreciate (that means “put out for”) a man who makes an effort to find out more about her. That does not mean hiding in the hedges like a perv. Google her if you must; or try just listening instead of working on your rebuttal while she talks.
You should know that we know when you’re merely trying to get laid.
*sigh*
In this new world of “reality” television, over-exposure to people’s personal business via social networking, and an almost non-existent sense of mores guiding civil behavior, could you at least try to be creative? And while you’re at it, gentlemanly? You know, old school. Chicks dig it. Which totally explains why we love men who wear fedoras.
I don’t care how hot you are, I stop wanting to have sex with you the moment you say something stupid.
Or vapid.
Or – the worst yet – something you think I want to hear because I’m a woman.
When did conversation stop being interesting and start being slick? Conversation is foreplay, gentlemen! So, in my ongoing struggle for world betterment, fellas, write these down…
Don’t say things like, “Hey sexy!” It’s skeevy.
There is a time and place for, uh, “plain talk.” Try to remember that there are women who enjoy it, women who tolerate it, and women whose flesh crawls at the very thought of it. Know your audience.
Maybe it’s a generational thing, maybe it’s an social thing. Either way, poor grammar is a turn-off.
“Less is more” and “Keep them wanting” aren’t just old adages (that means sayings); they’re words to live by.
Contrary to popular belief, we don’t want to hear every thought that flies through your head – especially if we’re only tolerating you based on your physical appearance. (translation: puttin’ up wit u cause ur cute)
Do not – ever – think that sprinkling rose petals anywhere, but particularly on the bed, is romantic. It’s completely unoriginal, and adding insult to possible injury, the next morning it’s like waking up in a bowl of corn flakes.
Women like a man who works with his hands; a man who can fix, and do things. But dude, wash those filthy mitts before you come visiting. No one cares if you just finished work. There’s always time for appearances.
Women appreciate (that means “put out for”) a man who makes an effort to find out more about her. That does not mean hiding in the hedges like a perv. Google her if you must; or try just listening instead of working on your rebuttal while she talks.
You should know that we know when you’re merely trying to get laid.
*sigh*
In this new world of “reality” television, over-exposure to people’s personal business via social networking, and an almost non-existent sense of mores guiding civil behavior, could you at least try to be creative? And while you’re at it, gentlemanly? You know, old school. Chicks dig it. Which totally explains why we love men who wear fedoras.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Young Hearts
So there’s this boy…
YIKES!
Stop with the screeching! I’m aware that I’m married! Get your head outta the place you would go and keep reading.
A sweet boy.
A beautiful boy.
A boy with a voice that could melt ice.
A young boy.
I’ll admit right up front that I probably encouraged him when he made his first, tentative overture. Before you go judging, who amongst you doesn’t have a work-husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend? We all know this is a perfectly harmless relationship whose only “benefit” is not having to retrieve your own coffee.
Sometimes though…
Sometimes these things unwittingly get out of hand. Maybe you didn’t notice when his attentions went from friendly-flirty, “I got you an extra shot of espresso in your latte this morning!” to comments from your colleagues about the guy lurking downstairs.
Maybe I noticed but was enjoying the attention.
Maybe it was just being the recipient of unabashed adoration.
Maybe knowing that in hearing the voice or seeing an email – something good was coming my way.
I don’t know, maybe it was all of that… But we all know when to say when. In my case, I had to draw the line at hair sniffing. If he’s close enough to tell you that you smell good, he’s too close.
So I told this beautiful little 25 year boy with the buttery voice that he needed to take his pail and his shovel and exit the sandbox. I didn’t want to play with him anymore; that I’m very busy shopping for track suits and henna for my hair in preparation for retirement to Monterey. He said, (I swear!):
“You’re moving?”
*blink**blink*
[long pause]
“Yeah, baby. That’s it. I’m moving.”
This story was made even funnier by retelling it to Marti. Her response? “I’ll decide how I feel about that as soon as I get done applying bunion cream.”
So, what did I learn from this brief flirtation?
I learned that “not-very-bright” may cross all age ranges and genders, but it’s firmly ensconced in the males-under-30 crowd.
YIKES!
Stop with the screeching! I’m aware that I’m married! Get your head outta the place you would go and keep reading.
A sweet boy.
A beautiful boy.
A boy with a voice that could melt ice.
A young boy.
I’ll admit right up front that I probably encouraged him when he made his first, tentative overture. Before you go judging, who amongst you doesn’t have a work-husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend? We all know this is a perfectly harmless relationship whose only “benefit” is not having to retrieve your own coffee.
Sometimes though…
Sometimes these things unwittingly get out of hand. Maybe you didn’t notice when his attentions went from friendly-flirty, “I got you an extra shot of espresso in your latte this morning!” to comments from your colleagues about the guy lurking downstairs.
Maybe I noticed but was enjoying the attention.
Maybe it was just being the recipient of unabashed adoration.
Maybe knowing that in hearing the voice or seeing an email – something good was coming my way.
I don’t know, maybe it was all of that… But we all know when to say when. In my case, I had to draw the line at hair sniffing. If he’s close enough to tell you that you smell good, he’s too close.
So I told this beautiful little 25 year boy with the buttery voice that he needed to take his pail and his shovel and exit the sandbox. I didn’t want to play with him anymore; that I’m very busy shopping for track suits and henna for my hair in preparation for retirement to Monterey. He said, (I swear!):
“You’re moving?”
*blink**blink*
[long pause]
“Yeah, baby. That’s it. I’m moving.”
This story was made even funnier by retelling it to Marti. Her response? “I’ll decide how I feel about that as soon as I get done applying bunion cream.”
So, what did I learn from this brief flirtation?
I learned that “not-very-bright” may cross all age ranges and genders, but it’s firmly ensconced in the males-under-30 crowd.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Ah Spring!
I discovered today that during a blogspot conversion last year, a grave number of my entries got all jacked up. The up side is that there's a lot of stuff I don't even remember writing - so that was fun. One of them whose title and contents I vagely recollected reminded me that Spring has sprung. Check it: Fore-Play: A Guide for Men
New entries coming soon! I think... assuming material presents....
New entries coming soon! I think... assuming material presents....
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Bad Habit #44
Yeah… I have a few. I’ve given up some; embraced others as vices for life. Here’s my deep, dark, confession…
So after issuing a few much needed warnings, next stop...
That list would serve no purpose but to hurt feelings. It’s not that I would want to give back so many of the amazing experiences, great loves, astonishing people…totally wouldn't. But come on. Everyone sometimes secretly wishes for a totally different ending to particular chapter.
Since I can't ever do anything just a little bit, I usually wind up at "My Totally New Imaginary Life" and even I'm bored by then, so sleep can't be far away...
*clicks back to CNN*
Hello. My name is Peace, and I’m a “what-iffer.”
Ooooh, the tragedy! *flings arm dramatically over face*
It's true, this sad tale. I voluntarily torment myself playing the "what if?" game. It’s not because I’m living a life of regret. I mean, I have regrets. Anyone who says they don’t is a big stinkin’ liar.
No, it's because there’s a lot going on in my head all the freakin' time. Sometimes I do this just to get all the voices focusing on one thing. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a lousy sleeper. Because there's only so much CNN one girl can watch, I’ll lay in the bed playing out different scenarios for when the Genie leaves the bottle and I’m asked, “to what age would you like to return in order to relive your life?”
Holy cow!!!
The veritable Mount Vesuvius of options! 16? 24? 29? 34? Each year had a major milestone during which I either made just the most impossibly wrong choice, or completely fucked up the right one… Sometimes I just wanna go back so I can say something altogether different than what I said, and that would change something else that I wish never happened. Occasionally I only bump back a week or a year. Just far enough to correct something, which generally means say something I didn’t say when I had the opportunity to say it.
If I’m wildly pissed at the world, I go to 16 when I had two choices: this, or that.
I chose this and I gotta say, every single day of my life I wish I would’ve chosen that because absolutely nothing would have been what it was.
Whatever.
Bygones.
The veritable Mount Vesuvius of options! 16? 24? 29? 34? Each year had a major milestone during which I either made just the most impossibly wrong choice, or completely fucked up the right one… Sometimes I just wanna go back so I can say something altogether different than what I said, and that would change something else that I wish never happened. Occasionally I only bump back a week or a year. Just far enough to correct something, which generally means say something I didn’t say when I had the opportunity to say it.
If I’m wildly pissed at the world, I go to 16 when I had two choices: this, or that.
I chose this and I gotta say, every single day of my life I wish I would’ve chosen that because absolutely nothing would have been what it was.
Whatever.
Bygones.
Okay, so back to this stupid mind-fuck of a game I play. After deciding on an age, next I factor in whether or not Genie Funkypants is letting me return to the past knowing everything I know now.
It's been said that you’ll fuck up the time/space continuum if you change the past during time travel. Still, no one can say that they wouldn’t change something… so I argue the benefit of letting me go forth with full knowledge of all events. Since this is my impossibly ridiculous game, and there are no consequences, I like to start off by doing something selfless: “Dude! I know you think she’s gorgeous, but keep your zipper in the upright and locked position!”
[Sidebar: I have to assume that there’s actually someone out there practicing actual time travel since we’ve been programmed to believe that business about upsetting the continuum. But who *knows* this for certain? How do we know it all won’t work out just fine anyway?]
[Sidebar: I have to assume that there’s actually someone out there practicing actual time travel since we’ve been programmed to believe that business about upsetting the continuum. But who *knows* this for certain? How do we know it all won’t work out just fine anyway?]
So after issuing a few much needed warnings, next stop...
Top 10 Things I Would TOTALLY Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
1. Buy Apple stock
2. Buy Apple stock
3. Buy Apple stock
4. Buy Apple stock
5. Buy Apple stock
6. Buy Apple stock
7. Buy Apple stock
8. Buy Apple stock
9. Buy Apple stock
10. Buy Apple stock and not cop out on this list
Top 10 Things I Would NEVER Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
2. Buy Apple stock
3. Buy Apple stock
4. Buy Apple stock
5. Buy Apple stock
6. Buy Apple stock
7. Buy Apple stock
8. Buy Apple stock
9. Buy Apple stock
10. Buy Apple stock and not cop out on this list
Top 10 Things I Would NEVER Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
1. Lose my virginity to the guy I did
2. Yeah...
3. Ummm...
4. Other things...
5. *wanders off whistling*
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
That list would serve no purpose but to hurt feelings. It’s not that I would want to give back so many of the amazing experiences, great loves, astonishing people…totally wouldn't. But come on. Everyone sometimes secretly wishes for a totally different ending to particular chapter.
Since I can't ever do anything just a little bit, I usually wind up at "My Totally New Imaginary Life" and even I'm bored by then, so sleep can't be far away...
*clicks back to CNN*
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
4 Easy Steps
It’s occurred to me that I can actually fix just about everything that’s “wrong” in your life. Here is my four step solution:
Put down that all-consuming electronic thing you have in your hand
Look up! There are real people and actual places out here! The world didn’t shrink when you got your social networking accounts. You’re more than a “tweep.”
Acknowledge that you’re not nearly as important as you think you are
Unless you're a neurosurgeon or an emergency veterinarian, your bubble isn’t so important that you need to interrupt a conversation or abruptly stop walking in the middle of a crowd. The Universe is not waiting for your response to whatever text just vibrated, status rattled your chain, or YouTube video that just went viral.
Shut the hell up about yourself and listen
Last night I tried to explain my stance on a particular financial situation. I should know better, but I thought I had the undivided attention of the “listener.” I didn’t get through more than two complete sentences before the “conversation” was hijacked and redirected back to this guy. Over and over again, he would say something on the topic, I would begin to reply with my thoughts – then BAM! Hijacked again. Needless to say I gave up any attempt to continue a discussion, quickly and without much effort. He may have heard the words but he certainly wasn’t listening.
Get engaged with your life
True story: About a week ago, a friend of mine – let’s call him Maurice – was running late en route to a meeting. I’m trying to figure out where he is, and he’s sitting in traffic swearing and creeping along. In due time he discovers that the hold-up was a head-on collision. People were just driving by, no one stopping to render aid or call for emergency services. We know this because though he was nowhere near the crash when it happened, he was the first to stop and place that call. It sickens me. What the hell was so important in the lives of the passers-by that they couldn’t assist women and children in distress?
I’m guessing a Facebook status or rebuttal. *sarcasm*
I’m worn smooth out from listening to the whatnots of over-inflated egos. I think it’s incredibly sad how many people have become so self-centric that if it’s not all about them, they can’t tell you anything about it. These are the same people who then get shitty when you don’t remember one specific story out of literally thousands they’ve told you about themselves. Hey, buddy! You’re exhausting.
If you actually want to “fix” what’s “wrong” in your life, how about participating in it! What ever happened to the spirit of cooperation? Of pitching in or lending a hand to someone who is actually struggling? No one owes you anything, but you certainly have no business expecting anything when nothing is what you give.
Please check your ego at my door. And tip the hostess.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Revisionists
Recently someone made casual mention of an event from a long time ago that left me literally speechless. Yeah. Literally speechless. And frankly, my brow still hasn’t un-furrowed so baffled am I by what she said. I don’t claim to have a perfect memory, but her “recollection” was a perfect example of revisionism.
Yeah, I know y’all generally associate revisionists with historical whatnots, but my life has history – and plenty of it I might add, so I will. I’ve puzzled over this phenomenon as it relates to people’s own lives for days now. I’d always thought of our recollections as what we thought we heard or saw – like the adage, “her side, his side, and the truth.” It never really occurred to me that for some people it’s really so much more. Pretty sure it goes like this:
Enter random situation here.
Post-situation, mulling occurs.
The first time, you recollect the situation as it actually happened.
Uh oh. You don’t come off very attractive/smart/pleasant? Well, there’s only one thing to do...
Think about the situation again.
Ah, that’s better. You didn’t *actually* or *intentionally* use that tone/utter those words/tell that lie, so that bit doesn’t count.
Whew!
Okay, let’s step through this again.
The other person involved is *obviously* at fault, not you, because of x, y, z.
Better. Just one more re-enactment in your head.
This is the best part from my outsider’s perspective because it often includes completely new dialogue and sometimes even new actors.
[Sidebar: I was screwed by one of these about a year ago. As the story goes, I was at a local “establishment” when something cruel was said about someone who was then completely crushed... and really pissed. Yeah, inasmuch as that sounds like me, not only was I not there that night – or that week – I wasn’t even in the time zone. I’d become a replacement actor for the person who repeated the story – the actual Mean Girl. MG panicked on replay. The hilarity here is that she was so busy trying to shine a new light on her involvement when she created the “new real” story in her head, she forgot to consider who might alibi out when the shit hit the fan.]
I get that sometimes we need to put a lighter, brighter spin on real life for the sake of our audience. I’ve “revised” bits of my life because there are a few stories no one needs to hear in their entirety. But I’ve never done it to avoid owning my behavior, to make myself seem like a better person than I am, to appear the “hero,” or to screw someone else. And blatantly changing history and retelling it to people who know the truth? She’s some kind of crazy.
Revisionists stick by their story no matter what. I gotta admit, the fact that they believe their own crap and have the balls to present it as truth, freaks me out. Not like clowns at children’s parties, but still… *shudder*
Yeah, I know y’all generally associate revisionists with historical whatnots, but my life has history – and plenty of it I might add, so I will. I’ve puzzled over this phenomenon as it relates to people’s own lives for days now. I’d always thought of our recollections as what we thought we heard or saw – like the adage, “her side, his side, and the truth.” It never really occurred to me that for some people it’s really so much more. Pretty sure it goes like this:
Enter random situation here.
Post-situation, mulling occurs.
The first time, you recollect the situation as it actually happened.
Uh oh. You don’t come off very attractive/smart/pleasant? Well, there’s only one thing to do...
Think about the situation again.
Ah, that’s better. You didn’t *actually* or *intentionally* use that tone/utter those words/tell that lie, so that bit doesn’t count.
Whew!
Okay, let’s step through this again.
The other person involved is *obviously* at fault, not you, because of x, y, z.
Better. Just one more re-enactment in your head.
This is the best part from my outsider’s perspective because it often includes completely new dialogue and sometimes even new actors.
[Sidebar: I was screwed by one of these about a year ago. As the story goes, I was at a local “establishment” when something cruel was said about someone who was then completely crushed... and really pissed. Yeah, inasmuch as that sounds like me, not only was I not there that night – or that week – I wasn’t even in the time zone. I’d become a replacement actor for the person who repeated the story – the actual Mean Girl. MG panicked on replay. The hilarity here is that she was so busy trying to shine a new light on her involvement when she created the “new real” story in her head, she forgot to consider who might alibi out when the shit hit the fan.]
I get that sometimes we need to put a lighter, brighter spin on real life for the sake of our audience. I’ve “revised” bits of my life because there are a few stories no one needs to hear in their entirety. But I’ve never done it to avoid owning my behavior, to make myself seem like a better person than I am, to appear the “hero,” or to screw someone else. And blatantly changing history and retelling it to people who know the truth? She’s some kind of crazy.
Revisionists stick by their story no matter what. I gotta admit, the fact that they believe their own crap and have the balls to present it as truth, freaks me out. Not like clowns at children’s parties, but still… *shudder*
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Things People Say
Lately I’ve been unavoidably forced to deal with a lot of blown-out egos. It’s really not my thing to “manage” people; I prefer to just let you deal with your own mania. I don’t stroke most folks because it’s tiresome. And because the ego I satisfy today, may stab me in the back tomorrow.
For educational purposes, I thought perhaps I’d put some recently heard “Listen to ME!” precursors out there in an effort to help those who find themselves trapped in ego quicksand out of ignorance.
“Trust me, I…” know, did, saw, participated blah blah blah. Fill in the blank.
Huh. *squints* Because…. This time you’re telling the truth as opposed to all the other times when you were lying to me? These people have seen it all, read it all, and done it all...and better than anyone else. The variation on this is “Believe me, I…”
“You don’t understand…”
Don’t tell me what I do or do not understand. You don’t know me well enough to make that determination. If you did, you would think twice about that tone you're using.
“What you don’t know is…”
Really. I don’t know. I just offered my opinion on my favorite style of egg preparation, political platform, or this years block-styling on the Paris runway, and now you’re going to tell me that I didn’t gather enough information for a valid viewpoint? You do not know what experience went into the formulation of my opinion and I'll thank you to keep your assumptions to yourself.
In other ego news...
The Egomaniacal Boss. Cripes. We’ve all had them. We’ve all hated them. We’ve all tolerated them until such time as we were forced to transfer. No words of advice here except, smile! It’s not forever, it’s just for now.
The Egomaniacal “Friend.” This is the one who is jealous of all the other people in your life so she bad-mouths everyone, whispers about you behind your back, and spends a ridiculous amount of time manipulating situations so she will somehow look like a “hero” through it all. *heavy sigh* All I have to say about this ego is, “move along. People are only nice to you because they have to be.”
Your Friend’s Egomaniacal Child. Best bet here is just not to visit. I cannot tolerate the presence of a child who is under the misbegotten impression that their imaginary needs and subsequent temper tantrum are going to move me past my desire to smack them upside the head. Children should be seen and not heard. Preferably not even seen, but one can only insist on so much.
I’m bored with this topic now. Talk amongst yourselves…
Thursday, February 9, 2012
More on Judging
“Not judging!”
You hear this all the time. Truth is, people do judge – and those who say they don’t, are often the harshest… behind your back, of course!
I am not afraid to say, out loud, that I judge people. I will always judge you on a poor footwear selection. I’ll judge your new hair color, the fact that you’ll leave the house with your belly fat hanging over the top of your entirely too tight jeans, and your obnoxious children. I will always judge all things about any two-faced person because frankly, it’s just good citizenship to point out a snake in the grass.
I will not judge the actions or behavior related to an honest mistake or ill-informed decision, your vehicle (unless it’s slowing me down), or the contents of your shopping basket.
I approached this topic with great self-revelation and moderate hilarity once before. It's worth a re-read. http://itssmokeandmirrors.blogspot.com/2010/01/judge-not-lest-ye-oh-never-mind.html
Just sayin’.
You hear this all the time. Truth is, people do judge – and those who say they don’t, are often the harshest… behind your back, of course!
I am not afraid to say, out loud, that I judge people. I will always judge you on a poor footwear selection. I’ll judge your new hair color, the fact that you’ll leave the house with your belly fat hanging over the top of your entirely too tight jeans, and your obnoxious children. I will always judge all things about any two-faced person because frankly, it’s just good citizenship to point out a snake in the grass.
I will not judge the actions or behavior related to an honest mistake or ill-informed decision, your vehicle (unless it’s slowing me down), or the contents of your shopping basket.
I approached this topic with great self-revelation and moderate hilarity once before. It's worth a re-read. http://itssmokeandmirrors.blogspot.com/2010/01/judge-not-lest-ye-oh-never-mind.html
Just sayin’.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
"She Said What?"
We all know it’s a rare occasion that I step outside my own personal business to write about the actual carrying on of people I actually know. But sometimes, it’s to the benefit of all of cyber-civilization to remind you that your behavior counts. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day someone will pull up all of the old email you sent and forward it. Let that be a warning the next time gossip or ugly words are about to cross the lips. Now, on with our story…
I would guess three or four years ago, I could’ve been considered a FaceBook junkie. Even two years ago, when I was working from my office at home every day, it was always up on one of my computers. But over the last year and a half, I’ve found other things to do with my time and FaceBook just sort of fell away.
Sure, I’ll check for private messages, ignore new friend requests, and run through the first few items of my newsfeed, but rarely do I see anything of interest enough to comment on before I’m bored and move on to the 300+ pieces of email waiting in my Inbox. So imagine my surprise…
[Clarification: what follows wasn’t so much surprising as it was… well… baffling]
… to read a comment by a 34-year old woman who wrote, “Cheers to being grown-ups!”
My unexpressed thought? “As opposed to….? “
I happen to know this particular girl and I know that the sole purpose behind the post was to let “everyone” know that the person she so horribly ridiculed for so many years, is now her “friend,” alongside a host of others she’s summarily defamed and gossiped about.
Weird… because none of that seems very grown-up at all.
Behaving in a manner befitting one’s mid-30s is not cause for a celebration – it’s an expectation. Much like one expects a 16-year old girl to pine over a boy who doesn’t want to date her.
At a certain age – I’ll say, theortically 28 – you should have reached a mature, adult station whereby you can forego high school-like carrying-on; stand by your opinions and decisions; and have achieved, at a minimum, a level of self-confidence and awareness not to lie, gossip, or weasel your way into situations in hopes of being “in-the-know.” It’s embarrassing… for the rest of us.
Just so we’re clear, I am definitely not saying that you’ll never hear me say anything snarky about another person, or that gossip is/was/has been officially banished from my life! That’s just crazy talk! Hell, some of my best material is built on both of those. The difference is that I stand in front of, and behind, my words. If you’re not going to own it, then you’ve got no business saying it. It’s a “treacherous” road when others know the truth and kinda feel like it might make for a hilarious party anecdote.
In conclusion (*clears throat*):
• Acting your age instead of your shoe-size is not just cause to pop a bottle
• Look to Dr. Spock’s “Baby and Child Care” for education surrounding age-appropriate milestones then put them into practice
• Don’t be a two-faced jackal (Oh! I think I’ll add that one for next year’s updated version of Life Truths!)
Holding to these simple guidelines will ensure the number of times people snicker behind your back is minimized; the chance of someone publicizing the truth about your unstable, low self-esteem driven crazy antics is kept mostly under wraps; and you’re continued presence is tolerated – given your circumstances… whatever they may be.
Now run along and play. The grown-ups are talking.
I would guess three or four years ago, I could’ve been considered a FaceBook junkie. Even two years ago, when I was working from my office at home every day, it was always up on one of my computers. But over the last year and a half, I’ve found other things to do with my time and FaceBook just sort of fell away.
Sure, I’ll check for private messages, ignore new friend requests, and run through the first few items of my newsfeed, but rarely do I see anything of interest enough to comment on before I’m bored and move on to the 300+ pieces of email waiting in my Inbox. So imagine my surprise…
[Clarification: what follows wasn’t so much surprising as it was… well… baffling]
… to read a comment by a 34-year old woman who wrote, “Cheers to being grown-ups!”
My unexpressed thought? “As opposed to….? “
I happen to know this particular girl and I know that the sole purpose behind the post was to let “everyone” know that the person she so horribly ridiculed for so many years, is now her “friend,” alongside a host of others she’s summarily defamed and gossiped about.
Weird… because none of that seems very grown-up at all.
Behaving in a manner befitting one’s mid-30s is not cause for a celebration – it’s an expectation. Much like one expects a 16-year old girl to pine over a boy who doesn’t want to date her.
At a certain age – I’ll say, theortically 28 – you should have reached a mature, adult station whereby you can forego high school-like carrying-on; stand by your opinions and decisions; and have achieved, at a minimum, a level of self-confidence and awareness not to lie, gossip, or weasel your way into situations in hopes of being “in-the-know.” It’s embarrassing… for the rest of us.
Just so we’re clear, I am definitely not saying that you’ll never hear me say anything snarky about another person, or that gossip is/was/has been officially banished from my life! That’s just crazy talk! Hell, some of my best material is built on both of those. The difference is that I stand in front of, and behind, my words. If you’re not going to own it, then you’ve got no business saying it. It’s a “treacherous” road when others know the truth and kinda feel like it might make for a hilarious party anecdote.
In conclusion (*clears throat*):
• Acting your age instead of your shoe-size is not just cause to pop a bottle
• Look to Dr. Spock’s “Baby and Child Care” for education surrounding age-appropriate milestones then put them into practice
• Don’t be a two-faced jackal (Oh! I think I’ll add that one for next year’s updated version of Life Truths!)
Holding to these simple guidelines will ensure the number of times people snicker behind your back is minimized; the chance of someone publicizing the truth about your unstable, low self-esteem driven crazy antics is kept mostly under wraps; and you’re continued presence is tolerated – given your circumstances… whatever they may be.
Now run along and play. The grown-ups are talking.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Life Truths: Updated for 2012
It's that time again... the time when I like to remind my readers that certain whatnots and situations should be addressed, managed and otherwise dealt with so that I don't have to step in and talk ugly about them... possibly using names... with photos.
It occurs to me that as we head into the new year full of our latest resolutions (aka personal promises which set us up for failure), it would be a good idea to re-arm with a few basic Life Truths on decorum and ownership. This, of course, is in effort not to witness some of the more unsavory and sometimes tawdry moments of last year. It was truly appalling...
The List
It occurs to me that as we head into the new year full of our latest resolutions (aka personal promises which set us up for failure), it would be a good idea to re-arm with a few basic Life Truths on decorum and ownership. This, of course, is in effort not to witness some of the more unsavory and sometimes tawdry moments of last year. It was truly appalling...
The List
- You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. Do not blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
- Yes. You're fat. Does that make you feel better? Get off your ass and do something about it. Now, can we please stop having that conversation?
- The Universe is trying to move you in the direction of your life path. Quit acting like you know everything. You don't. So how about you just go ahead and get out of your own way?
- Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with your bitching about how you've been done oh-so-wrong and paddle already.
- Just because you want it does not mean it's yours to have.
- You always have a choice. Take the route that will make your grandmother proud.
- Your true friends will say the things you don't want to hear because they love you... and because they have faith that you already know the truth.
- Beware false allies and those who try too hard. Therein you will one day discover ulterior motive.
- When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
- From Image Consultant and friend, Beth Newman: "Do not participate in 'big, bad, bold behavior.'" It's unseemly and frankly, déclassé. http://www.newmanimage.info/
- Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
- Stop fighting The Universe and you'll stop making stupid mistakes.
- One minute of your time - especially when you don't "have" it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
- Pay attention. This will solve almost all of your "problems."
- Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
- People are going to talk. Your choice is in what you give them to talk about!
- We all humiliate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories of our life's winter.
- If you think any part of this (or my blog in general) is directed at you, it probably is... I just don't know it. Examine why you do.
- Do not lie. To me or yourself.
- Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. These are the only options.
- Ladies: If a man wants to be with you, he will always find a way to make that happen. I suppose the same can be said conversely.
- Choosing not to engage means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action - especially when you factor in karma, comeuppance, and the opportunity to secretly point and laugh later!
- Never put anything in writing that cannot be aired publicly.
- People will take advantage of you until you make them stop. The tricky bit is in the approach, and I can't help you with that.
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