Reading this great post at one of my favorite blogs -- Hair Raising Hell -- reminded me of one of my own pet peeves. Let me elaborate:
Ring Ring
"Good Afternoon, this is Mary A."
"Hi Mary! How are you?"
"Doing well, thanks! How are you?"
"I'm Good."
"Great. How can I help you?"
"Do you know who this is?"
Sigh.
The "guess who I am" game. At work.
Do you think this is charming? It's not.
If you're calling me at home and ask "Do you know who this is?", I will generally hang up. Because I once got an obscene phone call that started with "Do you know who this is?". So that question kinda freaks me out anyway.
But if you're calling me at work I will give you the benefit of the doubt.
I don't know who you are, OK?
I have no fucking clue.
I know you aren't my mother. My mother has been smoking for 63 years. Her voice is rather distinct. Plus, she's too much of a lady to jerk me around like that. And she ALWAYS identifies herself. I know it's you, Mom, but I appreciate you having enough courtesy to identify yourself anyway.
When I call her, I always identify myself. She has 2 daughters. We probably sound similar on the phone.
When you call me -- at home, at work, or on the cell -- please identify yourself. Please.
Also, as long as we're on the subject: if your name is Mary, Mark, Mike, Dave, Joe, Kathy, Lori, Tom, Rick, Jose, Manuel, Cynthia, or Debbie, and if we don't speak on the phone very often, do me a favor and gimme your last name too. I have lots of Marys, Marks, Mikes, Daves, Joes, Kathys, Loris, Toms, Ricks, Joses, Manuels, Cynthias and Debbies who might call me at work for whatever reason. I love talking to each of them. Truly. But I prefer knowing which one I'm chatting with.
And one more thing: sign your texts. I don't know your number by sight (except for Vic & Gabe). I have a cheap phone. Just gimme some quick initials, 'kay?
Thanks.
Love,
Mary A
Showing posts with label Pet Peeves. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pet Peeves. Show all posts
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Look What I found!
Searching through my e-mail today, I came across a letter I once wrote to our local newspaper. I wrote it on 5/2/2009.
You can tell by reading the letter that some douche bag named Charles wrote a letter to the paper saying something like: "Fatties are fat. They should just not eat so much. They are stupid fat fatties."
I used to just ignore those mean bullying letters. But then I started fighting back. I actually thought that http://www.giftoffat.com/ would be a lot more about providing a voice for fat people and a lot less about pushups and kids. The fact is, however, I can't keep up the anger 24/7.
Some of my life is about getting angry at stupid, sanctimonious morons who vilify fat people.
Most of my life is about other things.
When I saw this, however, it rang as true as it did the day I wrote it.
So now YOU get to read it!
Sent to Caller Times, May 2009:
In response to Charles C_________'s letter of 5/2 regarding obese people should ELF - Eat Less Food: Duh.
As an obese woman for my entire life, the ELF strategy is used by most of us all the time. With the billion dollar diet industry, ELF takes many forms: the no carb diet, the grapefruit diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the list gets larger every year. The result: metabolic chaos. I am sorry that Mr. C_________ was "horrified recently" to learn that obesity causes a slew of health problems. Fat people have known this forever. Obesity also causes social and psychological problems -- frequently triggered by ignorant individuals who think that the solution to our medical issues is simple: ELF. The letter is made even more insulting by the tacky cartoon above it which shows the US flag cracking under the weight of an obese person.
Obesity is not a character flaw. It is a medical condition that can sometimes -- but not always -- be controlled by various strategies. When I was a girl, I was the only fat kid in class. Now all the kids are fat. The only upside to this sad situation is that the public is finally waking up to the fact that obesity is a chronic medical condition that needs to be addressed at all levels. Hopefully, the insurance industry will follow suit and begin to pay for reasonable medical intervention before the patient resorts to drastic measures such as gastric bypass or lap band.
It's no fun to be fat. I'll bet it's not fun to have asthma either. Chronic medical conditions don't have simple solutions. Let's stop being so condescending.
Mary A.
Corpus Christi
You can tell by reading the letter that some douche bag named Charles wrote a letter to the paper saying something like: "Fatties are fat. They should just not eat so much. They are stupid fat fatties."
I used to just ignore those mean bullying letters. But then I started fighting back. I actually thought that http://www.giftoffat.com/ would be a lot more about providing a voice for fat people and a lot less about pushups and kids. The fact is, however, I can't keep up the anger 24/7.
Some of my life is about getting angry at stupid, sanctimonious morons who vilify fat people.
Most of my life is about other things.
When I saw this, however, it rang as true as it did the day I wrote it.
So now YOU get to read it!
Sent to Caller Times, May 2009:
In response to Charles C_________'s letter of 5/2 regarding obese people should ELF - Eat Less Food: Duh.
As an obese woman for my entire life, the ELF strategy is used by most of us all the time. With the billion dollar diet industry, ELF takes many forms: the no carb diet, the grapefruit diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the list gets larger every year. The result: metabolic chaos. I am sorry that Mr. C_________ was "horrified recently" to learn that obesity causes a slew of health problems. Fat people have known this forever. Obesity also causes social and psychological problems -- frequently triggered by ignorant individuals who think that the solution to our medical issues is simple: ELF. The letter is made even more insulting by the tacky cartoon above it which shows the US flag cracking under the weight of an obese person.
Obesity is not a character flaw. It is a medical condition that can sometimes -- but not always -- be controlled by various strategies. When I was a girl, I was the only fat kid in class. Now all the kids are fat. The only upside to this sad situation is that the public is finally waking up to the fact that obesity is a chronic medical condition that needs to be addressed at all levels. Hopefully, the insurance industry will follow suit and begin to pay for reasonable medical intervention before the patient resorts to drastic measures such as gastric bypass or lap band.
It's no fun to be fat. I'll bet it's not fun to have asthma either. Chronic medical conditions don't have simple solutions. Let's stop being so condescending.
Mary A.
Corpus Christi
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Annoying Threads
This post is not about clothes.
I get annoyed at those threads that hang off your hem and tickle the back of your leg but you can never find them when you look. . . . but that's not exactly blog worthy.
E-mail threads aren't blog worthy either, but that's what I am writing about.
I was out of the office last week.
I returned to 276 e-mails.
At first I thought that the high volume of e-mails was due to my critically important job and the fact that I need to be "in the know" on several salient issues.
Then I figured out the high volume of calls was due to a disprortionate amount of dumb-asses who hit "REPLY ALL".
Sometimes REPLY ALL is a valuable tool. REPLY ALL is helpful when you need everyone on the thread to know something.
For example:
Original E-Mail (sent to 30 e-mail addresses): "Can anyone cite the regulation mandating student fees? I can't find it"
REPLY ALL: "It's in the GIPWE, Chapter 3. It also lists exceptions" This is a very good use of REPLY ALL.
Most of my e-mails looked like this:
REPLY ALL: "Thanks" (Poor use of REPLY ALL)
REPLY ALL: "I don't know where it is. Hope someone else does". (Very poor use of REPLY ALL.)
REPLY ALL: "Hey Sender! Did you know that someone parked in your space this morning?" (WTF use of REPLY ALL)
REPLY ALL: "I know -- I totally had to park in the handicapped space this morning! LOL!" (WTF use of REPLY ALL plus one LOL infraction, plus Sender is an asshole for parking in a handicapped space.)
After getting through at least 80 REPLY ALLs, plus the weekday lunch menus, stupid chain jokes and the notice about the Kindergarten's Easter Party, I had about 30 real e-mails.
I am just not that important.
I get annoyed at those threads that hang off your hem and tickle the back of your leg but you can never find them when you look. . . . but that's not exactly blog worthy.
E-mail threads aren't blog worthy either, but that's what I am writing about.
I was out of the office last week.
I returned to 276 e-mails.
At first I thought that the high volume of e-mails was due to my critically important job and the fact that I need to be "in the know" on several salient issues.
Then I figured out the high volume of calls was due to a disprortionate amount of dumb-asses who hit "REPLY ALL".
Sometimes REPLY ALL is a valuable tool. REPLY ALL is helpful when you need everyone on the thread to know something.
For example:
Original E-Mail (sent to 30 e-mail addresses): "Can anyone cite the regulation mandating student fees? I can't find it"
REPLY ALL: "It's in the GIPWE, Chapter 3. It also lists exceptions" This is a very good use of REPLY ALL.
Most of my e-mails looked like this:
REPLY ALL: "Thanks" (Poor use of REPLY ALL)
REPLY ALL: "I don't know where it is. Hope someone else does". (Very poor use of REPLY ALL.)
REPLY ALL: "Hey Sender! Did you know that someone parked in your space this morning?" (WTF use of REPLY ALL)
REPLY ALL: "I know -- I totally had to park in the handicapped space this morning! LOL!" (WTF use of REPLY ALL plus one LOL infraction, plus Sender is an asshole for parking in a handicapped space.)
After getting through at least 80 REPLY ALLs, plus the weekday lunch menus, stupid chain jokes and the notice about the Kindergarten's Easter Party, I had about 30 real e-mails.
I am just not that important.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Uuuummmmm. . . .Thanks?
Hi all --
Back from a four day meeting in Austin!
SO glad to be home.
I really like this particular group in Austin though. The people there are SO affirming. They were nice enough to notice that the white suit I was wearing was really baggy. (Especially my friend Marta. She is my favorite! I mean, she is ONE OF my favorites! Hi Deb! Hi Kathy!)
And Gabe e-mailed me a workout I did in my hotel room. It wasn't like having the REAL Gabe there, but it was better than nothing.
I asked my Austin friends their opinion on a comment made to me a couple of weeks ago. I want to hear your opinion too.
I was at a meeting I attend every week. Typically, I order lunch at this meeting. Sometimes I have soup and a sandwich, but usually I have a cheeseburger and fries. With a coke. Yum.
Yep. You heard me. I eat cheeseburgers.
I like 'em.
As many reps as Gabe makes me do every session? I earned that damn cheeseburger.
So anyway, I am sitting in the meeting, with my cheeseburger, and chatting with some of the other people.
As we are chatting, a woman casually says "I was going to compliment you on how much weight you've lost, but then I saw what you are eating for lunch."
Blink. Blink.
What does one say to that?
Do I apologize for eating a cheeseburger in public? Because people who are losing weight are not supposed to be eating cheeseburgers.
I am not going to apologize for having lunch.
Do I say "Thanks"?
Do I say "Fuck off"?
I really wanted to say "Thanks. Fuck off." But I didn't.
I didn't know what to say.
I just looked at her, stupidly blinking, mouth slightly open, when fortunately, the meeting started and my attention was required elsewhere.
So. .. if I had the moment to live over again. . .or (which is more likely) the next time she judges me for my choice of lunch. . .what do I say?
What would you say?
Back from a four day meeting in Austin!
SO glad to be home.
I really like this particular group in Austin though. The people there are SO affirming. They were nice enough to notice that the white suit I was wearing was really baggy. (Especially my friend Marta. She is my favorite! I mean, she is ONE OF my favorites! Hi Deb! Hi Kathy!)
And Gabe e-mailed me a workout I did in my hotel room. It wasn't like having the REAL Gabe there, but it was better than nothing.
I asked my Austin friends their opinion on a comment made to me a couple of weeks ago. I want to hear your opinion too.
I was at a meeting I attend every week. Typically, I order lunch at this meeting. Sometimes I have soup and a sandwich, but usually I have a cheeseburger and fries. With a coke. Yum.
Yep. You heard me. I eat cheeseburgers.
I like 'em.
As many reps as Gabe makes me do every session? I earned that damn cheeseburger.
So anyway, I am sitting in the meeting, with my cheeseburger, and chatting with some of the other people.
As we are chatting, a woman casually says "I was going to compliment you on how much weight you've lost, but then I saw what you are eating for lunch."
Blink. Blink.
What does one say to that?
Do I apologize for eating a cheeseburger in public? Because people who are losing weight are not supposed to be eating cheeseburgers.
I am not going to apologize for having lunch.
Do I say "Thanks"?
Do I say "Fuck off"?
I really wanted to say "Thanks. Fuck off." But I didn't.
I didn't know what to say.
I just looked at her, stupidly blinking, mouth slightly open, when fortunately, the meeting started and my attention was required elsewhere.
So. .. if I had the moment to live over again. . .or (which is more likely) the next time she judges me for my choice of lunch. . .what do I say?
What would you say?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Mind Your Business
It's spring break!
Yeay!
I thought being with the littles 24/7 would be a nightmare, but we are having a really good time.
You know what I have noticed? When you are with children, people feel it's OK to get in your business.
I was in a ladies room with the 3 year old and the 6 year old. We were taking care of business when the lady in the next stall felt she needed to shout directions. At first I thought she must be on her phone, but then I realized she was talking to us.
I told 3 year old he'd have to sit down to pee and she yelled "It's OK honey, it's just this one time".
I told 6 year old not to open the door until I was finished and she said "Mommy doesn't want people to see her undressed, sweetie".
Then my 3 year old made an observation about me. . .I won't go into specifics as it was very personal. Let's just say it's a "Special Time" at my house (if you get the code, good. If you don't, too friggin bad). She shouted out "Don't worry honey, Mommy is going to be OK"
WTF lady?
Then as we were washing hands, she came up behind 3 year old to lift him to the sink. Umm. .. I've got it, thanks.
Later, we were at a restaurant ordering lunch. The waitress was one of those Flo types -- huge beehive hairdo, pen behind her ear, the whole deal. I ordered grilled cheese and a side of steamed broccoli for the kids. My kids LIKE steamed broccoli. I swear.
She said "Honey, they will never eat it. Get the fries."
"No, we'll get the broccoli, thanks."
"But they won't eat it"
"They'll eat some of it"
Then she ROLLED HER EYES at me and submitted my order.
She also gave my 9 year old a kid's drink, when I ordered a regular. "I don't want him to spill it" she said.
He won't spill it. He's nine. He's nine going on thirty if you want to know the truth. I might spill, but he won't. Who is paying for this anyway?
The kids ate some of their sandwich and some of their broccoli.
"I told you they wouldn't eat it" she said.
That's not the way to get big tips lady.
Then today I got it again.
I was at Home Depot & referred to my oldest son as Jojo. He prefers going by Joseph, but he's my kid and we (sometimes) call him Jojo at home. This old guy in the paint aisle said "Don't call him Jojo -- that's a sissy name".
Oh yeah? I bet your grandson's name is Jordyn. THAT'S a sissy name Grampa.
If you see me out & about with my kiddos, feel free to say hello. But do me a favor & mind your business.
Yeay!
I thought being with the littles 24/7 would be a nightmare, but we are having a really good time.
You know what I have noticed? When you are with children, people feel it's OK to get in your business.
I was in a ladies room with the 3 year old and the 6 year old. We were taking care of business when the lady in the next stall felt she needed to shout directions. At first I thought she must be on her phone, but then I realized she was talking to us.
I told 3 year old he'd have to sit down to pee and she yelled "It's OK honey, it's just this one time".
I told 6 year old not to open the door until I was finished and she said "Mommy doesn't want people to see her undressed, sweetie".
Then my 3 year old made an observation about me. . .I won't go into specifics as it was very personal. Let's just say it's a "Special Time" at my house (if you get the code, good. If you don't, too friggin bad). She shouted out "Don't worry honey, Mommy is going to be OK"
WTF lady?
Then as we were washing hands, she came up behind 3 year old to lift him to the sink. Umm. .. I've got it, thanks.
Later, we were at a restaurant ordering lunch. The waitress was one of those Flo types -- huge beehive hairdo, pen behind her ear, the whole deal. I ordered grilled cheese and a side of steamed broccoli for the kids. My kids LIKE steamed broccoli. I swear.
She said "Honey, they will never eat it. Get the fries."
"No, we'll get the broccoli, thanks."
"But they won't eat it"
"They'll eat some of it"
Then she ROLLED HER EYES at me and submitted my order.
She also gave my 9 year old a kid's drink, when I ordered a regular. "I don't want him to spill it" she said.
He won't spill it. He's nine. He's nine going on thirty if you want to know the truth. I might spill, but he won't. Who is paying for this anyway?
The kids ate some of their sandwich and some of their broccoli.
"I told you they wouldn't eat it" she said.
That's not the way to get big tips lady.
Then today I got it again.
I was at Home Depot & referred to my oldest son as Jojo. He prefers going by Joseph, but he's my kid and we (sometimes) call him Jojo at home. This old guy in the paint aisle said "Don't call him Jojo -- that's a sissy name".
Oh yeah? I bet your grandson's name is Jordyn. THAT'S a sissy name Grampa.
If you see me out & about with my kiddos, feel free to say hello. But do me a favor & mind your business.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I Hate Wings
This post is for girls.
All the boys should go outside and play kickball with the Social Studies teacher.
Are they gone? Good.
I have "been a woman" since I was 11.
That means that Aunt Flo has been coming to my house every month for 33 years. Well - 30, if you don't count the 3 times I was expecting. And, I probably shouldn't count those.
30 years then. 30 years times 12 months equals 360 months. I probably have about 10 more years to go before menopause. That's another 120 months. Considering the average cost of monthly products, I will have spent approximately $3,800.00 on Kotex before I am done.
Kotex, please, for $3,800 -- enough with the wings already.
I know they are supposed to keep your undies pristine. What kind of undies do most of us wear during this special time, anyway? Old granny panties. With holes in them. I could care less about pristine. And after 3 C-Sections, pristine isn't happening for me anymore anyway.
These friggin' wings are driving me nuts. They don't stick where they are supposed to, they climb back up into the, uh, main compartment and get all tangled. At least mine do.
They actually have pads to wear with thongs. Wow. I have been known to wear thongs with certain outfits. I can't even imagine wearing one during fright week.
I know that we've come a long way since the dark ages when women had to wear belts to keep their products in place. That? Would totally suck.
I know some of my post menopausal friends want to tell me to be grateful for this special time. That it's nothing compared to menopause. Well DON'T. Irritibility is a common symptom. It says so right on the box of Pamprin. I don't want to hear it.
I can't wait for menopause. I know, I know. . hot flashes. I get 'em alreddy. Night sweats. Got 'em. Panic attacks. Got 'em. Increased facial hair. Yep. The only thing I don't have about menopause is the break from the curse.
I mean a break longer than 9 months.
All the boys should go outside and play kickball with the Social Studies teacher.
Are they gone? Good.
I have "been a woman" since I was 11.
That means that Aunt Flo has been coming to my house every month for 33 years. Well - 30, if you don't count the 3 times I was expecting. And, I probably shouldn't count those.
30 years then. 30 years times 12 months equals 360 months. I probably have about 10 more years to go before menopause. That's another 120 months. Considering the average cost of monthly products, I will have spent approximately $3,800.00 on Kotex before I am done.
Kotex, please, for $3,800 -- enough with the wings already.
I know they are supposed to keep your undies pristine. What kind of undies do most of us wear during this special time, anyway? Old granny panties. With holes in them. I could care less about pristine. And after 3 C-Sections, pristine isn't happening for me anymore anyway.
These friggin' wings are driving me nuts. They don't stick where they are supposed to, they climb back up into the, uh, main compartment and get all tangled. At least mine do.
They actually have pads to wear with thongs. Wow. I have been known to wear thongs with certain outfits. I can't even imagine wearing one during fright week.
I know that we've come a long way since the dark ages when women had to wear belts to keep their products in place. That? Would totally suck.
I know some of my post menopausal friends want to tell me to be grateful for this special time. That it's nothing compared to menopause. Well DON'T. Irritibility is a common symptom. It says so right on the box of Pamprin. I don't want to hear it.
I can't wait for menopause. I know, I know. . hot flashes. I get 'em alreddy. Night sweats. Got 'em. Panic attacks. Got 'em. Increased facial hair. Yep. The only thing I don't have about menopause is the break from the curse.
I mean a break longer than 9 months.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Girls & Girlfriends
No this is not about lesbians.
Sorry, guys. (I mean the men guys)
One of the best gifts of fat is that being fat has allowed me to have so many girlfriends. Weight issues are one of the many things that bond women to each other. And since I didn't spend my high school years being sired around town by cute guys, I spent lots of Saturday nights with my girlfriends. Who I totally dumped whenever I DID get a date. (Karen, Fran, Kristen, Nanci, Leslie, Liz: I'm so sorry!)
There is a type of girl that I pretty much can't stand tho.
No, it is not the "Skinny Girl".
In fact, I think it is mean spirited to say "She's so gorgeous, I hate her". We all say it. And we think we are being flattering. But really, we're being mean. So let's stop it, 'kay?
The girl I can't stand is the girl-hater.
The girl who doesn't have any close girlfriends, just close guy friends.
The girl who would watch football even if she were by herself AND there was a Sex in the City marathon on TV.
The girl whose best Friend is a guy who is madly in love with her but she just doesn't like him like that.
I hate that girl. Wait. I don't hate her. She just bugs me.
Not because I care if her friends are guys. I don't care if she likes football. That's not why she bugs me.
She bugs me because she uses men to annoy other girls.
She bugs me because she says things like: "I prefer guy friends because girls are just so catty"
Really? Because that was pretty much the cattiest thing I have ever heard anyone say. Ever.
The funniest thing about girl-haters is that guys can't understand why the rest of us are so annoyed by her.
My husband went to graduate school with one of the worst offenders I have ever met.
She never said two words to him in school. When the class got together socially (i.e with significant others), suddenly she found him fascinating. She laughed at all his jokes. Even the really dumb ones. He wore a crew cut back then & she made a point to run her hands through his hair. She sat next to him whenever she could.
Don't misunderstand me. I was not jealous.
I was not jealous for two reasons.
1. Greg had no idea she was flirting with him. If she had given him a lap dance he still wouldn't get it. Bless him, he just has no idea when someone flirts with him. Even me. If I can't be subtly romantic with him. I have to say "kiss me now" if I want a kiss.
2. I knew she didn't like him.
Frankly, I was a little annoyed that she didn't like him because he really was one of the hottest guys in their class. She really should have liked him.
I thought maybe I was feeling a little jealous, until I happened to chat with a few of the other wives. She did the exact same thing to their men. None of us can stand her.
Fortunately, most girls are girlfriends. Not girl-haters.
But they are out there. And we girlfriends are on to them.
Sorry, guys. (I mean the men guys)
One of the best gifts of fat is that being fat has allowed me to have so many girlfriends. Weight issues are one of the many things that bond women to each other. And since I didn't spend my high school years being sired around town by cute guys, I spent lots of Saturday nights with my girlfriends. Who I totally dumped whenever I DID get a date. (Karen, Fran, Kristen, Nanci, Leslie, Liz: I'm so sorry!)
There is a type of girl that I pretty much can't stand tho.
No, it is not the "Skinny Girl".
In fact, I think it is mean spirited to say "She's so gorgeous, I hate her". We all say it. And we think we are being flattering. But really, we're being mean. So let's stop it, 'kay?
The girl I can't stand is the girl-hater.
The girl who doesn't have any close girlfriends, just close guy friends.
The girl who would watch football even if she were by herself AND there was a Sex in the City marathon on TV.
The girl whose best Friend is a guy who is madly in love with her but she just doesn't like him like that.
I hate that girl. Wait. I don't hate her. She just bugs me.
Not because I care if her friends are guys. I don't care if she likes football. That's not why she bugs me.
She bugs me because she uses men to annoy other girls.
She bugs me because she says things like: "I prefer guy friends because girls are just so catty"
Really? Because that was pretty much the cattiest thing I have ever heard anyone say. Ever.
The funniest thing about girl-haters is that guys can't understand why the rest of us are so annoyed by her.
My husband went to graduate school with one of the worst offenders I have ever met.
She never said two words to him in school. When the class got together socially (i.e with significant others), suddenly she found him fascinating. She laughed at all his jokes. Even the really dumb ones. He wore a crew cut back then & she made a point to run her hands through his hair. She sat next to him whenever she could.
Don't misunderstand me. I was not jealous.
I was not jealous for two reasons.
1. Greg had no idea she was flirting with him. If she had given him a lap dance he still wouldn't get it. Bless him, he just has no idea when someone flirts with him. Even me. If I can't be subtly romantic with him. I have to say "kiss me now" if I want a kiss.
2. I knew she didn't like him.
Frankly, I was a little annoyed that she didn't like him because he really was one of the hottest guys in their class. She really should have liked him.
I thought maybe I was feeling a little jealous, until I happened to chat with a few of the other wives. She did the exact same thing to their men. None of us can stand her.
Fortunately, most girls are girlfriends. Not girl-haters.
But they are out there. And we girlfriends are on to them.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
She Broke The Rule
Fair Warning: this post is about a very crass subject. So if you don't want to read it, I understand. May I recommend Loose Leaf Writing, Annabel Manners or The Bitchy Waiter instead.
And if you read it anyway, (Mom), I don't want to hear about it.
I was recently in a ladies room. I had to pee.
Because in a ladies room, it is acceptable to:
1. Pee
2. Reapply Lipstick
3. Change into gym and/or going out clothes
It is NOT acceptable to
1. Crap
2. Shit
3. Poop
4. Fart. (unless you are CERTAIN it cannot be heard)
Poop is OK if you are under 6 and your mom is taking you to the ladies room.
Ladies rooms are not for taking a dump.
If you have to drop one, go home. YOUR home. Ladies never ever ever pollute an other's home.
I understand that these rules should be relaxed for certain ladies. Some visitors from other nations may not know the rules. Pregnant women are exempt, as are very senior citizens. (Mom, I know you're still reading. I mean senior citizens older than you. You can't go into a public restroom and drop a load).
I know all the women reading know this. I was just explaining to the men.
On the way home from work tonight, I popped into the ladies' to pee. A well dressed, 40ish woman was already there. She was applying lipstick, which, as I explained earlier, is perfectly acceptable.
We exchanged courtesies for a moment. Then we each headed for our stalls. We didn't take adjacent stalls, because it is against the rules to sit in adjacent stalls unless the bathroom is full. (I think even men have this rule).
It wasn't long before I heard a loud, wet squelching sound. Then a soft grunt. Then more sounds. Then water splashing.
Then I hear her get on her cell phone. Cell phones are still a grey area. Personally, I vote against talking on the cell while in the facilities. Especially when the call sounds like this:
"Hey". . .squelch. ."whatcha -- ungh -- doin'?" . . splash.
OMG.
Oh. Mah. Gaw.
OH MY SWEET JE-AY-SUS- IN HEAVEN!!!!!!!
SHE KNEW I WAS IN THERE.
How could she not know the rules? She was clearly a middle income, middle aged AMERICAN woman. She wasn't even middle aged. She was my age! She had an i-phone for chrissake!
Could she not have at least waited until I left? Seriously -- how long would it have taken me? Pee, zip, wash hands. Two minutes. Five minutes tops. She can't hold it for five minutes before she stinks up the bathroom that I am using too?
What is this country coming to? We already have a sign in every restroom that says EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS AFTER USING THE TOILET.
It's bad enough to have signs that say DO NOT FLUSH SANITARY PRODUCTS DOWN THE COMMODE.
Sometimes you even see that stupid rhyme: IF YOU SPRINKLE WHEN YOU TINKLE, PLEASE BE NEAT AND WIPE THE SEAT.
Do we have to post signs saying: LADIES DO NOT TAKE CRAPS IN PUBLIC BATHROOMS ESPECIALLY IF THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE IN HERE.
Sheesh.
Mom -- I'm serious. Not a word. I mean it. I'll call you later.
And if you read it anyway, (Mom), I don't want to hear about it.
I was recently in a ladies room. I had to pee.
Because in a ladies room, it is acceptable to:
1. Pee
2. Reapply Lipstick
3. Change into gym and/or going out clothes
It is NOT acceptable to
1. Crap
2. Shit
3. Poop
4. Fart. (unless you are CERTAIN it cannot be heard)
Poop is OK if you are under 6 and your mom is taking you to the ladies room.
Ladies rooms are not for taking a dump.
If you have to drop one, go home. YOUR home. Ladies never ever ever pollute an other's home.
I understand that these rules should be relaxed for certain ladies. Some visitors from other nations may not know the rules. Pregnant women are exempt, as are very senior citizens. (Mom, I know you're still reading. I mean senior citizens older than you. You can't go into a public restroom and drop a load).
I know all the women reading know this. I was just explaining to the men.
On the way home from work tonight, I popped into the ladies' to pee. A well dressed, 40ish woman was already there. She was applying lipstick, which, as I explained earlier, is perfectly acceptable.
We exchanged courtesies for a moment. Then we each headed for our stalls. We didn't take adjacent stalls, because it is against the rules to sit in adjacent stalls unless the bathroom is full. (I think even men have this rule).
It wasn't long before I heard a loud, wet squelching sound. Then a soft grunt. Then more sounds. Then water splashing.
Then I hear her get on her cell phone. Cell phones are still a grey area. Personally, I vote against talking on the cell while in the facilities. Especially when the call sounds like this:
"Hey". . .squelch. ."whatcha -- ungh -- doin'?" . . splash.
OMG.
Oh. Mah. Gaw.
OH MY SWEET JE-AY-SUS- IN HEAVEN!!!!!!!
SHE KNEW I WAS IN THERE.
How could she not know the rules? She was clearly a middle income, middle aged AMERICAN woman. She wasn't even middle aged. She was my age! She had an i-phone for chrissake!
Could she not have at least waited until I left? Seriously -- how long would it have taken me? Pee, zip, wash hands. Two minutes. Five minutes tops. She can't hold it for five minutes before she stinks up the bathroom that I am using too?
What is this country coming to? We already have a sign in every restroom that says EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS AFTER USING THE TOILET.
It's bad enough to have signs that say DO NOT FLUSH SANITARY PRODUCTS DOWN THE COMMODE.
Sometimes you even see that stupid rhyme: IF YOU SPRINKLE WHEN YOU TINKLE, PLEASE BE NEAT AND WIPE THE SEAT.
Do we have to post signs saying: LADIES DO NOT TAKE CRAPS IN PUBLIC BATHROOMS ESPECIALLY IF THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE IN HERE.
Sheesh.
Mom -- I'm serious. Not a word. I mean it. I'll call you later.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I Hate The Brady Bunch
I really hate The Brady Bunch.
Yes, I own all six seasons on DVD.
I still hate them.
Reason number 1: My middle name is Marcia.
You just thought "MARCIA! MARCIA! MARCIA!" didn't you?
Marcia is a nice name. I was named after my aunt. She was stylish, witty and fun. She was chic, well read and worldly.
And then stoopid Marcia Brady comes along and takes my chic middle name and turns it into a joke. "Something suddenly came up". Right.
Reason number 2: My husband's name is Greg.
Do I really need to finish that joke?
Reason number 3: The Brady Bunch LIES!
Lie 1: six kids share one bathroom.
Lie 2: You know that grass is AstroTurf, right? Greg isn't really mowing it.
It's Lie 3 that gets me. Lie 3 is HUGE! ( and no -- it's not that Mike & Carol were in a platonic marriage. Who cares about that anyway?)
Lie 3: Architects cannot really afford a custom home AND a stay-at-home-wife AND a live in maid.
Architects can't afford a custom home OR a stay-at-home-wife OR a live in maid.
I know, because I married an architect.
Honestly, I don't really want a custom home. My house is nice. I am very happy with it.
I have no desire to be a stay-at-home-wife. Especially if the kids have to stay at home too.
But the live in maid? That hurts.
I would do anything to have an Alice. I wouldn't even make her eat in the kitchen or off by herself when they camp or any of the mean things they do to Alice. I wouldn't make Alice ask permission to go on dates with Sam. And I would be very happy to have her cousin Emma come stay with us. Hell, I'll take Emma and all her butch Army ways instead of Alice.
I love my architect. A lot.
But I sure could use an Alice.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
First Day of School
The Catholic Schools started yesterday.
I send my kids to Catholic School. (Dave Ramsey & I don't see eye to eye on this one. Yes, it keeps us broke. But I am counting on Catholic School to help me raise men & not Baby Daddies.)
Luke started Kindergarten & Joe is in 4th grade.
Lots of fussing, crying and yelling. From me, not from them. Why?
1. Greg didn't want to come. I said "you aren't coming for the first day?" He said "I'll look at pictures. I don't need to be there." I said "So, I get to carry these 7 bags of school supplies by myself?" He said: "oh".
2. The camera's batteries were drained. For some reason, this made me yell at Greg. He never uses the camera, but I felt better by yelling at him. So Greg had to find the replacements somewhere. . .don't know where he found them, but apparently me screeching like a banshee is a great incentive to find batteries.
Please tell me I don't need to explain why having a camera on the first day of school is ESSENTIAL. Because it is.
3. Yesterday was the most HUMID day of the year so far. I live in South Texas and humid is a way of life for us. Yesterday was BEYOND humid. I wore a silk Jones of New York dress that stuck to me like saran wrap. My makeup melted off and my hair looked like Sissy Spacek's in Carrie -- just after the pig blood.
4. School is over at noon on the first & second days and there is NO aftercare. Ostensibly, this is so everyone can EASE into school.
Hey Catholic School Administrators! We are all working parents. That is how we PAY tuition. Having to take 2 half-days off so you can ease into school isn't EASY for anyone but you.
Nevertheless. . .
1. Joe likes school naturally. I suspect he will end up with several doctoral degrees because he enjoys it so much. As long as he can pay cash for them, I don't care how many degrees he gets. Yesterday was a great day for him. Back in his element.
2. Luke isn't a school guy. He's smart, but he's street smart. I am counting on him to make all the money and to look after his older brother. Yesterday, Luke had a great time -- Whew! He was perfectly happy to come to school today, which I credit to his lovely teacher Mrs. Garza. (Holla Emily!)
3. Finally, yesterday marks the day where we stop double-paying school tuition and daycare. We pay school tuition for 11 months. They are in school for 9 months. That means 2 months, we pay school tuition AND full time daycare. Summer is broke time for us. (In the summer I drive real slow past the place where they sell plasma. I haven't done it yet, but I haven't ruled it out either.)
4. The two 1/2 days are allowing me to catch up on laundry.
St. Don Bosco (patron saint of Catholic Schools) Pray for us!
I send my kids to Catholic School. (Dave Ramsey & I don't see eye to eye on this one. Yes, it keeps us broke. But I am counting on Catholic School to help me raise men & not Baby Daddies.)
Luke started Kindergarten & Joe is in 4th grade.
Lots of fussing, crying and yelling. From me, not from them. Why?
1. Greg didn't want to come. I said "you aren't coming for the first day?" He said "I'll look at pictures. I don't need to be there." I said "So, I get to carry these 7 bags of school supplies by myself?" He said: "oh".
2. The camera's batteries were drained. For some reason, this made me yell at Greg. He never uses the camera, but I felt better by yelling at him. So Greg had to find the replacements somewhere. . .don't know where he found them, but apparently me screeching like a banshee is a great incentive to find batteries.
Please tell me I don't need to explain why having a camera on the first day of school is ESSENTIAL. Because it is.
3. Yesterday was the most HUMID day of the year so far. I live in South Texas and humid is a way of life for us. Yesterday was BEYOND humid. I wore a silk Jones of New York dress that stuck to me like saran wrap. My makeup melted off and my hair looked like Sissy Spacek's in Carrie -- just after the pig blood.
4. School is over at noon on the first & second days and there is NO aftercare. Ostensibly, this is so everyone can EASE into school.
Hey Catholic School Administrators! We are all working parents. That is how we PAY tuition. Having to take 2 half-days off so you can ease into school isn't EASY for anyone but you.
Nevertheless. . .
1. Joe likes school naturally. I suspect he will end up with several doctoral degrees because he enjoys it so much. As long as he can pay cash for them, I don't care how many degrees he gets. Yesterday was a great day for him. Back in his element.
2. Luke isn't a school guy. He's smart, but he's street smart. I am counting on him to make all the money and to look after his older brother. Yesterday, Luke had a great time -- Whew! He was perfectly happy to come to school today, which I credit to his lovely teacher Mrs. Garza. (Holla Emily!)
3. Finally, yesterday marks the day where we stop double-paying school tuition and daycare. We pay school tuition for 11 months. They are in school for 9 months. That means 2 months, we pay school tuition AND full time daycare. Summer is broke time for us. (In the summer I drive real slow past the place where they sell plasma. I haven't done it yet, but I haven't ruled it out either.)
4. The two 1/2 days are allowing me to catch up on laundry.
St. Don Bosco (patron saint of Catholic Schools) Pray for us!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Monkee Mad. . .
When I was a kid, I watched reruns of the Monkees every day. Every day I would decide which one of them to love that day.
Don't call me that bad name that rhymes with door because I was only 10. Geesh.
I loved the Monkees' music.
I still love the Monkees' music.
Remember this song, sung by dreamy Davy Jones with his darling cockney accent:
I wanna be free
Like the Bluebirds flying by me
Like the waves out on the blue sea
If your love has to tie me, don't try me,
Say goodbye
I wanna be free
Don't say you love me, say you like me
But when I need you beside me,
Stay close enough to guide me, confide in
Me
ohhhh ohhhhhh oh
I wanna hold your hand
Walk along the sand
Laughing in the sun
Always having fun
Doing all these things
Without any strings
To tie me down
I wanna be free
Like the warm September wind babe
Say you'll always be my friend, babe
We can make it to the end, babe
Again babe, I gotta say
I wanna be free
I wanna be free
I wanna be freeeeeeeee
Words & Music by Boyce & Hart.
I loved this song. My pre-pubescent self would ardently promise: "I'd never tie you down Davy! I know you need to be free! Don't worry Davy! We can make it Davy!"
Forget that Davy Jones is almost exactly 20 years older than me. (I googled it. He is 19 years and 360 days older than me). Forget that he was (is) an inch shorter than me. (Googled that too). I thought he was DREAMY! And truth be told, I think he aged pretty well.
When I heard that song recently, my old crush came flooding back to me.
Then I paid attention to the words.
You wanna be free? WTF? What do you mean I'm supposed to say "I like you", not "I love you"? So I'm supposed to stay close enough to guide you, but not let my love tie you down? How exactly am I tying you down, Davy?
Oh.... I get it.
You want all the benefits of being a boyfriend without all the responsibilities.
You want me to keep my Sundays open, but you don't want to have to visit my parents.
You want to go to the movies, but you decide what we see.
You want me to get you a Christmas present, but you don't want to have to buy one for me.
YOU WANT THE BOOTY CALL BUT YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE WHEN YOUR FRIENDS COME OVER! IS THAT IT? THAT'S IT, ISN'T IT, DAVY??!! DAVY!!! DAVY!!!!!!!!
YOU BASTARD!
Seriously though. Seriously. How many other totally misogynistic love songs are out there that perversely shaped our view of a healthy relationship?
Think about it. "I Wanna Be Free" Is just a generation ahead of "My baby's Momma".
Coincidence?
I don't think so.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Bore the Scrap Out of Me. . .
One of my favorite things to do is scrapbook.
Scrapbooking is more than putting photos in albums. Scrapbooking is a creative process that tells a story with words, photos, and lots & lots of patterned paper, ribbon, rub-on letters and other arts & crafts supplies.
I started scrapping (or cropping, as some call it) when my oldest child was born. I got 5 albums done before his little brother was born 3 years later. The books tell a story of our home, which was filled with wonder and love.
Our home really WAS filled with wonder & love, so why does it make me throw up in my mouth a little when I write that down?
From a purely anthropological standpoint, my volumes and volumes (and volumes) of scrapbooks are an excellent snapshot the daily lives of middle-income, college educated married-with-kids family.
Volumes 1-4 are our life with a toddler. Every fricking day of it. "Here is Joseph in a red shirt." "Here he is in the kitchen!" "Joe in the bathtub!" "Here he is in a green shirt!" I honestly think the Joseph is one of the finest people God put on the planet, but I admit I went a little overbored. (yes, that is a pun).
Volumes 5-9 are our life with 2, then 3 kids. True to stereotype, Joe has more coverage than Luke or Paul. But, because I scrap, I know enough to have individual photos of #2 & #3 sons, instead of just photos of the 3 of them. (At least I think the photos are individual shots of each kid. My kids all kinda look alike.)
There are some pages about my husband & I. Some about other family. I've even done gift albums for other people. But mostly it's the boys. These kids better have good self esteem, because they are obviously adored.
I am glad I do these books. I enjoy them and my family enjoys them. They make great gifts. They evoke great memories.
But how often can I write of my love, gratitude and wonder? Maya Angelou I ain't.
I enjoy looking at others' scrapbooks. I even get scrapbooking magazines (yes, there are scrapbook magazines!). But scrapbookers are . . . boring.
I can't believe I said that.
I have lots of friends who scrapbook. None of them are boring. They are creative, witty and fun.
But how many pages about snowmen are titled "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow. . "? I would hazard a guess that every scrapbooker has at least one.
I am not going to stop scrabooking. I am not going to stop telling my family how much I love them. I am just going to try to be a little less . . . corny.
How's this:
"Son,
I expect a lot from you. I expect you to be a good man -- like your dad. I expect you to stay away from drugs, trashy girls, and Dungeons & Dragons. You don't have to be a Catholic when you grow up, but I do expect you to believe in God. You need to pay your way in life because God knows Dad & I haven't saved up enough for you. Finish College. Get a job before you get married. Get married before you have a baby. Be a good husband. Be a good dad.
And whatever you do, son, marry a girl who appreciates scrapbooking. Or else all this work I've done chronicling your life will wind up in the trash.
Love, Mom."
Scrapbooking is more than putting photos in albums. Scrapbooking is a creative process that tells a story with words, photos, and lots & lots of patterned paper, ribbon, rub-on letters and other arts & crafts supplies.
I started scrapping (or cropping, as some call it) when my oldest child was born. I got 5 albums done before his little brother was born 3 years later. The books tell a story of our home, which was filled with wonder and love.
Our home really WAS filled with wonder & love, so why does it make me throw up in my mouth a little when I write that down?
From a purely anthropological standpoint, my volumes and volumes (and volumes) of scrapbooks are an excellent snapshot the daily lives of middle-income, college educated married-with-kids family.
Volumes 1-4 are our life with a toddler. Every fricking day of it. "Here is Joseph in a red shirt." "Here he is in the kitchen!" "Joe in the bathtub!" "Here he is in a green shirt!" I honestly think the Joseph is one of the finest people God put on the planet, but I admit I went a little overbored. (yes, that is a pun).
Volumes 5-9 are our life with 2, then 3 kids. True to stereotype, Joe has more coverage than Luke or Paul. But, because I scrap, I know enough to have individual photos of #2 & #3 sons, instead of just photos of the 3 of them. (At least I think the photos are individual shots of each kid. My kids all kinda look alike.)
There are some pages about my husband & I. Some about other family. I've even done gift albums for other people. But mostly it's the boys. These kids better have good self esteem, because they are obviously adored.
I am glad I do these books. I enjoy them and my family enjoys them. They make great gifts. They evoke great memories.
But how often can I write of my love, gratitude and wonder? Maya Angelou I ain't.
I enjoy looking at others' scrapbooks. I even get scrapbooking magazines (yes, there are scrapbook magazines!). But scrapbookers are . . . boring.
I can't believe I said that.
I have lots of friends who scrapbook. None of them are boring. They are creative, witty and fun.
But how many pages about snowmen are titled "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow. . "? I would hazard a guess that every scrapbooker has at least one.
I am not going to stop scrabooking. I am not going to stop telling my family how much I love them. I am just going to try to be a little less . . . corny.
How's this:
"Son,
I expect a lot from you. I expect you to be a good man -- like your dad. I expect you to stay away from drugs, trashy girls, and Dungeons & Dragons. You don't have to be a Catholic when you grow up, but I do expect you to believe in God. You need to pay your way in life because God knows Dad & I haven't saved up enough for you. Finish College. Get a job before you get married. Get married before you have a baby. Be a good husband. Be a good dad.
And whatever you do, son, marry a girl who appreciates scrapbooking. Or else all this work I've done chronicling your life will wind up in the trash.
Love, Mom."
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Granny
When I was a kid, grandmas were sweet, little old ladies.
I am blessed to have known both of my grandmothers. Grandma A, who weighed about 75lbs soaking wet, was the most wonderful, affirming, lovely lady I have ever known. her house always smelled of fresh coffee, Dove soap and bran flakes. There was always a rosary and a prayer book on her bedside table, and in the evenings she could be found enjoying a martini and a few cheese nip crackers.
Grandma C was more robust. She would clean our kitchen while complaining about what slobs we were. She drank beer from a can & used to threaten to beat my cousins with "a board with a nail in it". When we were sick, she'd make us drink 7-up and hot toddies with honey, lemon & whisky. She watched Family Feud every day, but would never admit it. Her house always smelled of Dove soap, Youth Dew cologne and laundry soap.
Both grandmas had beautiful white hair, "done" each week & held in place by a hairnet made of fibers finer than cobwebs. They each had bright blue eyes and wore lipstick and face powder. They lunched with friends every week, and they had handbags to match all of their shoes.
They bragged about their grand kids, although they would never admit it.
They were grandmas.
My own mother and mother-in-law are more modern than my own grandmas -- mom's house smells like Benson & Hedges, coffee and pot pourri. Toshi's house has a more Asian smell - moth balls, seaweed and talcum powder. Both Mom & Toshi have pretty white hair, but they don't bother with hairnets. They each wear stylish casual clothes. Mom gets online and writes freelance articles. Toshi does freelance bookkeeping. Both volunteer at their churches 30+ hours per week. Both brag about their grand kids -- and make fun of themselves for doing so.
They are grandmas.
I want to be like them someday.
Someday, as in 2036. Not today.
I am 44. I had my children a little later in life: my first child was born when I was 35, my last when I was 42. I don't look like a grandma (I don't think). My hair is not a pretty white color, it's a fabulous, expensive red. I don't have many wrinkles despite years of sun damage. (A gift of fat? nice, smooth skin) I never use Dove soap.
So when I take my littles to the grocery store, and the checkout girl tells me my grand kids are cute, I get a little. . . .I dunno.
When it's my husband -- who has salty salt & pepper hair -- I get it. He has WHITE hair for chrissakes. It's an honest mistake. But me????
I have friends who are grandmas that don't come close to the little-old-lady model that I grew up with. One of my friends still gets hit on. She's in her 50's, but she looks like she's 40. Another of my friends had her son young, and now, at 42, she is a grandma. Grandma Diva, she calls herself. She's beautiful. I bet when she takes her grandson to the grocery store, the checkout girl tells her her baby is cute.
So maybe it's not so bad to be confused for grandma.
Then why does it make me feel like I should be buying hairnets?
I am blessed to have known both of my grandmothers. Grandma A, who weighed about 75lbs soaking wet, was the most wonderful, affirming, lovely lady I have ever known. her house always smelled of fresh coffee, Dove soap and bran flakes. There was always a rosary and a prayer book on her bedside table, and in the evenings she could be found enjoying a martini and a few cheese nip crackers.
Grandma C was more robust. She would clean our kitchen while complaining about what slobs we were. She drank beer from a can & used to threaten to beat my cousins with "a board with a nail in it". When we were sick, she'd make us drink 7-up and hot toddies with honey, lemon & whisky. She watched Family Feud every day, but would never admit it. Her house always smelled of Dove soap, Youth Dew cologne and laundry soap.
Both grandmas had beautiful white hair, "done" each week & held in place by a hairnet made of fibers finer than cobwebs. They each had bright blue eyes and wore lipstick and face powder. They lunched with friends every week, and they had handbags to match all of their shoes.
They bragged about their grand kids, although they would never admit it.
They were grandmas.
My own mother and mother-in-law are more modern than my own grandmas -- mom's house smells like Benson & Hedges, coffee and pot pourri. Toshi's house has a more Asian smell - moth balls, seaweed and talcum powder. Both Mom & Toshi have pretty white hair, but they don't bother with hairnets. They each wear stylish casual clothes. Mom gets online and writes freelance articles. Toshi does freelance bookkeeping. Both volunteer at their churches 30+ hours per week. Both brag about their grand kids -- and make fun of themselves for doing so.
They are grandmas.
I want to be like them someday.
Someday, as in 2036. Not today.
I am 44. I had my children a little later in life: my first child was born when I was 35, my last when I was 42. I don't look like a grandma (I don't think). My hair is not a pretty white color, it's a fabulous, expensive red. I don't have many wrinkles despite years of sun damage. (A gift of fat? nice, smooth skin) I never use Dove soap.
So when I take my littles to the grocery store, and the checkout girl tells me my grand kids are cute, I get a little. . . .I dunno.
When it's my husband -- who has salty salt & pepper hair -- I get it. He has WHITE hair for chrissakes. It's an honest mistake. But me????
I have friends who are grandmas that don't come close to the little-old-lady model that I grew up with. One of my friends still gets hit on. She's in her 50's, but she looks like she's 40. Another of my friends had her son young, and now, at 42, she is a grandma. Grandma Diva, she calls herself. She's beautiful. I bet when she takes her grandson to the grocery store, the checkout girl tells her her baby is cute.
So maybe it's not so bad to be confused for grandma.
Then why does it make me feel like I should be buying hairnets?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Blame Game
When my mother was in seventh grade, Sister Urban Maria sternly advised the girls to eat a hearty breakfast every morning. “I don’t want to hear that you are taking after these fashion models”, she said, “All they have for breakfast is a cup of coffee and a cigarette!”
With this in mind, as soon as class let out, my mom and all the other aspiring fashion models ran to the corner store to buy their first packs of Chesterfields.
Philip Morris owes Sister Urban Maria a commission.
Sixty years later, my mom still smokes.
Mom is the most polite smoker in the world. She would never smoke in someone else’s home, or car, or in a non-smoking designated area. She won’t smoke around my kids, although it doesn’t bother me if she smokes in front of them. They see her for a couple of days a year. It won’t kill them to be around cigarette smoke for a few hours. I lived immersed in second hand cigarette smoke for 18 years. I am fine. Mostly. Nevertheless, my mom wouldn’t dream of smoking around the boys.
I don’t smoke, but I can identify with smokers.
Smokers are bullied. They are bullied socially, medically and legislatively.
Just like fat people.
Here’s an example:
When a smoker gets cancer, people shrug and say “what did you expect?”
When fat people get diabetes they say the same thing.
It’s the Blame Game. Blame the sick for causing the disease. People behave as if smokers deserve cancer. Fat people deserve diabetes.
Remember in the 80’s when HIV and AIDS emerged? Remember the awful jokes? The irrational fear? Remember how people shrugged and said “what did they expect?"
Those were dark days.
I am not denying that smoking is a cause of cancer. That does not mean smokers deserve cancer.
I am not denying that obesity is a cause of Type 2 diabetes. That does not mean fat people deserve diabetes.
I am standing up to the social, medical and legislative bullies.
Sister Urban Maria, pray for us.
With this in mind, as soon as class let out, my mom and all the other aspiring fashion models ran to the corner store to buy their first packs of Chesterfields.
Philip Morris owes Sister Urban Maria a commission.
Sixty years later, my mom still smokes.
Mom is the most polite smoker in the world. She would never smoke in someone else’s home, or car, or in a non-smoking designated area. She won’t smoke around my kids, although it doesn’t bother me if she smokes in front of them. They see her for a couple of days a year. It won’t kill them to be around cigarette smoke for a few hours. I lived immersed in second hand cigarette smoke for 18 years. I am fine. Mostly. Nevertheless, my mom wouldn’t dream of smoking around the boys.
I don’t smoke, but I can identify with smokers.
Smokers are bullied. They are bullied socially, medically and legislatively.
Just like fat people.
Here’s an example:
When a smoker gets cancer, people shrug and say “what did you expect?”
When fat people get diabetes they say the same thing.
It’s the Blame Game. Blame the sick for causing the disease. People behave as if smokers deserve cancer. Fat people deserve diabetes.
Remember in the 80’s when HIV and AIDS emerged? Remember the awful jokes? The irrational fear? Remember how people shrugged and said “what did they expect?"
Those were dark days.
I am not denying that smoking is a cause of cancer. That does not mean smokers deserve cancer.
I am not denying that obesity is a cause of Type 2 diabetes. That does not mean fat people deserve diabetes.
I am standing up to the social, medical and legislative bullies.
Sister Urban Maria, pray for us.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Chutzpah or Humiliating. . .I can't decide
Dance Your Ass Off is in a new season & I really can't decide.
Is it a positive, empowering show featuring confident, beautiful, fat people moving their bodies and defying what society says about what fat can do?
Or is it a humiliating Lose-Weight-Or-You-Are-A-Loser show vis-a-vis Jillian Michaels?
I suspect it's a little of both.
I LOVE to dance. LOVE it! LOVE IT!
Seriously -- you should see me at Zumba. I'm all Christina Aguilera. I love to pretend I'm a Solid Gold dancer. (if you weren't born between 1965 & 1970, don't even try to get that reference. It's too obscure.) Dancing brings me joy.
It also makes my face red & I get all sweaty.
My first Zumba class one of the older ladies in the class looked at me & said "Ay! Mija! Your face is so red -- you bedder sit down or you gonna have a heart attack!"
No ma'am. I'm just Irish.
The people on Dance Your Ass Off look just like me. Mostly. (Some are African-American. Some are tattooed. Some are boys. But other than that? Twins.) They dance. With joy. They move, they are confident, they are sexy, they are graceful, they are vibrant, they are artistes.
Then they get weighed.
WTF?
Do Simon & Randy WEIGH their contestants?
Here's where the cool dance contest turns into Mean Girls. I guess nobody would watch a bunch of fat people dance unless they promised to weigh themselves on National TV first. Then this Downtown Julie Brown wannabe announces their weight, tabulates their score and gives them their ranking. And if they don't lose lots & lots of weight?
They lose.
People on this show were losing 6, 7, 8, 9 & 10 lbs. In a week! One girl lost 0.9 & was treated as if she had just cut a fart.
I have a problem with this on so many levels.
One: Anyone with chronic obesity can tell you that a healthy eight loss is NO MORE than 2 lbs per week. More than that and you run into all sorts of health problems with your liver, gall bladder and other internal organs. But, as my wonderful husband said: "The TV Execs don't care if it kills them, they just want ratings".
Two: Weighing in public.
I know I am a beautiful, proud, fat woman who isn't afraid to own my size 24. But you never see me put my weight on here, do you? No. Nuh uh. Nope. You never will.
Hell, I moved to Texas partly because they don't put your weight on your driver's licence.
My husband doesn't know the number. I won't say it in confession. My girlfriends don't know it, I won't tell my children, and I certainly would never get on national television and let Mean Julie Brown announce it to the world. Partly because it embarrasses me, and partly because I don't want it to define me.
So I am conflicted. Is Dance Your Ass Off a good thing? Or Not?
Whaddya think?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Not all Fat Girls are Self Loathing Hoarders. . .
Yes Jillian Michaels, I am talking to YOU.
I've seen the previews for your new show.
I watched your intense kohl-lined eyes framed by perfectly tousled tresses stare into the pink, sweaty & makeup-free face of your "client". Whatever. I look just like that girl when I work out except I don't cry like an idiot. When I work out (2 miles yesterday thankyouverymuch!), my hair is back in a chongo (which is South Texican for ponytail. Awesome word, right??), I'm wearing glasses instead of contacts, and my face is bright red.
I watched the blonde, composed and beautifully made up doctor chastise the pink-faced crying girl about her weight. I heard her say something like "If you don't do something about this, you are going to have to make arrangements for someone else to take care of your kids!" Excuse me? She IS doing something about it. She's at the doctor. (I'll rant about doctors and weight loss in a minute).
Then I watched Jillian & her tight abs walk through a very cluttered room, while Pinkface sobs in the background.
That's the preview.
Can't wait to see the show.
Know what? I am not going to watch it. And I am going to ask you not to watch it.
Why?
Because as far as I can see, this show is about perpetuating the myth that one can only truly be happy when they are fit, thin and clutter free.
I am sure the pink faced crying girl is going to have a happy ending. I am sure she has real issues. And I know a lot of us feel like you do, Pinky. But you're not helping us by letting Jillian humiliate you publicly.
When Dr. Model chastises you, you need to look her calmly in the eye and say "I understand there are significant health implications. That's why I am here. I don't appreciate your condescending tone. I am not stupid."
I am sure that Dr. Model doesn't berate her other clients with chronic health conditions. I am sure her asthma patients aren't told that they have character issues because of their condition. Does she tell patients with eczema that they need to make arrangements to have someone care for their families? No. She treats them. With respect.
I asked my doctor (who is also beautiful, but not condescending) why she couldn't treat my weight like she would any other chronic illness. Know why? Insurance. So she sent me to Weight Watchers. The only way my weight can be treated by a physician is if I have gastric bypass surgery.
Is it just me, or is there something horribly wrong with a system that expects for-profit companies to treat an illness, and then when it doesn't work, they will pay to have a major organ amputated?
I'm not up for gastric bypass -- at least not now. But it would be better than having Jillian Michaels humiliate me in front of a TV Audience.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Well Meaning People Who Piss Me Off. . .
I don't know why this bugs me so much, but it does.
I mean RANKLES. Annoys. Irritates. Bothers. Frustrates. Grates, peeves and vexes.
A few times a year, I decide enough is enough and I work on my fitness. I vow to eat better, exercise more and embrace a healthier lifestyle. My goal is health, you understand. If I am a few dress sizes smaller, so be it.
Fitness shows. It shows in the way your clothes fit. It shows in what you eat & drink. It shows in how you feel. It shows.
And when people compliment me on it, I want to scream.
Specifically:
"Oh my God you are getting so skinny!" (I am a size twenty-fucking-two. On what universe is that skinny?)
"You look great! Keep it up!" (Keep it up? If you like someones hair color, would you tell them to keep it up? "Love the blonde, Carmen! Keep it up girl! Don't let those roots creep back down! Get yourself to the stylist! And don't forget to condition!!" Seriously? Seriously. Pisses me off.)
"You are so good!" ( Well, fuck you very much. Know what? Fitness is not a moral issue. I am no better than I was 10 lbs ago. Mother Teresa was good. I'm just doing my best.)
And then there are the affiliators. These are the people who want to make sure you know that they understand. They've been there. Unless you've lived a good part of your life as a size 20 or larger? You haven't been here. Affiliators say shit like this:
"I just lost 20 lbs -- I was disgusting!" ( Pedophiles are disgusting. Fat people are not.)
"What worked for me was I just cut my fruit up as soon as I came home from the grocery store & put it in the fridge, so my snack was all ready." (The person who makes this comment is always someone who went from a size 6 to a size 4. Always. No wonder I am a size 24. My fucking fruit isn't cut up.)
"If I need to lose a few lbs, I just don't eat lunch for a few days." (That's my husband. He's a man. He's Japanese -- well, technically, he's Okinawan -- I mean ethnically he's Okinawan because he was born in California. But back to the point. Japanese-Okinawan MEN do not have weight problems so shuthefuckup.)
I guess what I am trying to say is: I am going to be exercising. I am modifying my food choices. I am going to look different. If you like it, tell me I look fabulous.
Then shut up.
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