The Lunch Room's Back: Adult e-Drama

When I was in middle school, finding a place to sit during the lunch hour was the most socially awkward and difficult task during the first week of classes. As a sixth grader, I realized quickly that my elementary school pals were in different lunch periods and when gaping at a room predominantly mixed with older schoolmates, trying to find a familiar face and in turn, a seat, was a challenge.


Back then, I was five foot going on gangly and equipped with a full mouth of silver braces. I had bangs, bad clothes, and a backpack full of books that I was afraid I wouldn't have time between classes to leave behind in a locker. I was relieved when a table of seventh graders took mercy on me and beckoned me over.

These girls became my lunch pals for a semester and allowed me to adapt in a sea of unfamiliarity so that later, when I was in eighth grade, I could return the favor to another pal in good faith knowing that this positive cycle of friendship and acceptance could indeed, transcend all the nasty that can be junior high. (Mind you, this was the early 1990s so this particular breed of nasty is somewhat nostalgic.)

So forgive me if I grew up thinking one good turn deserves another. My ideological and romanticized interpretation of 'do unto others' is perhaps not the norm in today's instant gratification society (I waited 2 1/2 full years to return the favor!? What?!), but I have to say that as an adult, nothing can quite prepare you for eDrama.

The Internet, via social networking sites, has become an adult's virtual playground in which he or she can reenact being a bully, a puss, or a wallflower from middle school. We don't have the luxury of class times and teachers and principals with paddles long ago embossed and framed (when capital punishment officially died), to reign us in - keep us off each other. Can't slap your coworker or your friend for something nasty in person? Hit 'em on Myspace. Discredit them on Facebook. Blog about it. Hate a bit a more? Submit an Urban Dictionary definition just in case they ever want to date again.

Pissed because someone's more popular than you are? E-stalk them on Facebook and dig anything you can to obliterate them at work, in school, at parties, in church,...you name it. Because my goodness, someone's 'e-mood' certainly confirms what he or she is thinking second-to-second. (Hello - We have Twitter for that!)

It's bad enough that employers and potential employers plow the social networking sites, eliminating the 'chaff' from their stacks of resumes, but it's far worse to watch adults abuse one another in such a passive-aggressive manner when a simple "let's talk about it" would suffice.

Couples over-analyze daily status reports in hopes of catching one another in some misdemeanor in the relationship. Friends backbite one another and de-friend and befriend each other as the seasons change. Have an ethical issue you want to challenge your coworker about? Blog the hell out of their Facebook wall when you see political commentary. It's Facebook afterall, you can "like" anything you like and "delete" whatever you don't. Right?

Wrong. Some of these antics online are akin to shoving someone off the balance beam or giving someone a wedgie. All relegate you, as a person, to what we called at Carlin Park Elementary, "the bad box."

Have an issue with someone at church? Why tell them?! Read their Facebook or Myspace long enough and you'll achieve fodder to obtain their excommunication - get 'em thrown down from the pulpit, by God. Want to have someone excused from a committee? Look at their Myspace photos and pray for drunk ones.

It's all juvenile and pre-pubescent activity to me. And it's hilarious. Hysterical actually.
Daddy no longer needs to buy a BMW Z3 at 55 years-old, he can just get Facebook and troll the web for $75,000 less. He can spend the extra cash on a new head of hair or calf implants. (Though I beg him to take caution when the country finally, FINALLY, moves away from dial up and gets high speed. Mama's gonna have a laptop too.) They will eventually duke it out by whether or not they post "married" on their profiles.

Want to spy on your kids? A host of parents are now trolling the Internet to catch their children in the proverbial "act" all the time. (note - I think some of this is okay, frankly. It's a jungle out there!)

Not a bully by nature? Social networking sites are perfect for being a victim too! You can spend hours reading into Facebook posts hoping or thinking they're about you. You watch as two people converse and leave you out of the cyber conversation. Better yet, read into a survey your friend writes and see if the "Who's your best friend?" answer doesn't read YOU.
It's easy to hate the world when your view exists only between your seat and the 19 inches in front of you.
(computer screen, hello!)

And I have to laugh, because I've fallen into this before a few times and though I'm incredulous about how social networking has in many ways, replaced the phone, replaced email, replaced sharing in person, I see how it gets popular.
It recreates grade school for those of us who didn't quite survive it unscathed or without a few bridges left to burn.

When I was in fifth grade, someone shoved me off the balance beam. I fell off, arching wildly, slapping my back on the beam before hitting the ground in a heap. At the time, a few kids stood by and watched as I struggled to breathe before a recess monitor rushed to ensure I lived. I think today, I'll post on Facebook: "Dana Barrett got shoved of the balance beam."

Wonder how many will respond with "I like this."

Guess we're all still working on growing up a little...

:)

Goin' My Way?

Since the age of 18, I've been battling a disease commonly known as road rage. Inherited from my paternal grandfather and father, it's just one of those illnesses that sticks no matter how much incense you breathe; yoga you take; or sedatives produced. It's just there.

And I didn't get my driver's license at age 18, but to me that's when my time became way more valuable and I needed point A to yield point B far more quickly.

Over ten years later, I'm still struggling. I live in Fort Wayne, Indiana - a perpetual traffic nightmare compared with the burgs around it where you can calmly break the speed limit and only a corn stalk or a rusted out trailer will see you. That is, unless it's the end of the month, then the coppers are everywhere making quotas.

Fort Wayne driving isn't nearly the level of nerve-wracking that say, Atlanta or Chicago are, but what adds insult to injury is that it ISN'T Atlanta or Chicago. It's FORT WAYNE. An extra-large town rather than a metropolitan behemoth, Fort Wayne doesn't have the street cred for the traffic problems it has year upon year upon year upon year...

One issue that resurfaces (pardon my pun) is the construction. People will hear me complain for days about Fort Wayne's lack of construction control. My motto: do it right the first time and you don't have to redo it as frequently. Apparently Fort Wayne INDOT doesn't subscribe the same way. For proof, check out U.S. State Road 14/Illinois Road some evening if you're jonesing for Bandito's. (Which you should never jones for Bandito's.) I challenge you not to be disgusted. This project has taken nearly two years and it seems the engineers didn't "account for" the big man-made pond. Nice. Needless to say, that artery has been clogged and a consistent auto-wrecker for a long time.

Every downtown street needs a repair due to flooding, poor roadwork, or overuse. Not to mention, we've placed a traffic light at nearly every intersection save the ones where we actually need one to keep people from killing themselves (ex. Rudisill and Fairfield).

Drivers have resorted to running red lights three to four vehicles at a time as frustration levels rise with delays caused by poor-planning road work groups.

Don't start me on train tracks. Taking Thomas to Target or Jefferson Pointe? Forget it. You have to slow to 5 mph (which is damn near impossible) so that you don't lose a wheel or rattle a filling out of your mouth trying to cross. Note, there are two there in a row for you - both poorly maintained and both rickety as hell. Bonus points for catching the train there.

And you know, it's not even the road work that causes me the most frustration. It's that I can't seem to get anywhere quickly. Lunch hours are an exercise in futility. "Ma'am, I'm sorry you drove twenty minutes to get home, but we've blocked the entrance for the next four hours." Gotta tell you officer, that pisses me off. Where would you have me go? I left the stove on and in those four hours, the whole show's gonna blow. You want that on your hands?

Grandpa, I know it's Friday afternoon and you have a phone book booster seat slipping off your bum, but gas your Buick. You got a big car with a big engine that has slipped into geezer status because men like you refuse to gun the hell out of them. Try it. It's exhilarating. Blow your hair back; go 40 mph on Bass Road. I dare you.

I have to concur with BLeave on this too. Why does every 20-50 year old mom have to a) drive an enormous SUV and b) text while driving it. I mean, you're the mother bear - your cubs are in the back and here you are slowing down to send a text forward that sings Jesus Loves Me to your girlfriend back at the office who didn't take the day off to go to Von Maur. Meanwhile, your kids are getting a free amusement park ride in the back as your Escalade or Excursion swings its ass all over the freeway. Listen to the hospitals: Don't Text and Die. And your children are simply innocent victims to your mindless, MarioKart way of navigating the city. I swear if your back panel swings any closer to my car, I'm going to lose it.

So you don't know where you're going. I hear you. I still get a little turned around here in Fort Wayne because of the rivers and the constant street name changes. (Most recently, Huegenard and Hillegas) I get it. Fort Wayne's a little tricky especially if you grew up in Angola and you're panicked because you see Creighton coming up on your right. May I suggest a navigator, a map, or good old fashioned directions? This helps. Please don't crawl from block to block and then stop at intersections where you're not quite sure. You can ALWAYS turn around. Promise. Everything's gonna be alright.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! We've sat here waiting for the longest light ever to change to green and you're still sitting. Nearly forty-five seconds later, you finally get this "oooh, my turn!" gun to the gas and by the time you and the poor sap behind you get through, the rest of us are in for another long stretch of waiting. (ex. Anthony and Coliseum) To me, if you have an army of cars behind you and it's after class or after work, it's in your best interest to step on it.
(Note - soccer mom missed the light and took it red because she was texting and checking her nail polish.)

How many cops does it take to patrol one city block? I rue the day I come up behind a few police officers ( as much as I love their contribution to our city) and every driver slows to just shy of the limit to prevent being arrested. (*laughs) Worse than that, the drivers slow so they have no chance of passing a patrol car because heaven forbid we pass one. I've never seen so many drivers actively fearing the cherries and berries.
But I get it.
You don't have insurance or had three brews at lunch. Stakes are high right?
Phhhsssst.
Drive.

Farm vehicle, eh. You have an errand to run. Maybe you ran out of seed or need a specific tool from Harbor Freight, but it's a nice day so you're driving the combine to town. Dammit. Tractors are sexy, but not when they're plowing pavement at 10 mph between 5 and 6 pm.

Don't start me on mopeds. Gasoline cost is ridiculous and you got a DUI. You still have to drive to work and it's a little far. But do you have to take the fast lane and the middle? It's not fair. You'd make better time and be less of a traffic risk if you had a Big Wheel and a backpack.

Bicycles. I love biking. It's fun and allows you to get some exercise en route to and from work. But know the rules. Know where you can and cannot ride. Stay outta my way! If you're pedaling across US 930 full human speed when the light's red, I am telling you, I have the right of way. Not you. Which reminds me, where are all the kids coming from who are riding along highways on their BMX bikes?! That just doesn't seem safe to me.

Pedestrians, do me a favor. If I'm letting you and the gaggle of shoppers behind you walk through before I park at lease, LEAST, pick up your feet. I may be compelled to knock out a few stragglers if I have to wait too long. At least pretend your hurrying up because our time is mutually valuable. I wasn't put on this earth to watch you strut your stuff. I'm being courteous by not running you over. You really wanna go by Dodge Stratus? I wouldn't.

And I admit it, I'm not very nice behind the wheel. This is one of my own character flaws that causes my passengers immense discomfort as I honk the horn, yank the wheel and yell "dumpers!" and "hurry up!" and "big sh*tter!" en route to our destination. (note - the first and last phrases are shared with one of my best friends and more humorous than anything)

And I apologize to those of you whose horns I honked for you and whose passenger brakes I've squeezed. It's not you, it's me.
You have the right to be a little mad at me sometimes. I can be downright embarrassing and I've once, twice, three times earned my comeuppance. (Like the dudes in Huntington who tried to follow me home; or the old guy who tried to squash me against a guardrail at 85 mph heading north on I65 around Louisville)
I'm Sorry!

I'M SOOOOORRRRRRRRYYYYYY!

It's just me.

Anyone going my way?

On Modern Domesticity...Part 1

With Love to ACR.

One of the most intriguing and challenging, not to mention beautiful social phenomenons is the union of two individuals (or more) under the same roof - to be specific, the relationship between a couple who has just decided to move in together, be it for advancing the relationship or marriage or any other relatively interesting purpose.

What makes me laugh and sometimes makes me want to tear my hair are the little, unsuspecting 'housekeeping items' that suddenly leap from the mundane to the near-catastrophic. So to be fair, I'd say my interest here is the merging of two routines.

Love conquers all, they say.

But can Love decide if the glassware goes rim-side up or rim-side down in the cabinet? Love didn't send me the memo on peanut butter, that's for sure. I've been refrigerating mine blissfully for over ten years and didn't know that that act was 'weird.' (I have since learned only two people in the entire universe refrigerate peanut butter,...me and my mom. Go figure.) And let's be clear, Jiff is peanut butter. Skippy can take a hike. And is it creamy or chunky? What kinds of jam go with it? Seriously...you can write the blog on peanut butter alone! But I digress...

I would also like to know if Love put the word out that toilet paper goes under and not over. The jury's out on that one, I think.

Where do pans go? In the drawer beneath the oven? In the oven? In the cabinet next to or near the oven? In the pantry?

Seriously! The things you don't think about until you're...well standing in the kitchen with the Jiff or the pan in hand going "What the...?"

(*laughs)

Ah, the beauty of it. When couples decide to move in together, sure, they think about change. Change is inevitable. Thoughts shift between "I love this person so much," to "I hope she doesn't plan to bring THAT table with her," to "What if he still has that laundry pile every day," to "Oh my god, we both...have...cats."

Those things are important. You have to organize - who manages laundry the most; who cleans the disgusting cat messes; where do we store the table; how do we blend the furniture; etc. However, the issues that tend to go undetected are the tiny, personality indicators, like well, peanut butter.

Or sleeping patterns. Do you sleep with the TV on or off all night? Do you have a comforter? Do you sleep nude or in PJs? What time do you get up? Who gets the bathroom first? How many outlets does a woman really need? Why does it take her over an hour to get ready? How can he possibly be ready in ten minutes? Oh my God, is that a MUD MASK?!

And so it goes...

I have to laugh at all this realizing that most of this is reflective of my own current life at home. And frankly, I love it. The little challenges are hilarious at times and at others, well,...a step outside the comfort zone. I swear, I didn't mean to put the porcelain toothbrush holder in the dishwasher. I know it says not to on the bottom....well, now I do.
(Ha ha ha.)

And I'm fortunate to have a fun-loving boyfriend who is quick-witted enough to handle the issues even when they are a bit volatile. When I'm Fe-motional,
Me: "Are these eggs in the fridge fresh?"
His reply: "ARE YOURS?"

It's too funny.

Tempers light, words exchange, relationships are questioned over silliness like bed sheets, trash day, pets and pet behaviors, and all other such nonsense that we often take for granted daily until our loved ones point out "What the hell are you doing?"

Do you need to clean the lint trap every time?
YES!

Shower curtain open all day or closed?
You decide.
The jury's out in our house.

Bread? White or wheat?
Protein enriched or fiber enhanced?
Salted or unsalted butter?
Is bacon a food group of its own?!

Don't even start me on toothpaste. I'm a habitual squeezer and my boyfriend's a roller. Honestly, I need that controlled chaos for survival.
And yes, I'm serious.
And even our regular server at Henry's knows I'm loony tunes on that one.
But it's me.

And I reflect on these items humorously and seriously because it serves not only as the indicator of relationship strength between two people, but also indicates the willingness to compromise. Nothing is more precious than one's daily routine.
To each man or woman, that routine MAKES SENSE.

Even mine, which I acknowledge readily is a bit, well...crazy.
But I will never part with my cold peanut butter.
It's lovely and doesn't have the oily film on it.

To me, how a couple merges their daily routines is key number 2 or 3 on the relationship priority. It's the cog to the wheel phenomenon that allow couples to merge as a force, if you will, on a day-to-day existence. Sure, many will say meeting emotionally, physically, and intellectually is priority one, and I agree, but consider how much weight rides on the amount and temperature of water in your morning shower and whether or not you can or can't park in the garage.

And my goodness, what if your partner sees you in your granny panties or your real face after the make-up is completely off? What if she finds your porn collection, guys? Or how will she feel about watching Spongebob and eating cereal for dinner? What will he say when your cat rips his $2,000 sofa or jumps on his face at 3 AM?

These are all very significant and hilarious instances as you come together as a unit and move your relationship up a notch. This is the real stuff, the life stuff, the we-grow-in-love stuff that honestly makes life worth the tumultuous ride.

Sure, it's romantic and for me, a wonderful life. But what makes the dynamic between two newly merged individuals is how it's not about the rent or the lack of date nights, but whether or not the peanut butter is at its most perfect consistency.

Happy Co-habitating!

"We've decided to start trying..."

One thing I've always had difficulty understanding is the social conversation that goes a little something like this...

Person 1: "So, when are you two going to have children?"

Couple: "We've talked about it a lot especially now that the wedding stuff is over."

Person 1: "And?"

Couple (shared look, googly eyes): "Well, we've decided to start trying."


I. Don't. Get. It.

"We've decided to start trying," conjures up a host of meanings that exceed the realm of child-creation; however, for the purpose of staying on task, let's explore this particular topic first. Really folks, what you're telling the audience - presumably friends, parents, family members, random people in the grocery store - is this: "We're having more sex lately. It's with each other. We're also adding a schedule, position regimen, and have eliminated all forms of birth control."

*Shudder.

WHY does anyone have to know this?! To me, the important fact that seems press-worthy is the ensuing pregnancy or birth. You know, something short and fun like "We're pregnant" or "We're going to have a baby." Yeah, that seems appropriate.

Not "We're trying."

Eeeew.

It strikes me as something as regoddamdiculous as a Persian princess cat wearing a lime football helmet. WHO CARES?

Perhaps I'm a little too results-oriented, but frankly, when couples say they're trying to conceive, all it does is broadcast a mating ritual unique unto itself. It's like saying "We're having sex, more lately, and it's very different from what you're doing. I mean, we're trying."

Uh huh. Sounds like white paper sheets and sample cups to me.

Why not just share the happy news when it gets to that point? And please, don't show me your ovulation monitor. It ticks off my feminist ovaries who are somewhat timid of today's technology.
(and child birth, to be honest)

I don't know want to know if it's 'that time' and you need to leave our lunch date to go home and get your 10 minute swerve on and I certainly don't want to know if your man is now wearing boxers instead of briefs.
(Sorry guys, she tells.)

I have to say, I love children. I think they're great. I even think motherhood and parenthood is cool. I just don't understand this one particular socially accepted topic of conversation. I mean, it just seems so...PRIVATE - perhaps an experience best shared between the two, like-minded individuals with the same objective at hand. Or well....you get the idea.

All I hear when "We've decided to start trying" is "We're doing it more, likely more than you are, and it's a lot more prescribed and kinky than ever before."

Yikes.

Call me old-fashioned or even a bit prude, but honestly, most of us have the know-how (not always the resource depending on health). What we'd rather hear about is the progress after conception to say, year 18 or more.

Sometimes, I feel like an alien...

This blog is itemized for convenience.
Sometimes, while living in Indiana, I feel like an alien in my own community for the following reasons...

Justified or not, I believe it's indicative of quickly approaching "I'm turning 30 countdown."

In the Midwest I can be classified as alien because...

1. I'm nearly 30 and am not married.

2. I've never had a baby and unlike some I'm not "working on it." (A future blog will be about the phenomenon of "We're trying.") :) (Giggles- I can't wait to write that one now!)

3. My career and education have become an almost obsessive compulsion which freaks me out sometimes.

4. I don't have a minivan or an SUV.

5. I don't own a home.

6. I don't tan well.

7. I can't play euchre.

8. I don't have a Wii or a game system.

9. I just learned to play Corn Hole and Hillbilly Golf.

10. I've never been to The Brass Rail or the Shang.
(Yes, I'm laughing.)

11. I drive a Dodge Stratus. (This makes me weird all by itself.) Hee hee.

12. I only have one credit card and hate online banking.

13. I do not harbor any affections for Dale Earnhart, Jeff Gordon, or Peyton Manning.
Don't care. Just...don't...care.

14. I HATE Budweiser.
Worst beer EVER.

15. Car seats for children intimidate me. Seriously. I am afraid I'll do it wrong.
Everytime.

16. White bread makes me feel like throwing up.
Wonder Bread....eeeewww gross.

17. I am not a Wal-martian. Let's be clear.

18. I didn't vote for Obama.

19. I won't read manuals for things like cars, cell phones, cameras. I can't use any appliance or technology trinket to its full potential because of it.

20. I'm beginning to loathe Country music.

21. I don't think your tractor is sexy.
And I realize just how old that saying is.
I don't dig Kenny Chesney either. See #20.

22. Twilight didn't do it for me.

23. Bachelorette parties scare me to death. Dead serious.
I mean...why does everything have to be made of wieners!?

24. I don't drink Oliver wine.

25. I see now need for a 'souped up' Chevy, Dodge, or Ford truck.
Why the wheels have to outsize the frame, I will never know.
:)

Until next time, Nah-noo, nah-noo.
Beam me up.

:)

Why Most Women Make Me Mad: Part II

Greetings from Planet Indiana! I thought I'd continue in the spirit of my previous blog today. My disclaimer here is that a) I am a woman and thus more frequently than not, piss myself off, and b) well, this blog is meant to be a tad tongue-in-cheek and by no means are men exempt from my path of consternation and frustration. (*winks)

What bothers me about Midwestern women this week is nothing short of the trivial. In my previous blog, I touched on our tendency to predatory protectiveness; our nasty back-biting, gossipy, middle school politics; and inability to just plain be direct. Bottom line - we're competitive, like it, but are conditioned to be ashamed of it be it by our mothers, or this lilac-scented doctrine we all believe exists, but likely doesn't. (Barf.)

Anyhoo... the following things I've noticed about Midwestern women (think tri-state area specifically) that make me crazy are as follows. Enjoy! It's meant to give you a laugh...

1. We ACTUALLY buy floral-printed, obnoxiously loud, cloth handbags and call it fashion. We literally fight one another (the only time I've been hit with a 2-ton garbage bag) at this flipping annual sale so we can buy fifteen Cherub Pink duffel bags. I've seen more brutality and cat fighting here than any small town, biker bar.

And to the woman who informed me that the 'display table' items were ALL HERS? Oh...My...Gosh. Take 'em. They're yours. I'd rather keep my fingers and eyes in place, thank you. Eeek.

2. We paint our toenails, talk on our cell phones, text, brush our hair, read a book, and change our iTunes channels while driving. Sometimes we have children in the backseat. And we wonder why our husbands, boyfriends, fathers, brothers, all yell "I'll drive," when we're about to go out together. HELLO!

(Please note, I have clinically self-diagnosed, unbridled road rage. Take that for what it's worth.)

And when we're over 80 years old, we try to multitask and drive with cataracts and six phone books under our rears so we can hope to view oncoming traffic.

3. We pierce our belly buttons. Still. That's so 1998.

4. A Coach bag is a somehow an Indiana status-symbol. Ladies, we have outlets for that up here. A $250 purse is nothing in LA or New York. Buy for style, comfort, and function. Otherwise, you're shortchanging yourself over the letter C. And the cool Coach bags are the ones that don't have Cs emblazened all over them.

5. We constantly talk about diet and exercise like we're experts, just haven't 'gone jogging' or 'been back to the yoga studio' in a long time. Ladies, admit it. We sometimes sit in front of the TV and eat Oreos by the handful. It happens. Quit justifying the dimples in your thighs. The men aren't even looking there yet. (Ha ha!)

6. We actually watched Twilight.
Now, I'm SORRY, but that movie was a dumper. I can't speak to the books and I know lots of women love them, but the film...come on! That movie is class A high school stuff and if you're over 18, well... (Moms who watched Twilight with their children are exempt.)

And no, I DO NOT feel I have to justify my appreciation for Spongebob Squarepants. Now THAT's middle of the road, adult and child-friendly fun!

7. We scoff at each other for stupid reasons. "She doesn't have kids." "She's a stay-at-home mom." "She gained weight." "She had the most hideous shirt on." "She actually took him back." Etc Etc.

Why do we hate on each other all the time? That's right!

We're insecure.

And honestly, I'm guilty too. WE REALLY NEED TO BE EMPOWERED and quit comparing ourselves with other women. Think of all that time lost and the wrinkles earned!

8. We start sh*tstorms amongst each other.
More of us should take yoga, meditate, go to church, pray, or self-evaluate.
I have a list going...

9. Sometimes, we smell bad.
(Come on! Laugh!)

Ever been to a ladies' room? Ever smelled about six of us coming straight from the Macy's perfume aisle? (and note-we likely got hosed against our will) Ever been to Bath and Body Works for more than ten minutes?

Yep. We smell bad sometimes.
Workout smell doesn't count. That's just not fair. Guys get that too.

10. We try to be like our daughters. Or we think we're on The Hills. Or The OC. Or Friends. Or My Super Sweet 16.

WE ARE NOT those women.
We do NOT want to be those women.
Those women have a whole other set of issues we don't.

11. We think the guys are the only ones responsible for birth control. Wrong. Yeah, we have the short end of the stick (pardon my language), but it takes two to either make or not make a baby. (And babies are wonderful too!) Don't get me started on the 'man trap' philosophy.

12. On the flip side, we let guys be the boss of us.
STOP THAT too!

13. We are too delicate to kill a bug, change a tire, climb a mountain, play a game, or eat ribs.
That's just insanity.
Just do it.
(Thank you, Nike.)

We can make the money; climb the mountain; get the job; volunteer; eat the bug; change a rib (ok, maybe not); etc. Self-reliance is awesome. And hot.

14. We pout.
It's cute for about five minutes.
It gets ugly when we call three of our friends to spread it.

15. We wear granny panties.
Now this is one I can't fathom. Those are of the 'mom jean' and 'toe-truck' fame. No woman can rock grannies, real grannies, well. Invest in some cute, comfortable underthings. Guarantee you can feel sexy while cleaning up mashed Cheerios or doing payroll. You don't have to buy 'em in celophane 6packs anymore. I promise.


Wishing you a beautiful weekend, ladies! Laugh with me. We have a lot to be happy about too!

Why Most Women Make Me Mad: Part 1

I hate to say it, ladies, but in 1920, we won the right to vote for President. Along with that right came a flood of others that, if you really put your mind to it, make us the equal counterpart to men.

What does that have to do with anything?

It's simply this: The time for punching each other in the face and getting disputes over with has arrived and has been overdue for many years. Sure, we're the more delicately featured and attractive sex, but let's face it, when it comes to arguing and disagreeing amongst ourselves, well we just plain suck at it.

And we usually take down a lot of innocent bystanders along the way.

The advent of the social networking site compounds the already traditional 'lunch table mentality' we adhere to by making your online status the equivalent to whether you do or do not have the coolest pair of jeans (Guess or Breakers, in my childhood era) or your period at the time of transmission.

It's shit.

And it's horribly addicting. It's a female social experiment gone horribly wrong. We're so confused between being socially acceptable and polite and our natural urge to stand up for ourselves that we breed passive-aggressiveness all over the GD place.

For example, on Facebook:

Gwen feels like smiting.

Looks harmless enough, though Gwen knows that her friends know that this 'smite' remark revolves around something that someone supposedly said to someone else behind someone's back and around the same time that someone told so-and-so that same thing, but differently.

Well Gwen, go smite someone you mighty mighty smiter. Smote them!
Frankly, go smite yourself.

Or, on Myspace,

Michele thinks everyone should just get along and take the high road.

This was my path at one point, trying to be the proverbial cyber-yogi that I aspire to be, but honestly, all it does is piss off the angry women.

So what makes us angry?
Let's look at that shall we?

-Don't touch 'our men' or bake them cookies, smile at them, look in their general direction, text them, wear anything relatively provocative around them, and above all, don't add them on your online social site. Note - we've already peed on them and they are OURS.
(*laugh with me here)

-Never look better than I do in public. It's almost okay if we're hanging out just the few of us, but never in public like a club, restaurant, concert, etc. It guarantees you more attention than me.

-Don't talk above me. If you know bigger words or better sentence structure, tone it down. It's mocking.

-Always agree.
If you don't, hold it in until you find someone else to agree with you and then never tell me you feel differently.

-If you lose any weight, I'll murder you in your sleep or will acne on you. It's that simple.

-You really shouldn't have more or better than me: property, children, assets, etc.
I mean, envy is a sin, but if we joke about it then it's not really a slam, see?

-Never 'friend' anyone online that I wouldn't. And NEVER talk to them!

-Never be "one of the guys." If you are, then you have an 'in' the rest of us don't have and we can't compete with it.

These are just a few slights not to mention the 'near-slights' and the 'she-might-of-saids' over the years that tear us up and down and spit us into the mouth of girl world and right out the ass of 'this is a piece of crap.'

Women piss me off sometimes. I'm sorry, but it's true. And we're all guilty of it sometimes.
I tend to take the 'holier than thou' approach with the canned "I'm not getting involved; and Oh, I totally understand, but I'm not going to take sides," etc. Barf.

Newsflash - I typically have a side.
Most people do.
Accept it.
It's just likely not the side anyone wants to be on. (Muah ha ha ha...)

And to get back to what I mentioned earlier, if we were guys, we'd get mad, punch each other, and then go have a beer.
Isn't that how we were all designed? Why can't we just do this?!
But we're too caught up in this battle of the 'right thing' versus the 'in thing' and it's someplace between "oh no she didn't, I'm gonna post this on Facebook" and "see if I invite her to my bachelorette party."

When I say women, I mean, WOMEN.
Adults.
Real ones.
Ones who are moms, professionals, caregivers, wives, girlfriends, counselors, public servants...Yep...we're caught up in the B.S. of gossip which gave us a bad name way back when when the equivalent to whore was 'hussy' and 'floozie' and dried up old bag equated to 'old marm.'

You can bet your ass Ma Bell stirred the shit back then.
"Elsie, you will not believe what just came through about the Gilberts' third boy. He has a boil on his butt and you know what that means!"

You get my point.

And then we sit around with our martinis and rum-n-cokes and cranberry vodkas (or if you're me, a bottle of red) and wonder why the hell men go on 'man dates,' wanna fly to Vegas; wanna spend hours in the garage or studio; or have 'boys night."
It's because we are horribly mean to one another...ON PURPOSE.

I don't get it and I'm a woman too. And we target the women who are successful and happy most when we're hormonal and feeling sour. Self-improvement, ladies; self-improvement.

I'm not saying when we're mad or feeling catty that we should just go up and swat the offender and take off - rather, how about a conversation or a discussion, or even a direct argument to close the lid on this stuff? So she said something about me behind my back, well, I want to hear it from her, not ten other people with a version they found on the web and edited for content!

The root of our anger - our inability to communicate without a) fearing hurting someone's feelings and b) wanting to hurt someone's feelings. Ultimately, we do both. Honestly, we just don't want the rap of someone who 'did that' to someone else so we sugar coat, lie, talk around, and back-stab to avoid 'blame' or retribution.

WHY?!

It destroys our ability to trust each other and it places us squarely in the patriarchal conundrum we had before - reliant on approval and support from men who most times, can get along all on their own.

Perhaps we are the weaker sex sometimes?

On the other hand, if you had your period 12 times a year for what feels like three weeks at a time or have experienced childbirth (or both), well you might be pissy too.

Laugh a little. This stuff we do sometimes can be funny.
:p