Suffering for Beauty

Okay, so I've gone into the whole "we need to recognize that we're beautiful, flaws and all" thing, and now I'm going to talk about how, as lovely as that sounds, we all still want to look like something or someone else, or at least, a different version of ourselves.

I'm going to skip the chat on cosmetic surgery, since that is not an option available to most of us non "housewives" (ha) depicted on "reality" television.  But, I will briefly discuss lip injections, because they're more readily available, and I just don't get the whole obsession, to begin with.  For one thing, they don't look good or even close to normal.  Not only that, but they are really just a big, swollen finger, pointing to the fact that your lips aren't really naturally plump, and that you're trying to disguise the fact.  So what, your lips aren't like Angelina's.  Your lip balm will last longer.  Get over it.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let's talk a little about "natural" beauty, and the Men who say that they prefer this look.  I'm sorry to tell you, Men, but most women actually have to put forth effort to look "natural."  What you consider natural is probably the after effects of tinted moisturizer, some blush and a little mascara snuck in, and maybe a tinted lip balm.  Not to mention hours of plucking, waxing, and shaving that were invested prior.  I assure you, you don't want to see the real natural beauty most of us are sporting.

And, now that I've mentioned it, let's also talk about how women must be entirely hairless these days, apart from the glorious stuff on their heads.  Oh, it's just not armpits and legs any more, my friends.  Everything must go.  We better hope there isn't another Ice Age, because women of the future will have evolutionally lost all of their body hair follicles by then.  Also, I'd just like to say that depilatory creams, regardless of what their advertisers claim, never smell "lavendar fresh."  It's a lie.

So, what else do we do?  How about hair straightening?  I started doing this a year or two ago, for the "fun" of trying a different look.  I currently own three flat irons, one of which is not even out of the package.  The first one gave me frightening results resembling Annie after electroshock therapy.  The second I must have purchased, thinking it would be better, and I'm pretty sure it was the same product.  The third was the miracle Chi, purchased for a mere $100 some odd dollars.  Oh, it works great, to be sure, but I do cringe when I see smoke and steam rising from my hair, accompanied by that sizzling sound that happens when I use a spray for "protection" and "moisturizing."  There's no way that smoke and sizzling can be good for your hair.

Let's move on to articles of clothing.  Bras kind of suck.  Sure, they're pretty and all (well, some are), and I guess perform their required  jobs, but at the end of the day, no amount of padding or lycra can prevent them from feeling like constricting ropes tied around your chestal area.  Unfortunately, we're kind of stuck with them.

Stockings (the kind that go all the way up to your waist) aren't much fun, either.  Men will never know the amount of sweat and contortionism required for getting into a pair of "support" stockings.  It may sound like a slightly sexy ordeal, but, I assure you, it's not.

High heels may not be the most comfortable things, but I think they're great, I don't mind suffering for them, and they're a much better alternative to walking around barefoot at a formal occasion (like a wedding).  I'm not sure why women do this (remove their shoes at the reception), but, it looks bad.  And they're showing their %(@#$@)^ feet, for Pete's sake.  Why??!!  They spend all this money on hair, makeup, dress, undergarments (and shoes), and two hours later they're running around with their naked feet slapping the dancefloor.  Some prolonged suffering for beauty is necessary, ladies.  Think of the children.

To all of this, add in the hair dying, finger and toe nail painting, upper arm exercises required for wearing of sleeveless shirts, the fact that we must look like supermodels within one week of delivering a baby, and the millions we spend on age defying body and face creams, and I'd say that we deserve any and all negative titles we are bequeathed by our exes or even current loved ones.  "Psycho b-tch," "princess," "high maintenance," "pain in the a$$........"  Yep.  We have earned those titles, thanks mostly to the Men who have nothing to do but to wake up the morning,  look charmingly scruffy, and off they go.

And they have the nerve to complain about ties.

Concepts of Outer Female Beauty- Part 2

I discussed in my previous post the concept of outer beauty, and the need for non-model females to appreciate the unique traits which make us beautiful.  I mentioned that growing up, there were some fairly uniform female standards of beauty, most of who were white, blonde, and symmetrical.  Thankfully we became wise enough to recognize that this was a silly standard, and the ground-breakers like Beverly Johnson, and Lauren Hutton, and Cindy Crawford (with mole) opened our eyes to that fact.

Now, we appreciate and laud the outer beauty of "flawed" character traits. Moles and gapped teeth are not hidden, big ears are left out in all their glory, resembling the opposite sex is titillating, and looking drug-emaciatedly thin are all celebrated looks.  Skin color and ethnic background are moot.  Everyone is beautiful.

Wellll.  Not quite everyone.  Fat people are never beautiful.

Now of course, I do not believe this, in the least.  But I am pretty sure that 87.6% of the population do.  

I am going to come across as slightly contradictory (and maybe even catty) in this post, because, while I celebrate that we have become people who appreciate and applaud unique traits (previously, "flaws"), the thing is, if a person is "fat," those same unique traits are once again relegated to the "flaws" category.  

Actresses and models who we consider "beautiful" or "cute" would not be described as such (hell, they likely wouldn't be actresses or models, at all) if they were 80-100 pounds bigger.  Add 100 pounds to Ginnifer Goodwin, and her sticky out ears and cute pixie haircut would not be so cute, after all.  Same beautiful face, same great sense of style, but on a fat body, she's no starlet on a red carpet.  She may be talented and good hearted, but if she's also "fat" (and I'll go into that, in a bit), it provokes a sad shaking of the head and a commentary of "hmmm... too bad."  Like it or not, skinny females can get away with a whole lot more.  I dare you to take any female star with "unique" looks and add 50 pounds to the frame.  Five bucks says they never would have made it through the lobby of a casting call.

Now I'm going to briefly touch upon the idea of what is considered "fat."  There doesn't seem to be a magical number in pounds or dress size which is the watermark for crossing over into fat territory.  I think that many women might consider anything over size 12 to be dangerous, and that many men refer to anyone over 115 pounds as "at least 200 pounds."  Neither of these are fat, unless you happen to be like, 2 foot 2 and the age of 4.

Thankfully, we have come along a bit in our considerations of "big" beauty (the Dove campaign, for one- which of course had some backlash), but there is still a long way to go.  There are some big beautiful female stars out there who break the mold, but the negative Catherine observes that, when one of them loses a ton of weight, suddenly they are reeeeaaaalllly beautiful.

I'm not going to go into a big dissertation here about what is healthy, or about the obesity factor in Americans in particular.  And of course, we prefer to look at people who we consider attractive, and generally that does not include people with waist tires and triple chins.   However, just like with the hairy mole covered guy, we need to recognize that everyone truly is beautiful, regardless of initial impressions.  I'm not talking about "on the inside" or "having a great sense of humor" (which is generally how fat people are described), I'm talking about what is right in front of our eyes.

I'm not even going to rail on about the fact that Outer Beauty is generally crap, and it's the Inner Beauty which makes us truly beautiful.  Maybe I'll reserve a separate post for that.  I will say, though, from atop the luxury penthouse suite of my soapbox, that we need to get beyond the first glance.  I DO understand Hollywood standards, and I'm not saying that they should be employing all chubby actresses, or that people shouldn't try to lose weight.  I am saying, though, that if "flawed" can be beautiful on skinny women, it can be beautiful on the non-skinny ones, as well.  Fat can be beautiful, too.  It's a fact.

Male Beauty (the Outer Kind)

I am a little to embarrassed to admit to this, but, over the past two years, I have become a watcher of "Dancing With the Stars."  I won't go as far as to call myself a "fan," and it's not something that I eagerly anticipate each season, but it is an enjoyable time-filler for me.

This season, there was a gentleman star on the show, by the name of William Levy.  I found myself actually "rewinding" (I watch on-line) his dance routines and basically any footage that showed his face for more than .02 seconds.  This man is just... meee-owww.  Now I know that I am not the only woman who feels this way, because the entirety of the female audience went into Beatles-like fanaticism whenever this guy's name was even mentioned.

It got me to thinking about male beauty, our standards for said beauty, and how varied the choices are.

Men seem to have it a little bit easier in the weight department than their female counterparts.  Chubby, skinny, buff, it doesn't seem to matter.  Hair, lack of hair, big lips, no lips, six packs, paunch, it's all good.  Now, in William Levy's case, he has a gorgeous face matched with a gorgeous physique.  I was transfixed by his face, and I can honestly say that for me, with Men, what's in or on the face is of more interest to me than what's below the chin.

When I try to determine if there is a common feature among all of my personal (or even public) heartthrobs, I can't really come up with one thing.  Let me interject here, that one man, for me, stands as the epitome of supreme loveliness, and I'm guessing that at least 50% of you will have to do an on-line search for him.  It's Oliver Reed.  Young Oliver Reed, I mean.  The Three/Four Musketeers and Oliver!, Oliver Reed.  Not necessarily The Gladiator Oliver Reed.  Anyway, William Levy looks nothing like Oliver Reed.  Neither does Colin Firth or the actor who plays Prince Charming in "Once Upon a Time."  Neither does Brad Pitt or Ryan Gosling or Justin Bieber (ew) or Zac Efron any of the other current stars out there.

There are some shared traits among some of these beauties.  Some share similar blue eyes, some the big lips, some the dark wavy hair.  Some may have very manly, chiseled features, while others may look more on the feminine side.

Now, I do appreciate that we all have varying tastes, and some of you may be grossed out by some of the names I mentioned, but it cannot be denied that most of these man have the genes required to make them swoon worthy to a large number of women.

It's interesting to look back in Hollywood past and see how things have changed.  Back then, the buff guys were the ones in the background as smithies or thugs.  I don't remember anyone having big lips, unless they were portraying lunatics or creeps.  I rather suspect that William Levy might have been considered strange-looking in the 40's.

While I do miss the considerations of charm, style, charisma, and talent that comprised the "beautiful" Men of the past (even if they were ripped underneath their clothes, we never got to see it), I shamefully admit to falling prey to the current eye candy on the superstar market.  Chiseled or not, big-lipped or not, there are some real beauties out there.  Of course, none surpass Oliver Reed.  Even if he is dead.

Concepts of Outer Female Beauty- Part 1

When I was growing up, I remember thinking that the most beautiful women in the world were blondes.    I'm not sure if this was due to the fact that I, myself was blonde (and I was identifying with what I knew), or if it was because most of the women in magazines seemed so.  Cheryl Tiegs, Kim Alexis, Christie Brinkley, Farrah Fawcett.. they were everywhere, and I probably disregarded everyone else.

As time went on, I began to recognize that there were other types of beauties in existence.  I almost became anti-blonde, because it started to feel just "blah" and typical.  It didn't seem unique or exotic, in fact, it seemed rather boring.  I no longer felt "lucky" to be blonde haired with blue eyes (which are now green....telltale?), I felt jealous of those other women who possessed the genes which made them seemingly ethnic and unique and mysterious.  These weren't women in magazines (yet), these were women I saw every day, out in the world.

If I dyed my hair black and got a tan, I still wasn't going to look Greek.  If I dyed my hair red and stayed out of the sun, I wasn't going to look Irish.  It wasn't just the hair color, it was eye shapes and bone structures and varying natural skin colors which made them beautifully unique and not boring American blonde.

Interestingly enough, and perhaps sadly, I bet that the people with these beautiful traits wished they had different ones.  I've seen enough orange-haired Italian women to know this.  It seems like a universal thing to want to look like something you are not.

In my early 20's I remember having a discussion with a female friend of mine, on the subject of "if I ever owned a hair salon", and saying that my goal would be to make women work with what they had.  Because that is what they were meant to have.  Straight hair would not be permed, curly hair would not be straightened, etc.  Now perhaps this is a little unfair on my part, because I was blessed (?) with pretty reasonable hair.  It was not too thin, not too thick, not too flat, not too curly, not too straight, not too greasy.
It's easy for me to say "deal with it", because I had it mostly good in the hair department, and I didn't care much about trends, either.

Back then, if you had flat or thin hair, you tried to grow it, then permed it.  It looked good on maybe 3 people, and the rest just looked strange.  It didn't look like you had naturally wavy hair.  It looked like limp hair trying to make a show of things.  Or fat-lady-at-the-circus-like.  Meanwhile, the wavy/curly haired people were using irons (the kind you use on clothing....), wearing woolen winter hats whilst dressing (trying to get the crown flat), and blow drying for hours trying to avoid the looming disaster of resembling Annie on crack and not even remotely Farrah Fawcett-like.

While hair perming has mostly been eradicated, there are still all those other things which we feel the need to change.  Nose size, boob size, skin shade, lip size, cheekbone prominence, eye color, you name it.  Now let me say a few things here.  For one thing, I'm not talking about disfiguring or painful body ailments.  If they cause physical pain, and can be fixed, I'm fine with that.  For another, I am all for women trying to make themselves look "attractive" or changing up their looks now and then.  BUT, I think that most should learn to work with what they've got, rather than chasing some magical version of themselves.

I could go into a huge sidebar here regarding plastic surgery, but I won't, for now.  What I'm mostly trying to say is that outer beauty can be whatever we want it to be.  There is no magazine cover standard for it any longer, and we need to recognize that our traits, good and bad, are what make us uniquely beautiful.  Our too small eyes or boring blonde hair or big noses or A-cup boobs make us who we are, and that is what counts.

Just ask Jennifer Grey.  She knows.

My Ultimately Perfect Job Ever

Well, since a few of my posts on the subject of working have been less than positive sounding (okay, yes, perhaps they even sound downright angry), I figured I would lighten the mood a little and talk about my UPJE.  My Ultimately Perfect Job Ever.

When I found myself laid off and on Unemployment, I decided it would be a good time to really explore what it was that I wanted for my career and the rest of my working life.  It was like a golden opportunity, because my son had graduated from school, and this meant that my job and life search could extend beyond our current school district.

I started to make a list of the things I enjoyed, the things I didn't enjoy, and whether I could sort something into a career of joy and satisfaction.  In an instant, it was plain to see that my hatred for working in an office was pretty evident.  It was also pretty plain to see that liking dogs and books was going to be difficult to translate into an actual job.

I started to do random internet searches, like, "how do I find a job that involves dogs and books?" and went from there.  I remember when the Internet was first starting out, people would complain that, regardless of what you entered in the "search" box, you would get 2,237 page results which were usually entirely unrelated to your search, and generally pr0n.  Today, thanks to filters and such, the 2,237 pages are now actually somewhat related, and there is so much "out there" that you may actually find an article written 22 years ago on "how to remove peanut butter and jelly from a cashmere sweater made in 1922 by my Aunt Tilda."  Of course, no one wants to read through 2,237 pages, regardless of the fascinating content.

As I started to narrow my list of interests and potential career choices, it stopped becoming adventurous and world-as-oyster feeling, and started to become a little distressing.  Sure, I could learn how to train rescue dogs in the mountains of Colorado,  but how would I achieve that?  I would need a place to live, a source of income (or a large savings account... hahaha!), a way to move my 44 years of accumulated junk.  It's nice to think that you would be willing to accept little pay for something you truly enjoyed, but to actually find a place to live and means to survive until you start living your idyllic poor (or rich) but happy life seems a little too risky.  I am not a 19 year old farm girl looking to make it on Broadway who can live with 6 other people eating ramen all week.

So, I slowly moved away from the dog angle and started thinking more about the books angle.  I watched a movie recently, in which the main character owned a small bookstore in Italy (it was an Italian film).  It wasn't big and fancy and ultra computerized, but, she had customers and one employee, and made a living of it.  When I was discussing this dream job with a friend of mine, he mentioned, "well, that's going to be tough since books are pretty much becoming non-existent..."  Hmm.  He's right, isn't he?

After a year or more of hemming and hawing and guilty feelings,  I am now the owner of a Kindle.  I was originally very against the idea of these things; I didn't like that we were turning into a society which would no longer require bookcases, and the concept that one of the seemingly last bastions against the computer age had fallen prey, as well.  I love the smell of a book, the portability, the feeling of "mine" that comes with it.  There's nothing warm about some computerized thing which you carry around in some protective case.  An imaginary bookmark is not the same as turning down the page corner to mark your place.

Since my guilt prevented me from actually purchasing one of these electric phenomena, and my home was becoming a serious fire hazard due to my startlingly large collection of paperbacks (I'm cheap), I decided to ask for an e-reader as a birthday present.  And, voila.  My Kindle doesn't leave my side.  And, I've just proven my friend's point.

I eventually realized that one of my favorite jobs, ever, was working in our local branch of the public library, as a page.  Which is really quite funny, a "page" in a library.  Ha.  Anyway, it was a fairly lowly type of job, mainly consisting of book returns, organizing book sections which had been brutalized by uncaring library patrons, updating the card catalog (remember those?), and designing the displays for the front window.

Now, apart from the fact that librarians actually have university degrees, there is also the fact that "little" libraries barely exist.  I doubt they even have card catalogs.  Everything is computerized, and I'm pretty sure we'll be getting to the point soon where human interaction will be unnecessary, as all we'll have to do is click a screen and the fake book will be delivered to us wirelessly on a hermetically sealed desktop.

So, it seems that my old fashioned ways have once again foiled my dreamy outlook on career and life perfection.  I might as well try to start a career in Wheel Making for Buggies.  In the meantime, I will continue my search for the elusive UPJE, and pray that someone in Colorado reads this and sends me information on a local small town library with a job opening which is located next door to the rescue dog training facility, complete with a small farmhouse (with 2 fireplaces and large country kitchen) available rent free for the first two months to librarians who don't yet have a degree.

On Counting Your Blessings

A few years ago, the company for which I worked was facing a severe financial crisis, and thus, was forced to instigate a very large company-wide lay off.  It became a horrible, stress laden work environment, with people literally crying at their desks in anticipation of receiving the dreaded call from Human Resources.

Now, not to be a negative Nelly here, but I have been through office "cuts" before, and generally, if you are "lucky" to keep your job, your workload will triple, you will receive no raise because there is no money in the budget, and, since the job market is in a horrible state, you will cheerfully do your job and better damned well like it, because you could be out on the streets the following day.  I remember discussing this with a coworker, post lay off, and her reply was, "I don't really care, I'm just SO grateful to have a job."  I remember thinking, "crap, I wish I had gotten the 3 month severance package and could get the hell out of here."

Let's examine that statement:  I'm just so grateful to have a job.

When I think of the word "grateful", I consider it to imply that there is gratitude, a feeling of being blessed, and generally it is used to refer to sources outside of oneself.  You are usually grateful to others, grateful for things received, etc.  Many times the grateful feeling is something unexpected or something received for which you invested no real "labor."  There is sometimes some humility involved.

 I know.  We are supposed to count our blessings, no matter how small.  But to feel "grateful" to have survived a chopping block which you have spent years of your life building- sacrificing your time, increasing its monetary value- it just doesn't make sense to me.  You work hard, you somewhat survive, and sometimes, regardless, you're still screwed.  Oh, but gratefully screwed.  Be assured, your company is grateful for you being grateful.  Because they know that they can keep you within their budget, give you extra work, and know that you have no choice in the matter.  (Because you are grateful)

If I work hard, and am "paid" in results, I am not grateful for the results.  The results were deserved, and well earned  I may be grateful for being granted the patience, or the nerve, or the fortitude, or the smarts to complete the job, but the results were because of me and my work.

Feeling "grateful" to survive a budget cut feels akin to being grateful that you'll be shot rather than hung for a crime you didn't commit.  Wasn't your fault, it's beyond your control, and you're going to die, but, look at the bright side!  At least it will be quick!

Somehow, this is to what many of us have been reduced.  Grinning and bearing it, and feeling grateful, even if things are really crappy and unfair.  Even if you tried and worked hard and did everything you were supposed to do, you get the short end of the stick, and you're still counting that as a "blessing."  Sorry, but I'm not going for that.  A supervisor once said to me and a group of coworkers, "I know that sometimes this job can be shitty (and yes, she said "shitty"),  but the thing is, there are hundreds of people lined up outside who are willing to do this job.  So you either do it, or get out."  Now there's an inspirational speech.

My post previous to this discussed "why" we work, and here, I consider the question of "how" we work, and under what conditions.  I am guessing that the "conditions" are not overly pleasant for a large number of people.

Of all the people I know and have met in my life, I can count on one hand the number of those who actually admitted to liking and feeling fulfilled in their jobs.  I will say that the majority of my acquaintances have lukewarm feelings about their current situations.  Work is work, sometimes it's bad, sometimes it's bearable, but most times it's just "meh."  The majority don't necessarily hate their jobs, but they're not happy about them, either.

I could try to reason that perhaps I just live in the wrong part of the world, or that I've had the fortune to only meet negative minded people, but I have international friends who are suffering similarly.  Different races, cultures, religions, sexual orientations, none of them are exempt.

I could also reason that no one ever said that work had to be "fun."  That's fine. But what about work being satisfying?  What about feeling pride for your efforts?  What of feeling fulfilled?

Have you ever worked for an employer that utilized company-wide raises?  As in, "everyone gets 3% across the board" ?  Everyone, including your idiot manager, your coworker who spends more time in the smoking area than at her desk, your other coworker who browses the internet all day long.  Be grateful for that raise, but know that you are nothing special.  It's like who we are, what we do, how hard we try, none of it is recognized.  Unless you have punched in one minute late twice in the last year, of course.  THAT will be recognized.

I've wondered in the past about the decline of humanity, and maybe some of that has arisen because of how we live and work as a society.  We have lowered our expectations collectively, because we have learned that many times, the efforts don't matter.  It's no longer about putting in hard work and showing dedication, it's more about whether you are "lucky."  It's about counting yourself as blessed just because you have a job, even if it is demeaning, low-paying, demoralizing, and makes you miserable.

Considering that working is going to be something we spend most of our lives doing, I don't think it's too much to ask that it be fulfilling and somewhat rewarding.  I don't suspect that there is any solution to this world-wide issue of dissatisfaction, and I have no real words of hope for anyone, including myself.  I'll be damned, though, before I dress it up and call it a blessing.  Yeah.

Why We Work

Over the last year or so, I have had many interesting discussions with my 18 year old son regarding the horrible fact of life, that of, "we have to work to survive."  Now, my son has used the blanket reply, "well, we shouldn't have to," and, if you hadn't heard all of the intricate arguments behind that statement, you would be rightfully raising your eyebrows.  I try to communicate that, in order to eat and have a roof over our heads, we need to have money.  The way to get that money, is to work.  He tries to communicate that work is crap, it's senseless, it's in no way personally beneficial, and there should be some other way.  In truth, we are both somewhat correct in our arguments.

The concept of work has probably been around since the whole Adam/Eve/Apple Fiasco back in the day.  If you're not a biblical story sort of person, then we'll say that it started back in caveman times.  We have always had to "work" to survive, even if it was a very different sort of work.  We had to build our shelters, we had to hunt for or grow our food, we had to break our backs and make sacrifices to the gods on a daily basis just to survive a season.  The harder we worked, the better chances we had.  Working, back then, was purely a self serving (yet necessary) concept.  We eventually started working together, strengthening our chances for survival as a group.

Fast forward to today, in which "working" is still a means of survival, but the route is quite circuitous, and rarely feels personally beneficial.  It's no longer about breaking your back and making a nice shelter for your family, it's about working for someone else who is working for someone else and lining their pockets and obeying their rules and hoping that your hard work pays off in a decent raise some day and saying, in the end, "well, we might have enough money in 6 months to repair the leak in the roof."

So, I ask you, why do we work?  Why do we spend hours, days, months, years doing something for someone else, in a general state of unhappiness?  This is no longer just about a roof over our heads and bread for the winter.  This is about the pursuit of "things."  The need for "things."

You need a car to get to work if there is no public transportation, because you no longer walk to the fields or into town to literally earn your bread.  You need gas to put into said car.  You also need car insurance.  And a license, and registration, and current inspection stickers.  A car is not often a luxury, it's a necessity.

If you have a school-aged child, apparently you need a computer, as well.  Which also means that you have to pay for an internet service provider.  When Spenser was in grade school, he had a writing project for which he was directed to do on-line research.  There was a small asterisked item at the page bottom which indicated that school computers could be utilized until 4 p.m., or the local library could be an option for those poor underprivileged members of the population who lacked computers.  We had only just gotten our first computer (which was a hand-me-down), and I remember angrily thinking, "what if we didn't have one?"  

He couldn't use the school computers because he would have no transportation to his after school day care, and I worked past 4:30.  The local library was on the other side of town, which meant that I would have to drive him there (with my required for living car), which further meant that this would have become MY school project as well.  I think we actually had to buy a printer for this one, "simple" project.  I can't imagine what the non-computer "country" kids (and parents) had to endure.

Could we have done it without a personal computer?  Sure.  Would there have been hours of extra labor and (gas) money and time involved?  Yes.  I'll bet that the non-computer owners put "buy a computer" at the top of their priority lists.  And "get AoL" as the second priority.  And "work 23 hours of overtime per week and/or get second job."

Cavemen didn't have necessities like this.  If their wheel broke, they fixed it.  Or, if they didn't have the talent or the tools, they went to the wheel fixer guy.  Wheel fixer guy didn't charge anything, because he was already appreciated and provided for by others in the group who employed different talents.  Now, I know it likely wasn't this simple, because eventually the wheel fixer guy got greedy, and the strongest caveman of the group decided that his hunting skills were superior to others, and, here we go.  "Must kill extra boar to pay wheel fixer guy."

Okay, so maybe cavemen had it rough too.

Anyway, we can all agree that work is a necessity in life.  It's just unfortunate that our unique talents, our pride in our abilities, our feelings of self worth have been all but stripped from our lives due to power, and greed, and the need for "things."  The fruits of our labors (unless we're all farmers, which, I suspect, we're not) are only seen by someone in a home office 3,000 miles away.  It has become a never ending cycle of  sacrifices required to even just have the basics, the growing list of luxuries which have become necessities, and the pursuit to get them.  Sure, we've come a long way, baby, but at what cost?

On the Subject of Unemployment

So, I figured I should write something on this topic, seeing as how I have been in the state of unemployment for many months now, and have become somewhat of an expert on the subject.

Over the years, I had often wondered what it was like to be unemployed or laid off.  While it is generally something that most people would not wish for, I considered that perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing.  For one thing, you aren't working, and yet, you are still receiving some financial restitution.  For another, you can take your time in looking for a new career, without having to worry about setting up secret interviews during a lunchbreak or coming in to work suspiciously overdressed.  If you could figure out how not to starve until you found another job, how bad could it be?

Well, for me, it has not exactly been the adventure I had imagined.  Apart from the initial excitement and confusion of waking up without an alarm clock and sleeping in until forever, it can become a rather boring situation.  And depressing.

It's sad, but, when you are working and Motherng full time, you fantasize about what you would do if you just had the time to do all the things that should or could be done.  You could sift through 33 years of photos and organize them into an album.  You could organize your sock drawer.  You could catch up on your laundry.  You could go to the gym when it's not packed.  You could go grocery shopping and avoid the lines at the end of a hellish work day.  You could take your time to prepare scrumptious meals without the creative use of hotdogs and ramen noodles.  You could start a blog.  Oh, and you could search for the Ultimately Perfect Job Ever.

I have discovered that I seem to be one of those types who needs a more confined schedule in order to really get things done.  Who gives a crap about a sock drawer when it can be organized tomorrow?  Or the day after?  Or the month after?  While there are better men than I who would have a sparkling clean house and alphabetized sock drawers, I sit here, months later, with many tasks yet to be completed.  Yes, I have enjoyed (ha, who am I kidding) going to the gym when it is nearly empty and not 5 a.m. with my eyes barely open.  I have become rather friendly with the senior citizens and homeless people who wander the supermarket at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday.  I have made some rather delicious meals.  I have also determined that my laundry, unless I forbid my child to wear clothes, will never, ever be caught up.  And the search for the UPJE (Ultimately Perfect Job Ever), well.  Yeah.  Not so much.

There are many potential side topics here, which will inevitably turn into posts for different days.  In this one, I will stick to the things that rather suck about the state of being unemployed.

For one thing, you can be financially strapped if you are the sole breadwinner in the household (even if you're not).  For another, you are going to be decimated by the tax system the following year if you have chosen to have every available penny deposited into your bank account rather than having taxes withdrawn.  You also have to pay for your own health insurance.  And, you are required to maintain an active job search.  If you fail to search adequately for a potential job, they will hunt you down and have you thrown in jail.

I am exaggerating, of course, but the job search portion of this unemployment business has been less than invigorating.  I am here to tell you that the UPJE has no current openings, and if it did, they wouldn't condescend to contact you or even allow that you exist on this planet.  If you are fortunate enough to even know what your UPJE is (I don't)(which will be another post), all I can say is "well done, you, keep your chin up, and here is the address for the local liquor store."

Every week you will be "forced" to apply to jobs for which you are qualified, or suffer jail time.  Apart from the fact that every application has you answering 432 questions even if there is the option to copy/paste your resume which you have spent hours updating, there is also the fact that 99% of the companies will rarely even confirm having received your application.  And you can't call them, either.  Well, you can, but good luck tracking down someone who actually knows the secret location of the one condemned employee sitting in a basement somewhere who is actually reviewing on line applications.  Hint: he doesn't actually exist.

So, you spend hours of your time applying to jobs you suspect you will hate, you are found yet unworthy, and you desperately pray for holy guidance in finding the elusive perfect job that would satisfy all your hopes and dreams.  I did mention that unemployment can be depressing, yes?

Add this to doing tons of soul searching and embarrassed explanations of why you are still unemployed and being further embarrassed that you have no real "plan" and having a horribly disorganized sock drawer, and you have the makings of a potential lunatic on your hands.  A bored, slightly depressed, mildly distressed potential lunatic, who probably also has a really bad sleep schedule and doesn't actually go to the gym all that often.

Alas, unemployment has not been the joy I had hoped it to be.  It stops being fun after about a month.  Having said that, I should stop here and do the dishes, and the laundry, and clean out my closet, and keep searching for the Holy Grail of jobs.  Perhaps today I'll even get to my sock drawer.  Place your bets, folks, place your bets.

What Smells

Since I wasn't in the mood for writing something on topic just yet, I've decided to just do a small (ha) blurb on the topic of smells.  Or better, scents.  Aromas. Fragrances.  The things that alert our olfactory senses.

We all can relate, I'm sure, to the fact that certain scents have the ability to transport us to different times and places in our memory timeline.  Often, a smell is pleasing, even if it is typically not a pretty smell, because there are fond memories with which it is associated.
For example, the smell of earthworms in dirt.  Typically, not an attractive scent, but for me, it reminds me of sitting in a rowboat on a placid lake, learning to fish with my father.
Similarly, the smell of dirt reminds me of digging alongside him in our backyard garden, planting seedlings, having quiet communion with nature.

I don't know if all "good" smells represent past pleasant memories for me, but I can usually associate many of them with something.  The smell of the pavement on a hot Summer day just after a quick rain shower brings me back to childhood; being able to run back outside to play.  It represents a reprieve from oppressive heat.  A reprieve from being stuck in the house.  It's a smell that makes me happy, and thankful, even though I haven't played outside in a couple hundred years.

The smell of fresh cut grass (though I didn't particularly like it when I had to mow my lawn and went into allergy  meltdown) is a glorious Summer smell.  The smell of freedom from school and the smell of two adventurous months of playing with friends.

The smell of a new pair of shoes reminds me of my young school days and the excitement of having that one original item (we wore school uniforms, so it was the only unique part of our wardrobes) and the first day of school, which would inevitably (in my fantasies) involve a new, good-looking boy from another town or country.

The smell of sauce cooking on the stove meant it was Sunday, and there were some good eats on the agenda.  I am my own sauce maker these days, but the happy thoughts are still there.

The smell of VO5 Kiwi Lime Squeeze shampoo; because even though I was ticked that Spenser had quickly picked a cheap, non-moisturizing formula when I made him dash into the store on our way to a very rare family vacation, it, for one, smelled surprisingly good, and two, it now instantly brings back memories of taking a cool shower after a hot day on the beach.

The smell of anything pineapple and/or coconut.  It means suntan lotion, and pina coladas, and the summertime, and the beach, and just, ahhhhh.

The smell of a forest means Girl Scout camp and nature and mystery and The Hobbit.

For some smells, I cannot associate a particular happy memory, but they are good smells, to me.

The smell of freshly baked bread.
The smell of horses in a barn.
The smell of coffee in the morning, particularly if it is being made before you've gotten out of bed (sadly, that's a rare one for me).
The smell of the air when you are awaiting the first snow of the Winter (though I suppose there are some happy thoughts there, anticipating the potential for school or work closures).
The smell of fresh basil.
The smell of clothes coming out of the dryer.
The smell of lemons.  And oranges.

I'm guessing that there are more items in my olfactory treasure chest, but, alas, this was supposed to be a short blurb.  I'm off to do some dishes and some laundry, neither of which will smell good or bring me fond memories.  (my dryer is still not working, so I won't even get the fresh-clothes-from-dryer thing.) (grumble)

Rude Drivers

Well, I am unsure as to whether this subject belongs under the “Decline of Humanity” heading, but I suppose if flip flops made it, why not add rude drivers to the list?

The reason I was unsure is that I often suspect that people, when they get behind the wheel of their vehicles, imagine themselves in an alternate dimension, or suddenly become mind controlled zombies with one purpose:  MUST.  GET.  THERE.  Since there may be some alien influence on the conduct of many drivers, this perhaps should be under another topic, entitled, “Stupid Things Humans Do Which Must Be Caused by Extraterrestrials.”  95% of driver behavior is so bad, I can only guess that this is not purposeful human behavior.

I suppose that I wasn’t as irritated by rude drivers before I became the transporter of another human being, namely, my backwards-facing infant strapped to a piece of plastic and metal.  Suddenly, rude drivers weren’t just “bad”, they were the intentionally evil humans who were out to murder me and my child.  I was literally awestruck at how selfish, stupid, and uncaring for human lives people could be.

As unlikely as it may seem, I am one of those people who believe that, deep down inside, about half of humanity is “good.”  Maybe even more than half.  I’m one of those who believes, when the going gets really really tough, there will be the bad ones who rape and pillage, but there will be the good ones, too.  There is a really interesting sidebar here, regarding “end of times” and the possible destruction of humanity (for real), and whether people are really just animals by nature, but I will save that for another post.  What I will say, though, is that these mindless bad drivers may actually be good, on the inside.  This may be a fancy I have created in my head, in an attempt to believe that people are not monsters.  They’re just being mind-controlled.  Yeah, that’s it.

Since I am supposed to be discussing rude driving behavior, I guess I should actually provide some examples of it, and how it is destroying humanity and everything good in it.

Let’s start with the use of the “signal” or, “turn indicator.”  For those of you who do not know, there is a lever located on or near your steering wheel.  Depressing it in a downward fashion will cause some small lights located on the front and rear of your vehicle to blink, indicating to other drivers in your surroundings that you intend or wish to move your vehicle in a left-ward direction.  Similarly, pressing this lever in an upward fashion will indicate your intention or wish to move your vehicle in a right-ward direction.

Oh, there are so many sub-topics here.  Since it seems that 89.4% of the driver population either have broken or missing levers, broken pinkies, or short term memory loss when they enter their vehicles(or are mind controlled), we can start with that group.  The group which refuses (or is unable) to use the lever.  Ever.

This is the group that will slow down dramatically for no apparent reason, and you are forced to use your Extra Sensory Perception in order to determine whether your life is in danger, or, at the very least, you will incur massive points on your license and suffer hikes in your insurance rates.  Yes, folks, it’s up to you to figure out if the person is braking for an animal or small child, is looking for a house or landmark, is looking for a parking spot, or suffering a cerebral hemorrhage and you should be calling 9-1-1.

The Kind and Forgiving Catherine reasons that perhaps the person is lost and confused, is scared, or is experiencing a serious health condition, and thus, has temporarily forgotten the lever.  The unforgiving, “I Hate People” Catherine, who has been stuck behind this non signal-using continual brake-r for 3 miles is starting to resemble Cruella de Ville.  You know, red eyes filled with rage, hair standing on edge, maybe even some steam erupting from the ears.

A note of advice to the lever forgetters who are genuinely lost or confused: there is another button located in your car which will enable the use of things called “hazard” flashers. Use them instead. It's only one button to push and you don't have to try to remember how to depress it.  This way we only have to guess whether your car is breaking down or if you just don't know where the hell you're going.  At least we know in advance to get out of your lane or suffer the consequences.
To the rest of you, there is a special level in Hell reserved just for you and your kind.

Now, let’s move on to the other drivers who are kind enough to use the lever, but have forgotten that a flasher is used to show directional intent, rather than a brazen and murderous announcement that they can go wherever they please because they pressed it.  These are the same people who never check their blind spot (what’s a blind spot?), who weave in and out of lanes, who cut you off, who enter a 65 mile per hour speedway at a rate of 2 m.p.h.(or 82 m.p.h.) and cause 47 car pileups.  They believe that the lever is their ticket to freedom.  Their equivalent of emergency vehicle light bars.  The lever is their god-mode.

A note of advice to you people:  go back to Drivers’ Education and re-learn what you have forgotten.  Using your lever/turn indicator translates to this:  I would like to change lanes/I will be turning at the next intersection/I am entering the highway, PROVIDED THAT there is a safe opportunity and I have followed all traffic rules.

The only people to whom I will give an ounce of leeway are the ones driving on parkways in southern New York, upon which you have .06 seconds to merge from the entrance ramp into traffic before you are either in a ditch or suddenly in the exit ramp for the next exit.  Everyone else, I hate you.

So, that covers just one small portion of idiotic/dangerous/rude driver behavior out there.  Rather than going into the details of all the other bad behaviors, I’m going to try to shorten them into a list of sorts.  The following behaviors are not only rude, but are dangerous, careless, and make the “I Hate People” person come out in those of us who actually drive safely:

*people (usually ladies, I’ve noticed) who drive gargantuan vehicles who have never gone off road exploring nor been involved in Armed Combat, usually talking on cell phones and not paying attention to a #$@(^#^^ thing, because, they don’t have to.  They can and will crush any vehicle in their way.
*people (always male) who drive with their shoulders and head in the middle of the car, in order to have their one arm stretched onto the steering wheel in a macho fashion.
*people talking on their cell phones.  The main reason this annoys me is because they never get caught, and I know that if I ever tried to do this, there would be 3 State Troopers pulling me over.
*people who suddenly remember their gas pedal as you’re trying to pass them, even if they’ve been going 22 miles under the speed limit for the last 45 miles.  YOU. SHALL. NOT.  PASS.  Screw you, buddy.
*people who cut you off from behind when entering a motorway and either block your entrance or force you to be the moron driving on the shoulder with your signal on, waiting to get in and causing all sorts of problems.  Wait your effing turn and enjoy your time in Hell with the non lever pullers.
*people who speed or tailgate in poor/low visibility weather conditions.  Thank you for splashing 86 gallons of rainwater onto my windshield and causing complete temporary blindness.  Also, thank you for forcing me to test the limits of my anti-lock and tire balancing system on an ice covered road with my kid in the back seat and someone who is following me so closely I can see their eye color.  Thanks.  The only comfort I take is that the tailgate jerk will get the ticket when he rear-ends me, and will have to live with the guilt of taking the lives of two innocent people just because he was in a hurry or too stupid to slow the hell down.
*people who drive 5 miles under the speed limit in the passing lane.  These are the same people who may have been previously speeding and decide to slow down just as you are behind them, and in the No Zone of a tandem with his left turn indicator flashing.

Oh, I could go on for days, but, you would all be asleep by the time I’ve finished.  As I previously mentioned, I can only surmise that the lot of you are being mind controlled by an alien race.  There are so many out there, ruining the daily commutes and possibly the lives of their fellow human beings, it is truly mind boggling.  Please, challenge yourselves and others to be respectful, law-abiding, and careful road citizens.  Additionally, invest in some aluminum foil covered helmets.  It blocks the alien signals.

The Decline of the English Language

Now that you have been introduced to some of my prudish and old fashioned ideals, I figured it would be a good time to share the fact that I am a bit of an English snob.  I'm referring to the English language, not the country; though, England is very lovely.


Back when I was trying my hand at on-line dating, whenever I created my profile, I would always add the following statement:  If you cannot form sentences without the use of constant abbreviations, lol's, textspeak, or some semblance of proper English usage, please do not expect a reply.


It may sound a little harsh, but, I thought it only right that I gave fair warning.  I found that probably 85% of the people on these sites didn't even bother to read what I had written, anyway, so I felt no guilt in weeding out the "bad" ones immediately.


I will admit that I have used the occasional "LOL" (I used to type out "laughing" before I forced myself to just use the abbreviation), and, after having played World of Warcraft for many years, my l33tspeak vocabulary has increased tenfold.  For the most part, however, when I speak or write, the average human can understand what I am saying, without the use of an on line or urban dictionary.


I am not fully against gamer speak or textspeak, as there are appropriate reasons and environments for using such languages.  It's when those abbreviations encroach into the "real" world- you know, the world where we actually speak to other human beings face-to-face or in formal writing- that I take issue.


With the massive increase of on-line communications, there seems to be a massive decrease in the use of proofreading or editing.  I have read countless news articles with misspelled names/words, improper punctuation, and such poor usage of pronouns that I've had to read the article multiple times to figure out to whom or what the author was referring.  The facts are barely laid out in any sort of order, it often appears that someone's scribbled notes were just thrown onto a virtual page and left, as is.


Brochures and business advertisements are in a similar state of disrepair.  My first thought is often, "who was the editor/publisher for this crap?"  My second thought is more of a sad realization that there was likely never a proofreader/editor involved in the production of said brochures/advertisements, due to the wonderful opportunities for self-promotion available on the Worldwide Web.  Self-promotion is great, but if you want to sound somewhat professional, try to spell "lounge" correctly.  And to sound older than a 9 year old.


While the ideals and assertions of the Academie francaise may seem a bit silly to us, I admit that I am slightly awed by their attempts to preserve their language.  I know, I know, their ambition is to keep the French language as French as possible, and to prevent evil foreign language expressions (mainly, English) from creeping in to formal usage.  They are decidedly elitist, old-fashioned, and anti-English. But I do admire their attempts at limiting slang and trying to keep things proper.  Look at this statement:

“We want to restore courage to all those in France and outside France who endeavour to defend and enrich the language. Let French remain a great language of communication and culture,” Jean-Matthieu Pasqualini of the Académie told Le Figaro.


If something similar were to be posted on line in respect to the English language, I'm guessing the replies would look something like this:


"LOL! idts bro"
"Lol to bad whats up with this dude get in the 21st centry"
"these people got there heads up there ass"


Sad, isn't it?


I remember when Spenser was very young, and just learning to read and write, I would look at some of his schoolwork.  There was a new "philosophy" or "method" back then, which was based on the merits of attempting to spell a word, as opposed to actually enforcing (its) proper spelling.  "Kat" was an acceptable replacement for "cat", because, isn't it fantastic, they recognized the general idea of the word!  Sorry, but when do they start learning about the difference between a "hard" and "soft" "c"?  Tenth grade?  "Cat" is not a difficult word.  Really.


Of course, being the horrible Nazi-like Mother I was, I would point out, "..but, that's not right.. I know your teacher didn't mark it wrong, but, that's not how we spell 'cat.'  It's spelled with a 'c.'  Learn it now and you won't have to re-learn it next year.  Now spell it correctly." (sound of whip snapping in background)
It's no wonder that half of the people in America can't spell, if they're starting out in this fashion.


Add in the need for the conservation of space and time required for texting and on-line chat through the years, and you have a recipe for disaster.  This is not about the new generation of young adults, this is about everyone, the French included.  Expectations (it always comes down to this, does it not?) have been lowered, and "attempts" are considered acceptable.  It's not about getting in the 21st century, it's about laziness, and the fact that most of us have forgotten usage rules, anyway.


When I write these posts, I proofread multiple times before hitting the "publish" button.  I am constantly recalling my high school English teacher (I love you, Mrs. Richardson) and her Evil Red Pen, and asking myself if my syntax is bad, if my pronouns are sloppy, if I'm being too colloquial (I am, but this is blogging), if my sentences would be understood by an alien race attempting to learn the language.  I take immense liberties, I use horrifically long run-on sentences, my use of quotation marks is likely abominable, and I continually start sentences with conjunctions.  As I edit, I consider whether anyone would actually give a crap if I have incorrectly used "who" instead of "whom."  I blush to admit that my internal reply to that question is "no, Catherine, they don't...just leave it.."  


In the end, it truly does come down to expectations and what is acceptable.  Our decline as a whole is the product of these lowered expectations.  The less we care, the lazier we get, and standards will all but disappear from society. Join me in my (currently) one man crusade to encourage some noble standards.  Equip your mental Red Pens and "endeavour to defend and enrich" our language.  Challenge yourselves to spend a day proofreading before hitting "enter,"  to use no abbreviations, and to communicate your intelligence to the world without once using "LOL" in your musings. 


Translation:  L2 rite.

Ladies?

I was speaking to a friend recently, and we were discussing some of our mutual on-line acquaintances.  I mentioned that there was a particular female I disliked, because she had a mouth like a truck driver.  I went on further to say that, sexist as I am, I am more offended when females talk trash like that, because I feel that:

(A) they should know better, and
(B) I am embarrassed for (womanhood) them

Now I will say that I am all for occasional swearing, male or female, in the right company.  I don't really consider "shit" to be an overly bad swear word.  Of course, you wouldn't use it, in, say, an interview with a potential employer.  Otherwise, it's not so bad.  Slightly impolite, but not going to Hell worthy.

The f-word is okay in some circumstances, as well.  Again, in the right company.  And by that, I mean, with a close friend or friends, a spouse, a relative who is close to your age, and in a non-public place.  And the context is important, as well.  "I can't find my f-cking keys" is somewhat okay.  Using the word to describe a sexual act is not.

To reiterate, it's not occasional swearing I'm talking about here, it's using the f-word as every other descriptive, using it in mixed company (strangers, children, parents, whoever), and making no apologies for it.

This post is not going to be simply concerning females who swear like sailors (poor truck drivers and sailors... such bad reps..), but completely, about females who have no clue as to what comprises ladylike behavior.

I guess I should kind of go into what is considered "sexy" these days.  Things that once were considered naughty were considered so, because it was a rarer thing to behold.  If a woman used a swear word in a "heat of the moment" situation (I'll let you interpret that one at will), it was considered sexy.  If her dress flew up in the air on a windy day and you could see her underwear, it was sexy.  If a woman raised an eyebrow or winked in your direction, it was sexy.

I ask you, if every other word is the f-word, if you can already view multitudes of underwear with no wind present (thongs), and a wink is replaced by a hand on the crotch,  where is the sexy?  To me, sexy is more about being subtle, and today it seems there is about .02% subtlety present in the female population.

Some of this is blamed on the "role models" girls grow up with these days.  Me, I blame it more on the parents.  If you don't buy your daughter the belly shirt with the word "DIRTY" imprinted upon it, guess what?  She won't be wearing it.  I'm not saying parents should buy peasant blouses and ankle length skirts, but for Pete's sake, show a little backbone and restraint.  And if she goes out and buys it for herself, burn it.

On that same subject, it seems that many females today don't seem to care if something looks grossly unattractive according to their body types.  The "muffin top" is present everywhere.  Everywhere!!! I'm not sure when fat rolls became fashionable, but, I'm pretty sure that they shouldn't be.  Ever.  I agree that one should "suffer" a little to be "beautiful", but these outfits look constricting, painful, and do not enhance the beauty of the wearer in any sense of the word.  Some of these females don't even look like they would have fat rolls, if they just went up one size in the waist.  It's just like the flip flop thing.  Taking an unattractive feature and attempting to make it look sexy.  Feet are gross.  Fat rolls aren't pretty, either.

I'd like to address now the fact that excessive cleavage seems to be au courant as well.  I'm not exactly sure where all this cleavage came from, because I know, growing up, there was usually one girl in class with big boobs, and the rest had to wait until they were 17.  Now, they're everywhere, starting at age 10.  My brother in law insists it's the bovine growth hormones in cows/milk that has caused this phenomenon.  I don't know if it's that, or the creation of the WonderBra, but females are busting out all over, and making no attempt to tame "the girls."  In one slight bending over maneuver, males have full viewing access to boobs, crack-enhancing underwear, and rolls.  This is not subtle, this is not ladylike.

Back in the old days, males had to work to woo a lady and to have access to her intimate details.  And by intimate details, I mean the name of her parents, and possibly her ankles.  Now, they can get full view of everything before they've even said hello.

Unfortunately, I do not believe there is any sort of fix available for this problem.  Until parents start taking control of their little ladies, and start setting better examples (having your topless photo on the "Single Moms Gone Wild" website is not one of them), I fear that, along with true Gentlemen, the idea of the true Lady will become completely extinct.

I can only hope that, with the prevalence of such in-your-face behavior, that there will be a complete turnaround in thinking where Men (and Women) are concerned.  That, perhaps, subtle will be the new sexy.  That Men will search for the elusive Lady in the sea of boobs and thongs, and that Women will adjust accordingly.

My son used to tell me that it was hard to find one "good girl" in a school system with hundreds in every grade level.  Perhaps there will be a slow turnaround for the better.  Then again, I tried to raise a gentleman. What is the rest of the world doing?  Grow a backbone, parents.

And to the Women out there, grow some self-respect.  Subtle is Sexy.  Make that your new mantra.

On the Extinction of Gentlemen

As part of my discussion on The Decline of Humanity, I submit to you my thoughts on the state of gentleman-liness, and it's near extinction from our society.

Now, I haven't gone much into the fact that I happen to be an old fashioned girl.  In my young lady formative years, I didn't really consider myself as such; I felt that I was a modern woman who wanted to conquer the world, and would not be stopped just because the ERA wasn't passed.

It seems that, as the years went on, I found that I appreciated and respected those notions which supported the opening of doors and placing of cloaks over puddles.  Sure, I can open a door by myself, but isn't it nice to have someone do it for you?  Just because you are a lady?  I know I'm not a weak lady, so, why should I be offended?

When I was growing up, the Art of Gentlemanlike Conduct was already on the decline.  I mainly only saw it in use by older men; my uncles, my father, some random strangers on the bus.  We were in the post-60's era, so perhaps there is something to that.

When I was very young, I remember my uncles standing up at the dinner table whenever a female approached or left the table.  I remember being in total fascination of this concept.
 "Why are you doing that, Uncles?"
"Because you should stand whenever a lady approaches the table."
Lady?  What lady?
There are no ladies here.  Ladies are royalty, not just a bunch of females living in Albany, New York.

Au contraire, Catherine.  These men were brought up with the notion that all females were ladies.  Unless they were hookers, of course.  And even then, I bet they'd stand if one was present at our dinner table.

As the years went on, that practice went completely out of fashion.  Along with a slew of other practices.  I have heard it suggested that the Women's Rights Movement put a huge damper on chivalrous activity, and I suppose I can understand that position.  Women weren't weak objects to be owned and treated deferentially, we were strong (strong!).  We were invincible (invincible!).  Roar, etc.  All very true, but I still expect a Man to open my door.

When Spenser was growing up, I attempted to instill in him the ideals of what it was to be a gentleman.  This is no simple task, since apparently I am one of 3 people in the U.S. attempting this, and, sadly, it seems that there are 0-1 parents of the current female population who expect such ideals.  Oh yes, there will be a post about the ladies, too, have no fear.

When I was growing up, the telephone (1 in the house, attached to the wall, with a short cord) had a set of requirements surrounding its usage.  No one took phone calls during dinner (and how rude of people to call at such a time), and the girls (when young) did not take phone calls from boys unless permission had been granted ahead of time.

Growing up today, as you know, there are infinite ways of contacting one another, many of which are completely unseen or unregulated by parents.  Texts at 2 a.m., email, Facebook, whispered conversations via cell phone in the bathroom.

When Spenser was very young, I'll say, maybe 6, he was asking where the phone was, so he could place a phone call.  When I asked who he was calling, he showed me a slip of paper documenting a female name and her phone number.  Kids can barely read or write at that age, for Pete's sake.  But they sure got that number thing down.

"Why do you need to call her?"
"I don't know. She told me to call."
"Do her parents know that she's giving out her phone number?"
"I don't know.  Can I call her?"
"I can't believe that girls are just wantonly giving out their phone number!  I bet her parents don't know!"
"I don't know.  Can I have the phone?"
"Well, if you're going to call, you're going to speak to one of her parents first and ask permission.... you don't just call a person like that!!...." and on and on  I went.

An adult did answer the phone when he called, it happened to be the girl's father, and Spenser introduced himself and asked if it 'was okay' for  him to speak to the young lady.  The father laughed and handed the phone over.

Now, I realize this is a bit over the line.  But I think there needs to be some standard in place.  Even if it's an old, outdated one.  Even if the parents of 6 year old hoochies don't expect gentlemanly manners, it doesn't mean that my son is excused from practicing them.  Heck, maybe it would uncloud their brains and help them to realize that they should have some expectations for the treasured ladies of their household.

I guess that the lack of expectations is a large part of why gentlemen are a dying breed.  Girls, growing up, don't expect a boy to open their car door, or any door.  They are okay with a boy beeping the horn in the driveway even if the boy has not met her parents (and, what the hell is wrong with these people? they're just letting their daughter get into a car with some random, hormoned up boy????).  They expect to fend for themselves, puddles or no puddles, and they are okay with that.

I am all for girls being independent and plucky and able to take care of themselves.  And I don't know that they should be raised to expect males to open their doors.  But I do think they should be taught to appreciate a dying breed  when they see one.  Appreciate the fact that the boy, who is mortally embarrassed, will come to the door and meet her parent/s, and he's doing it as a sign of respect for her.  Appreciate the effort, at least.

I have, over the years, learned to forgive the fact that parents have forgotten to instill Gentlemanlike ideals in their sons (except in the South, maybe... I hear they're still pretty respectful down there).  Just because I'm female on a standing room only bus doesn't mean that a male will willingly offer his seat (imagine my shock when it actually happened, on occasion).  I'm not offended when I have to trundle myself out of a car into a standing snowbank.  However, I am taking mental notes.  Suitors, be warned.

I once went on a blind date, and, though I did try to remember it was the 90's... not the 1890's.... I was muttering inside my head the entire time.

First mistake: the hostess checks our reservation and turns to lead us to our table.  Blind date follows her, with me in tow.  Doesn't look back to see if I'm even behind him, doesn't check to make sure I haven't been accosted or tripped, doesn't place his hand on my back to lead me to the table, doesn't say, "ladies first."  Not a huge deal, but, gives me pause.  It's only the first 22 seconds of the date, I'll give it a chance.

Second mistake:  Blind date goes on and on and on about how expensive the menu is, that it's unfortunate his friend isn't working because the potential for a 'deal' is lost, expensive menu, hard to get reservation, expensive menu.  Needless to say I picked the cheapest items available and insisted that I didn't expect him to pay for me (I'm actually kind of okay with that, even though HE asked ME, it's a blind date, I'm alright with splitting the bill) (grumble).

Third mistake:  Blind date leaves me alone at the table within first 12 minutes of arrival.  Of course I was having ultra paranoid and $hitty thoughts about myself- that he was going to try to sneak out the window or that he was mortified with my presence.  He told me he went out to have a quick smoke because he was nervous.  Nervous is endearing and all, but have a little respect.  And self control.  We had just gotten there, for goodness sake.  I don't care if I was the ugliest, most deplorable female on the planet (which I'm not, thank you very much), he should still have some common decency!  I don't think that's too much to ask.

Needless to say, when he called to ask for a second date (whaaat!?), I came up with a polite excuse.

Anyway, general lack of expectations and lack of inclined parents are the reason for the demise of the Gentleman.  I don't blame Men, since many were simply not raised in this fashion.  For the most part, they are still raised with some ideals of decency; don't hit a woman, let her get into the lifeboat first.  It's sad, though, that the little extras have become so unfashionable.

If you happen to be a Man, I challenge you to endure one week in which you attempt to display gentlemanly manners to the ladies (strangers or not) in your vicinity.
Open every door for her.  Use the phrase "ladies first", and not in the context of a joke.  Take your lady's hand as she steps out of the car.  Don't abandon her within 10 minutes of your first date.  Make her walk on the inside of the sidewalk (the side farthest from the street), because, as a gentleman, you are protecting her from out of control horses and buggies and puddle splashes.  Offer your seat on the bus or train.  I guarantee that you will receive very satisfactory results, and will be the envy of every man in your surroundings.

And, if you happen to be a Lady, I challenge you to act like one.

*********************************************************************************

P.s. In my Mother's Day card, the following was written:  Thanks for teaching me to be a gentleman, because there aren't that many out there today, and I appreciate the fact that you took the time to raise me the right way.   Awwww.

Flip Flops

Well, it’s the open-toe season, which means that the world will now be subject to viewing the toes, and often, feet of complete strangers.  I do not like toes nor feet, unless they are owned by a baby between the ages of 3 days and 12 months old.  After that, no thanks.

I understand the whole ‘allure’ of pretty and perky toes peeping from a scandalous sling back.  How the multitude of designs and enhancements to TOENAILS (yeah, they’re TOENAILS, people) have greatly improved our world of fashion in unimaginable ways.  I also get that some women (sorry, men, you are completely OUT on this one) have somewhat attractive toes.

I said, "some women."  Not "half," not "a large number," not "most," but, emphatically, "some."  And by "some" I mean "three."

The rest of you are OUT, with the men.

Flip flops.  Tsk tsk.

Flip flops enable one to have viewing access to the ENTIRE FOOT of a complete stranger, or sometimes even a loved one.  This includes feet adorned by hangnails, hairy toes, dry skin, corns, calluses, funk, and yes, even diamond encrusted toenails.

I am here to enlighten all of you, about the proper usage and display of flip flops.  Flip flops are for:

#1. Getting out of the shower.  In your own home, or at a place where athlete’s foot may be prevalent.

#2. Walking from the beach boardwalk to your car/hotel room, at which point you will immediately switch to something else.  Further on that subject, flip flops do not generally work in the sand.  We have to see your feet anyway, just take the buggers off so you can save yourself the embarrassment of looking like a loping moron and additionally plowing up large sprays of sand onto your fellow beach goers.

#3. Walking a short distance in which a very minute number of people will be exposed to your feet.  A walk to the corner store which is the distance of 2-3 houselengths, tops.  A quick run into the dry cleaners when you are double parked.  Taking the garbage out.

#4. Walking around in your own home, when there are no guests or small children present.

That is, as they say, all, folks.

Now, there are many of you who are vehemently attached to the idea of using your flip flops in any way you see fit, and feel that I have been far too prejudiced in my allowances for flip flop usage.

To further expand on the topic, I will also inform the unenlightened of improper flip flop display and usage.  Flip flops are NOT for:

#1.  Walking farther than the distance of 2-3 houselengths.  This is a scientific issue, my friends, not purely a fashion faux pas.  There is absolutely no arch/ankle support in that thin slab of rubber/straw/plastic to which you are entrusting your feet.  None.  Your feet will crumble and fall off (not the flip flops, however, they are indestructible) if you attempt a day of "touring the city" in said flip flops.  Do not do this.

#2. Wearing in a public venue where you will be seated closely to a potential stranger, wherein your feet (attractive, or not.  Remember, there are only 3 of you out there) will not only be in close proximity to your seatmate, but also in plain view, thereby forcing others to look at your feet.  For a very long period of time.  With unfortunate innocent seatmate having no option to cover them with a blanket, or change his seat, or alert the authorities.  It’s bad enough that people have to look at your feet, let alone be so close to them that they could actually be touched by them (ew) with no chance of escape.

#3. Anything beside what I mentioned in my first list.

I am unsure as to why people believe that flip flops are okay to use in the public arena.  I guess they’re comfortable enough, but, so are slippers, and most people don’t brandish them freely.  At least slippers usually cover up the feet.

And, while I'm at it, I'd like to mention to the people who wear flip flops to work:  I don’t care if they have flowers and jewels on them, they’re inappropriate, and so are your feet.  And so is the annoying sound they make.

Overall, flip flops are our strange way of exposing the ugliest part of our bodies, and have somehow become acceptable, even in genteel society.   What’s next?  Adding glued-on feathers to our hairy moles?  Special fluorescent makeup for our pimples?  Red markers highlighting our scabs and scars?  Come on, people, hide that stuff!

Flip flop wearers should be shunned and eventually arrested if they insist on wearing them outside the confines of my four, easy to follow rules.  Unless they are a child under the age of 12 months.  Or, one of the three known humans with semi-attractive toes.   You’re not one of them.  I don’t want to see your feet.  Ever.  Thank you.

My cat is a perv and other observations

This is just a random post to keep you occupied whilst breathlessly awaiting our next themed topic... which will be, for those of you wondering, "The Decline of Humanity."  Deep stuff.

So, the title.  Yes.

My cat, Mario, is one of the more fascinating creatures with which I have daily contact.  The saying "...follows me around like a puppy dog" should be changed to "...follows me around like a Mario."  For reasons unknown, he seems to have an overwhelming need to be at my side, at all times, night and day.  I don't get it.

He does do all of those annoying/strange cat things, like, walking in front of my feet when I'm carrying a load of laundry or my collection of Ming vases.  Or turning into Linda Blair (a la 'The Exorcist') when he comes into contact with catnip.  Or headbutting my arm as I'm about to take a sip of coffee.  But, this thing with following me around borders on a little obsessive.

If he could get past his life preserving hatred of water, I'm pretty sure that he would be the only cat on this planet who could be convinced into taking showers. I say this, because Mario sits in the bathroom while I'm taking a shower.  Not curled into a ball on the rug or longingly gazing out the window (my shower is far away from the window, and hence, there is no real need to cover it up, as I do when toilet activities are involved), but, sitting at attention, outside the bathtub, staring at the shower curtain.  If the curtain is not fully closed, I can see him, sitting there, staring.  If I open the curtain, mid-shower, he sometimes rambles over and seems to contemplate joining me.

After the shower, his eyes do not leave me.  To the point where I get paranoid.  As I'm drying off and combing my hair, and talking to myself about the never ending pile of laundry, there he sits.  Staring.... staring.... staring... it's unnerving.  Because it's not the staring look of ''oo I'm getting a can of wet food'' or the staring look of "I think there's a murderer at the door'' or the staring look of ''I'm gonna get that frickin moth.''  It's a different stare.  Not contemplative, not bored, not lecherous, just.... something else.

My Mother, in Particular

Rounding out the week of posts on the "Motherhood" theme, I figured the proper ending would be to post about my own mother.

The number of psychology based articles discussing Mother-Child relationships is mind-boggling.  Many times, that relationship (or lack thereof) is discussed as part of the reasoning behind some sick things that happen in this world.  Johnny burned down a church because his mother didn't hug him enough.  Sydney went on a shooting rampage because her mother made her eat broccoli.  Some of it seems legitimate, some of it does not.

There is a lot of finger-pointing to be had in a lifetime, and often it is traced back to that Woman with whom you had your first real relationship.  It is pretty amazing how you consider this more seriously when you become a Mother, yourself.  Every decision you make has you imagining the effects for things in the future, and you often play the News Reel of your child's some day 5th grade teacher saying (after he has been arrested for some Horrible Crime),  "Well, I'm not surprised, his mother was awful.  Spenser told me how she made him sit at the dinner table with her... who does that nowadays!?"

The Little Things

Well, it's 3 a.m. and I can't sleep, so, here I am.

Since I started the "Motherhood" theme a week ago on a Tuesday, and I still have one more piece to finish on this subject (after this one), I guess I'm kind of stretching it into a week and a half extravaganza.

I've been thinking often, while writing these posts, of how "surprising" Motherhood can be.  As I've mentioned previously, I am not a sappy Mom, and I still stick to that, for the most part.  I remember, when I was pregnant, that people always told me Motherhood would be the "most rewarding job" in my life.  I further remember, years later, thinking that those people had probably been on crack, or in denial.

The thing is, the "rewarding" part can be really difficult to see.  You're not paid for this job (quite the opposite, in fact).  You are rarely, if ever, thanked for this job. You are tested, and challenged, and tested some more, in unending and unrepenting fashion.  And, in general, you can't quit it.  You can, but that's bad.  You can't even retire from it.

When your child is very young, the rewards are rather easy to see.
S/he smiles when you walk into a room.
Reward.
He makes you a bead necklace that looks like a gigantic Star of David and hangs on a blue string of yarn.
Reward.
She throws her arms around your neck and declares you the 'best Mom ever' because you bought her a Bratz doll.
Reward.

Over the years I came to realize that the "rewards" were not as easily come by, and were generally something unseen by the outside world.  I grew to recognize that the rewards were usually just the quiet result of my child being who he was. At least, this was how it was with me and my boy.

I'm Not a Sappy Mom, Part Deux

So, I got a little off track with this topic in my original post, I figured I should continue it here.

I have a separate theme prepared in my head, regarding Facebook, but I'm going to address a small portion of that, here.
I'm sure that many of you already have Facebook pages, and, if any of you are Mothers, you will likely be guilty of the transgressions I am about to discuss.

When I open my Facebook page, apart from the various requests for 3 bricks to build someone's henhouse, a pig heart for someone else's Satanic temple, and the announcement that someone has created the word "ho" in WWF, this is what I am bombarded with:

"OMG, today Johnny ate his first Cheerio, I'm sooo XCITED!"
"LOL, here's a picture of our Wendy sitting on the lawn in her pink dress.  Isn't that soooo awesome!!???"
"I'm so proud to say that Jaleel stopped sucking his thumb today, and won the "I'm a Big Kid!" award at daycare!  He's growing up!!  I'm so proud!!!!!!!"
"Today, our Sasha got her first training bra!  It was a big day for our family, we celebrated and went out to eat!"
"HAHA, here's a picture of our Wendy sitting on the lawn in her blue dress.  Isn't that soooo awesome!!!??"

All I can say is, what the hell is wrong with these people?  You're telling me that your life is so ridiculously mundane that the most exciting thing (ever!!!!!!) to post about is a f-cking training bra?  I'm sorry to tell you this, but this crap is boring, and you need to get a life.

This hurts me more than it's going to hurt you.....

In continuing on the theme of Motherhood, I think I should mention that, along with the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book, there should be another book (maybe I'll write it), concerning the "psychology" of Motherhood, that all prospective Moms should have on their nightstand.

Now, this is not going to be about physical punishment of children, as the title may imply.  Rather, it is about that funny thing that clicks in your head once you cross over from being a normal person to being a crazed and confused (at times) parent.  Since it is mostly illegal and likely fruitless to beat our children senseless, we are forced to become the emotional switch-bearers in their quest to learn about life.

I used to say that anyone can physically take care of a child...  you may not be a pro, but you (or any primate... or wolves...) understand that your baby needs to be fed, should have his/her diapers changed regularly, and can't be left out in the rain for extended periods of time.  It's not the physical part that is difficult, even if you have only had 3 hours of sleep within a 72 hour period.  It's the mental part.

Once you get past the sleepless days, and teething, and learning to walk, and terrible two's, and the first day of school, you enter into a new phase, when your child starts making his/her own decisions about his life and his surroundings.

I never really understood the whole 'this hurts me more' thing, until I became a parent.   I'm pretty sure that no one, ever, will understand that phrase, until becoming a parent.  I'm guessing that teachers kind of get this, too, to some extent.  It is a proven fact that kids, most definitely, do not get it.

I'm Not a Sappy Mom

I’m going to tell you now, that I am not one of those sappy Mothers who goes on and on about her child/children and how she can’t bear to be without him/her/them.  My conversations were and are never filled with story after story about my son, his daily activities, etc.

I remember once, a long time ago, a fellow new Mother was telling me of how she and her husband had gone out for a date night, with the promise of reconnecting and being a couple, and somehow, the conversation always turned back to their angelic child.  She further mentioned that she missed her child and couldn’t wait to get home, she adored her so much and isn’t that sweet?

Good Lord.  You’re telling me you can’t spend three hours away from a kid who has been attached to your body in one way or another for the past year, and will still be attached, pretty much, until the day you die?  Please.

Now, I know that I’m going to come across as cold and unfeeling towards my darling boy, but I tend to define it as being “realistic” and “honest with myself” in regard to the whole Motherhood thing.

My first real moment of “honesty” came in the hospital, as I was preparing for the birthing experience, yet not in full labor; thus, I was able to surf through some of the channels on the hospital television in relative comfort.

One of the channels was a hospital sponsored channel, and showed streaming video on how to care for your newborn, how to breastfeed, changes in your body, etc.  The episode, at the time, was on breastfeeding, and the first glimpse upon switching to this channel, was of a gargantuan nipple.

I didn’t even know what it was, at first.

Motherhood and Birthdays..

Well, I had planned on waiting until Mid-May to post on the whole “Motherhood” topic, but, since it’s my birthday today, and I’m feeling a little pensive, this is what we’re starting with.

It’s interesting, how, after you become a mother, birthdays take on a newer significance.  Before Spenser was born, apart from my own, birthdays were just birthdays.  After he was born, I started looking at them as rather “shared” days… that is, between Mother and Child.  The thing is, the word here is “birth”day, and, while the child is welcomed into the world with great gusto, his first day was brought about because of the Mother and all of her efforts.  She gets congratulated on that one day, and that’s about it.

I am guessing that every Mother, on her child’s birthday, thinks back to that original day, when her little one was brought forth into the world.  She thinks about her pregnancy, her labor and delivery, and how the days/months/years have passed since that original day.

On my birthday, I have cause to think about this particular day in my history, and it is filled with many thoughts and wonderings, since it is a day of which I have never heard “the story.”

I happen to be adopted.